From Present To Past

From Present To Past - An "Alien In The Room" Part

III

I opened my eyes and to my surprise I was lying in the middle of a ramshackle and burnt house; mist was covering the atmosphere and two men wearing Gandhian caps, both young, slim and short, were looking at me as if I was dead.

One of them asked me my name, to which I told them my real name.

“I am Sagar” I answered unconsciously.

“Sagar, what?” The same man asked me back.

“What is your full name?” The second person asked understanding the perplexity on my face.

“Isn’t Sagar enough?”

“No, no, no…. we are just asking?”

“What has happened here?” I asked.

“Last night a group of Hindu agitators attacked here, killed the head of the family before burning the house.”

“It was the only Muslim family left in that area, all others had already flew to Pakistan.” The second one added.

And like all time travelers ask in those time travel sci-fi movies, I asked them that famous question: “What date is today?”

“Is it 30 today?”

“Yes, it 30 today.” The second one confirmed.

“I have to meet Gandhiji, it’s urgent. Please tell where I should look for him.” 

First both of them looked at me as if I had spoken to them in a different language, but then they told me the way: “You need to go to Janpath road first form there it’s straight road to Birla House. But be aware of rioters.”

In almost half hour I was standing in front a white marbled house. I passed the entrance and got a glimpse of the men wearing Gandhian caps shuffling here and there as if they had just finished a gathering. I walked straight to a young boy, extremely thin, and having a long nose on his rather small face. I asked him where was Gandhiji. In reply he pointed to a man and said me to talk to him first.

I went there, the man was busy in talking with some volunteers, as soon as they departed I went to him. I asked him, could I meet Gandhiji, in reply he said not now but in 2 or 3 hours I could meet him.

I decided to wait for 2-3 hours. I went down to where all other volunteers were working. Women were busy in spinning charka and men were busy in doing one or two tasks like house maintenance, garden maintenance, food preparation, etc. Some were singing the song – “Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram”, some of them are making jokes but all of them were looking full in energy, such was the atmosphere of Birla’s House. The lanky young boy who had told me to ask the person for a meeting with Gandhiji, was helping in repairing the damaged side of the building.

“What had happened here.” I asked him.

“Haven’t you listened about the attack on Bapu on 20^th of this month.”

“Yes, I had listened about it.” I cautiously said, “But what about this building. I mean how it is damaged.”

“Some protester who were not happy with Bapu’s fast against the violence in the city, had attacked the building by a bomb.”

I was gaped with the extent of violence that was going in the city. I had only heard or read about riots in Delhi during partition, but I had never imagined that much of it.

I spent next two hours with lanky one, helping him in repairing the building. He had lot of stories to tell about Gandhiji. He was an old disciple of Gandhiji from Ahmedabad’s Sabarmati Ashram. He told me how he had travelled here just to assist Gandhiji in his noble cause for humanity. He told me about the pity condition of the nation and the refugees, but he was sure that Gandhiji would end all this disparity, although he was worried for Gandhiji’s deteriorating health and the risk to his life. Meanwhile his name was Purushottam.

After two hours, I saw the that man again whom the lanky man, Purushottam, had told me to meet. I asked him the possibility of meeting with Gandhiji. He told me that it was hard to meet to Gandhiji today because of his tight schedule but I can meet him during the evening prayer. On that I protested, I asked him to meet Gandhiji now, as it is necessary. I sat outside Gandhiji’s room and said the man that I am not going to move from here until you let me meet Gandhiji. He left saying nothing. From outside the room, I realised that some sort of meeting is going inside the room. I waited for another one and half hour, when a lady rather young, wearing googles similar to that of Gandhiji came out and said that Gandhiji want to meet me. After listening this I was almost burst out of tears. I entered the room following the lady.

The room like the rest of the house was white marbled and perfectly square in shape. At one corner two men were mending the charkha, the spinning wheel; in the other corner under the Window the great man, representor of humanity, worshipper of ‘satya’ and ‘ahimsa’, who has revolutionised the freedom struggle of nation. The Mahatma, ‘Bapu’ of nation, with his small and slim body was sitting with his all nerves occupied in reading.

On seeing me he smiled and said - “So you are that boy.”

I had thousands of things in my mind, many questions and the very important news of his assassination going to happen today, but my throat was chocking. And what I managed to say was that word – “Bapu” before bursting out of tears. I was sobbing and endless tears large in size was rolling out of my cheeks endlessly.

“What has happened, son.” Bapu asked me. But I was too busy in sobbing and overpowering the unintended emotion that I was unnoticed of what Bapu said to me.

“Stop crying my bold Boy. Tell me from where you are? Where is your family?”

“Bapu, no one can kill you until I was with you.” I said still struggling to overpower my emotions.

Then there was a pause long enough to be felt. A bell brought that pause to an end at last.

“You feeling hungry, my boy”

“Yes” I said still struggling with my tears.

“Then, would you want to join us for the lunch”

I only managed to move my head in acceptance. I followed Gandhiji quietly along with other fellow members. Gandhiji had grown so weak and fragile that to move to the place where everyone was eating he had to take help of two persons who were supporting him form each side of the shoulder. There he indulged in conversation with his disciples while taking in account of the work going around.

Visitors were coming and going since morning but after the lunch, around half past one, there came the visitor more important than million others, standing 6 foot tall, creased faced and bold in every expression, voice, and in taking decisions equally; from the city of Ahmedabad, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with Gandhiji in hundreds of movements, named Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel came to meet Gandhiji. He was accompanied with some other important men. First, he talked with Gandhiji personally in their native language, Gujrati; then with all others.

Evening was approaching. The meeting was still going on. The prayer time approached. Everybody started huddling around in the outer courtyard of the building, the prayer has started, but no sign of Gandhiji, he was still in the meeting and I was sitting in fort of the room where meeting was proceeding. Almost 10 minutes of evening prayer had passed when the man for which everyone was waiting to meet outside after the prayer, had arrived. He was supported by two women, one his granddaughter, and other one a follower. He was approaching the prayer. I was behind him; the plan was to stop Nathuram to do that evil work. Everyone was standing and giving him the respect.

Suddenly, there came a young man from among the crowd, he was touching the feet of Gandhiji. He was saying something to him to which The Mahatma had answered smiling.

“He is that man. Nathuram Godse, he will kill him.” I run towards Gandhiji. One shot, second shot and third; blood was oozing out of the frail man’s body. Crowd was rushing towards the dying man. Everything had changed in just two or three seconds.  Blood – red, people rushing and yelling, Bapu falling and dying. He had gone, The Mahatma had gone. I see nothing but the colour of blood, red, everywhere. Red, spreading like a mammoth Tsunami in a sea of hope. Everything was turning black; it is eating everything, like a black hole. Then, everything had turned black. There was me, and darkness in form of black. But I could listen a voice, a very faint, tick-tick, the sound of watch, I think from my wrist. The voice was increasing –Tick-tick, tick…..tick-tock, tick-tock…tock, tock……..tak, tak, tak, tak….ton, ton, ton……