He was walking, in chains, to the gallows. With black hair, curved moustache, beads in his ears, an upright chest and fire in his eyes, he represented the brave Indians. The year was 1857. The first sign of any protest against the "so-called" lords. a protest by the slaves, the real rulers of this land. And he is going to pay for it, with his life. The noose and the hangman were waiting. It was April eighth. He is about to be hung.
Over 200 years of planned looting, 150 years of brutal slavery, new ways of violent torture, in numerous murders and gang rapes, non stop plundering, and total destruction. No signs of unrest. Repeated snubs on the face, tax even for living, and bill boards reading, "Dogs and Indians are not allowed" and still nothing. Little did British expect when they stuffed the flesh of cow's ass into bullet cartridges.
He was given an Uniform, a rifle and a name Badge. It read Mangal Pandey. When Moguls raided the northern mountains of India, he was pointing his rifles at them and brutally killing any living thing it aimed at. He would have loved the smell of their blood. And then a point came when he had to turn his aim at his own men. His bullets tasted the blood of Indians as well.
He bit the cartridge, emptied the gun powder into barrel, dropped in the bullet, rammed it and fired. Ideas are not deliberate. They do not jump out of thought processes. They need to be induced. A small cartridge gave shape to Indian History. A single bullet hit its target.
The soldiers were protesting and he lead them. It was not planned. It just happened. Obeying a fool's order, firing at a total stranger for no particular reason, earning by killing and being a slave no more made any sense to him. He was giving birth, He was giving birth to something that no bullet can pierce, no canon can destroy and something that is immortal.
When bullets and canons were of no use, British used another weapon. Fear. They induced fear into Indian minds. A psychological weapon that can kill livings things. But beneath his skin, beneath all those bloody muscles and beneath those white bones, he was much more. He was a vision. He represented the 1.1 billion Indians.
He was convicted of conspiring against the British rule in India. He was seen as a potential against all those leeches sucking the wealth of India. He was convicted of disturbing peace(of those British suckers). He was ordered to be hung by neck till death.
When death is at your doorsteps, smile eludes your face. He was radiating with happiness and was marching towards the gallows like the brave soldier he was. After all he was no ordinary human. He was entering into final moments of life. Facing it with smile.
The noose was hanging from the tree. In the other end of the rope was a sand bag. The sand bag end was tied to the banyan tree. The hangman was waiting with his sword. There was no black cloth. The noose was placed around his neck. Little did the British know, after 90 years they would be packing their bags home for this.
Little did they know, Men die, Ideas don't. The sword came over the rope. The noose snapped. An Idea was born.
1 comments:
you are getting better each time!!! this is really "awespiring"!!! :D
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