Prize for Creative Expression
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INSHA PARVEZ
Immortal Righteousness
Burning cities, flares of rage and chemical skies; what happened to this country? Where is thy democracy? Where is thy equality? I sat there, under the blistering sun, with my broken trust, watching cityscapes turn to dust.
13th August, 2022
Dear diary,
The clocks struck 13; 12:58, 12:59 ... and ... 1:00! It was time, it was a dark hour for the citizens of India and a contemptible one for its government. Colourful people with colourless faces, white with fury, thronged the streets of Delhi – the saffron in the flag disintegrating with every man injured, the white falling apart with every bullet fired, and green, ahh ... well the green! What do we even say about the green, it had started deteriorating, rupturing, moving away from the country, ever since independence, where no party, no government, mustered the strength to find the pieces, to put it back together again.
Indians are nothing but common people, with common hopes, with common wants; but what has made them uncommon in their own country is their religion, their belief, their identity, which these politicians, the said ‘emissaries’ of secularism and liberty, are trampling under their feet. This is what they’re discussing in the parliament today too – how is the government going to curb the myriad of protests all over the country? How will they convince the citizens that, what couldn’t be done in 75 years, would just be done within a span of 1 year?
I was tired, I really was, of all the false hopes, of all the inter-community conflicts, of all the pseudo development, and that is why I was there too, along with a thousand others, to get my voice heard, to call-out all the injustice, to speak for the just. What was supposed to be a peaceful gathering (a crowd of furious, still civilised citizens) turned brutal, harsh, barbaric, with the blink of an eye. I was surprised for it didn’t even take an hour.
The sun rose right up our heads, no shadows in sight, and there went the furious youth, inundated with emotions, and rocks in their palms. Within two minutes the sky displayed a panorama of gravel and stones, an appalling sight; it seemed as if the whole of the earth had come together to imbibe that circular architecture. Police vehicles blazing here, weeping children clung to their mothers’ chests there, it was truly the most apocalyptic form of India, of my motherland, I had ever seen. I would never forget the shrieks and cries of that young Dalit boy, merely twenty-five, thrashed with a baton for lashing at a cop, but then I thought of his plight, of how he perhaps died a thousand deaths, before singing his final death song, still beseeching equality, still beseeching acceptance.
With great sorrow I say, how has humanity come this way? I weep, I plead, I pray, all I ever wanted was peace and love, but ferocity and cruelty to me they repay. Oh Lord Tell me how! How in the world did humanity come this way?
Even in chaos, one can find peace and there he was, the only static, and serene person in a world full of turbulence. You know what they say. ‘Light can be found even in the darkest of times, only if one remembers to turn on the light’ and he was there, being yet again, the light we needed, the light I needed. I saw him with my hyperopic vision, sitting just as gracefully as ever, with his head held high, his backs toward us, but something was abnormal – the smile, a smile so bright, that drove out the foreign intruders, a smile that changed the lives of thousands of Indian forever, wasn’t there, it had disappeared, it was nowhere to be found. How could that have happened? How did humanity fail him like this?
Shockingly, in its place, there was a tired, broken frown, something never seen before, something unexpected. It shattered me.
All of it hit me at once, what was I doing? Why was I just becoming another one of those aggressive, frenzied people that I’ve always despised? Though it may be for an ethical cause, how could I’ve broken my virtues, my ethos, right in front of the person whose ideals I’ve followed all throughout my life, whose entire life journey has been nothing but a source of inspiration for me. I failed him. With this realisation, I felt a tiny teardrop fall on the back of my hand, and before I knew it I was sobbing, incessantly, a very peculiar type of sob that I thought might never stop all together.
Why do you weep child? You’ve come a long way, gather yourself up, free yourself; you haven’t failed me, but by dishonouring yourself, you’ll just fail yourself.
My tears flowed relentlessly, I loathed myself for getting involved in savagery, for being there and not feeling contrite, for witnessing violence and standing there unshaken, just motionless. I still don’t know whether it was the ravaging circumstances, or my ravaged state, that made me a hear that curious crack, a crack so faint, yet so loud, it sounded something like a broken heart. In a minute’s span, Gandhi's statue crumbled, disintegrating more and more with every passing second, as if it had enough, as if it had seen enough. What a tragic sight!
It broke me, the cruelty of this ‘independent’ world. Fires breathing with gusts of wind, dissident citizens, unbothered government, it crumbled me. This sham of an independence, shattered me.
His frigid physique as it touched the firm ground, lay shattered, but I saw it taking a form which was least anticipated, something right out of a dream, a ‘hallucination’. A figure – barely 5’6” tall, frail, yet robust at heart, stood right before me. IT WAS HIM! Mahatma Gandhi – the man, the myth, the legend, who stood there smiling, benevolently. The universe might call me insane, but it truly was him, his guidance, his wisdom, that I needed at that moment. I needed it to develop faith in myself, my ideals and this iffy world.
There is good in this world – it is there in those violent protestors, those cynical politicians, I believe in it. For it was the goodness that drove that poor man to seek pacification, cry for the wounded, he discovered it; if he can, so can even the stubbornest of the stubborns.
He spoke to me, softly but firmly, ‘There is not much of a difference between us for you are fighting the system and I fought the British, the only difference is, that I made my voice heard not with a stick, but with truth, honesty, ahimsa. You are a decent man, and so is everyone present here, but to fight brutality with brutality, is to admit one’s moral and intellectual bankruptcy. Take the initiative, don’t quieten the fire within you, make your demands heard, be sturdy, but don’t deviate from the paths of ahimsa, for violence can make people hear, but it won’t make them understand. Be the change that YOU want to see in the world, and then see the world change’.
Those words right there, they changed my life forever, they reignited in me the fire of righteousness that I thought had been doused, they made me believe in my capability to speak for the right cause, to make the change that I’ve always relied on others for. I felt Gandhi ji’s presence with me, I felt all the universe’s morality with me. In a gentle way, you can shake the world, and with that, I got up.
An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, are of all the same kind?
In the roof of peace take a stand; for heaven’s sake, don’t let blood mix with the sand.
Embers of rage still covered the street, but this time, in my cause I believed.
Flames shone, burned in my eyes, wrath in my soul, but I sat there, right in the middle of the street, with serenity in my heart. Dead men, dead spirits, and dead hopes, all lay there together at once, yet I sat, now more firmly than before. ‘This belief of mine won’t be budged! We need justice, we need truth, for it the government must be shaken, but in this battle, our morals cannot be forsaken. Ahimsa cannot be forgotten, Mahatma Gandhi cannot be forgotten’, I yelled sturdily.
The violence failed to cease, I yelled some more, and more, and more ... I yelled with determination, grit and hope, for Gandhi ji was still with me, the aura of his presence progressively heightening, rather than diluting. 2 people joined in, batons were thrown. 6 people joined in, firearms were abandoned, 20 people joined in, the crowd calmed down, 50 people joined in, 70, 80, 100; humanity had been reunited by the path of righteousness again, non-violence overpowered violence again, Gandhi ji saved us yet again.
The same fight, yet again, only the time is different. The morale of humanity is saved again. They will disregard you, but how long? They’ll ignore you, they’ll laugh at you, then they’ll fight you, nevertheless from the pathway of good, you must not deviate, and that is how you’ll win.
Mahatma Gandhi freed us, this time from our wrong ways, he taught another generation, yet again how truth is our religion and ahimsa is the only way of its realisation. The spirits of the old days thronged the streets of Delhi, morality flowing in each ray of the sun, each particle of the environment. A big crowd of colourful Indians, reunified again.
Remembering the crumbled, broken statue I asked a fellow, ‘We’d have to find a way to fix the broken statue,’ and with great astonishment he said, ‘What broken statue, look it’s right there.’ And there he was, sitting just as gracefully as ever, with his head held high, but this time with a big smile on his face. He may have passed but his ideals would forever live in the hearts of the people, continue to inspire them, show them light, even in the darkest times, and teach them that ‘Goodness of heart, and non-violence can win even the most gruesome of battles’.
INSHA PARVEZ
MODY SCHOOL, LAKSHMANGARH
Awarded by the Literary Journal, Out of Print
