“utho bhaya, kasana phone kiye go,,” and yet another dream of Mahabir was disturbed by hustle and bustle of his life.  Millions of times he dreamed it, and million was the time it remained incomplete. “fir ajj oo saaale ka kaam b to khatam  kre ka hai ...”.  He opened his eyes balked to the voice and noise; voice of his fellow who knocked off his dream with handful of harsh realities and noise of go-down, the wheat storage where they stayed all night.

Bandit, contract killer, were all his identities. Identity. What was his identity.  His profession, his childhood, his background. None looked like the one he had ever wished, he had ever wanted. A 6 feet tall, brown, perfectly built up to look dangerous ... he was a man of his actions with aggression being his shadow and violence his diet.

Dhammmmm. The bullet left its court and a man was shot dead. Pause. Mahabir and his comrades tried to escape the scene with the backdrop of guns and a girl. The girl along with her car became their key to escape and they... escaped.

The girl was rich. 5’5”, fair skinned, youthful who could be identified as the daughter of renowned minister.

Aadoo: bhayo, kasana bhi hath chod diyo hai, ab ka karogo

Mahabir: le ke javego laundiya

Tonk : per bhayo, police lag javegi , minister paiso na dio to

Mahabir: laundiya ki jaan pe aawegi to minister ka baap b dego paise. Apan apne bootein pe le jawega laundiya.. jeko aana hai aavo.

And Mahabir was now a kidnapper. They traveled. From city to city, state to state, place to place... to hide. They beat her, tortured her, tied her hands, filled clothe to her mouth.

She tried to escape, tried and failed. But then she realized that the thing she was trying to escape was the one she had always wished, she always wanted; an open sky, refreshing air, the feeling of being free. Stockholm syndrome.  She started talking to them, liking them.

Mahabir: jada moh na lagawo laundiyo no.

Aadoo: nah bhayo, nah nah.

Mahabir: iske baap se firauti lewego aor saali laundiya kothe me daal dewego.

Ee saale ameer logan gariban no manorajan smjhe,,, gariban ke amma ko ijjat se khele au leke kon jaye aurat ko ,,, oko pati. Saala rat bhr kutiya k bahr baitha roye au ghr aake gussa b aurat pe nikale.

Mahabir was wearing it; aggression. He wore it since his childhood. He wore it when his mother was used as sexual pleasure by factory owners but he couldn’t do anything, he wore it when his father abused and beat his mother every other day but he couldn’t do anything, he wore it when he faced his mother’s sad sobbing face but couldn’t do anything.

The girl, Veera, on the other hand, did not hate him. She helped him escape the police, she helped him demand ransom from her father.

For her, he was an angel who rescued her from the plastic, unpleasant life back home and for him, she was a high society product, high society that ruined his childhood pushed him into crime.

But her behavior, her innocence developed a sense of inclination inside him for her. He offered her new clothes, food and also a freedom to roam around with them not like a victim but like a companion.

He used to hum this song so often, this lori his amma used to sing, to pour her love... making him sleep, making him dream, making him escape the reality. But he escaped his house, traveled to city... to crime and violence. He felt the same here. Bounded, like he couldn’t do anything but here, he could violate against the nature of society snatching its peace. And for him it was enough.

Veera: mere ek uncle the, hmesha ghar aate the mere lie chocolate late the muje bht pyaar krte the. Fir bathroom me le jate the, god me bithate,,,waha b pyaar krte the, mai dard me chillati thi,,,muh daba dete the taki meri chikh na sunayi de,,,

Mahabir was listening to her as she continued.

Veera: maine maa ko btaya, maa ne bola sshh kisiko mt btana. Mai chup rhi. Vo aj b aate h mere uncle, aj b mai unki god me baithti hu... vo aj b muje pyaar krte h.

She was crying, she was speaking, and she was looking at him.

Veera hugged him for hearing her. He looked at her and tears couldn’t resist floating. He hid his face but couldn’t hide his heart. A heart that was not a criminal but was still a child, a kid who wasn’t born bad but was nurtured badly by the society, the society he was doing bad to. It was like giving back from where he got.

Veera: amma kaha h tumhari.

Mahabir: gaon me.

Veera: tum unse milne jaoge, promise kro muje... jaoge.

Mahabir promised.

He now knew that she didn’t belong to that society but was victim of the society. Just like him. She was like him. They were alike. They wanted the same: freedom.

He decided to send her back. But she denied. He tried. He pushed his fellows out of it, he took her to the town, he asked her to go to the nearby police station, and he told her to go home. He ran, ran away. He tried and failed. Because he was fragile but she was strong. 

They traveled together, to mountains, river, to nature.

Kasana had told him at the time of kidnapping.

Kasana: kutte ki maut marego saale

Mahabir: kutta kutte ki hi maut marego na.

He knew his end was near, and he knew it won’t be pleasant but he was ready to grab it.

For once, for only a day but it happened. They lived. Far away from the voice of society and noise of past. They lived. Together. On the mountains, roamed, rented a hut, cooked, ate, slept, woke up. Together. A perfect day.

Dhammm. Again a bullet left its court. Pause. Veera turned her eyes from beautiful scenery of mountains towards the sound.

She turned to find Mahabir shot, shot by police and laid on ground. She ran to him, covered him, protected him from police; society. He was dead but she couldn’t believe. She spoke, spoke to him, told him that everything was going to be fine, that he would meet his amma soon.

She kept on speaking because she was not ready to accept because she couldn’t do anything. She left her house, went to mountains, lived the life she always wished. She was happy because she got hers... but he got his too...freedom.

After 300 years of cruel rule in India, British Army managed to march out of the country with a shot fire and seven casualties. A shot fire and seven casualties. But! Indians ended up uprooting 15 million of its own population, killing 1 or 2 million of its own people, raping 75,000 women of its own land and partitioning its own country.  1947 was that candle in Indian history, that lit up the sky with freedom from slavery but put its grounds in dark killing its integrity. 1947 killed the coexistence in India, at a glance.

I was eleven when one morning pitaji rushed to my bedroom. I was seeing him after two days. But he did not care to me and was walking here and there. Soon, he got the sandook from the almirah, and started packing. Before I could ask him the reason maa and chichi came in with her jewelleries and other belongings. We were going somewhere I knew but where and why? And what was the reason of the rush. Things were not right as we were at the edge of getting freedom from British rule, I had learnt from the elders. Before I could utter a word, maa caressed me and said, “beta, we cannot tell you the everything now… we have to leave Karachi, we will go to some other part of the country, that is the thing for now.”, that was enough to shake my grounds, “maa, we got independent, then why are they making us move?” maa was terrified. Never in the past years had that I had saw her worried like this. After Second World War, independence became our fate as British Empire was out of resources to run the cruelty and the fight for freedom had ignited. We were going to be a democratic country after 300 years of slavery. But I saw no happiness in her eyes; her words were shivery instead, ”it is not the British, we failed to keep good relations with the other religions of our country, we will be divided into two countries from now on, don’t you remember me telling you about the new region, Pakistan?”, Maa tried to wrap the conversation but I was confused, “ yes, you had told me but why we have to shift?,” I wanted the ask more but the noises  outside interrupted me. Maa sensed my insecurity somehow, “this is a land of muslims and we are hindus we cannot stay here any long, this is going to be Pakistan and we are Indians.” Pitaji joined us but not for talking, “betaji, we will let you understand each and everything but not now, this is a crucial time, people are killing each other,,,, we are not safe here.” He was stressed and so were the other family member but I could not really get the reason, “I obey you, pitaji,,,, but this is our hometown, I have lived here with ashfaq from the time I was born, why would he kill me?”, by the time I completed my question wiping my tears pitaji was gone, he was busy. Maa promised to tell me about it on our way and left me to get ready.

But I wasn’t happy. But then! I had to follow my elders. I stared my room for some time and then I went to close the window, I did not want dust to fell in. site of the street had all my answers. There were dead bodies and… blood. That was all I could see. I was unaware of the reason again, but I got the fact that we were not safe. I locked the door of my room, kissed it and promised to come back, one day.

For next 15 minutes, we waited in the hall. Pitaji and chachaji went to check for safety. We were strictly told to stay home. maa, chichi, rupa, dadi, ashwin and me. I was crying, all that while. At one time when the riots outside accelerated, Maa sat down to match my height and held my shoulder tightly, “promise me one thing,,, you will not leave my hand. Our own people are going to be harsh on us, they will attach us,,, there is chance,,, but you won’t lose the grip on me, promise?” I promised and she hugged me with her lively smile and teary eyes. I was strengthened.

“paras, you go with chachaji and your cousins, we will come in the next trip.”, Pitaji said when he came back. “but why?”, I was anxious. “betaji, we have got only one tanga, you people leave and we will follow.”, he made me understand but that was not enough for me, “I will come with maa, I won’t lose the grip”, I announced.  Maa held me again, “yes, you never will. But we are family and we have to act according to what comes forth.”, she advised but I was stubborn, “I will not…. Leave your hands,”.   She, with all her grace, put through her words that were unmatchable, “your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. Think of everyone’s safety and leave,,,, I will grab you again once you escape the darkness of today.”

I obeyed… and left. The time I saw her waving from the tanga, she looked divine. We boarded the train but they did not come. My anxiety and fear grew every second. Chachaji told us they would come in the next train. And they did come, Pitaji and his associates. Pitaji did not meet me till we reach our new house in Amritsar. “Your maa and chachi stayed in the camp, the violence had advanced. They will come with the other migrants.” Pitaji told us. He had actually… lied to us. they never came. Maa and chachi. They never came.

Today, after 70 years, I am a historian and a professor. I tell my students not just the fighting spirit of our patriots but the sacrifices done our women. Our own people are going to be harsh on us. my pitaji killed maa that day. your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. She died to save me and her dignity. My safety was in moving out of my hometown because few people suddenly thought that our motherland needed division to survive and my mother’s dignity was in dying because all thought it to be better to kill their own ladies than to find them brutally raped by other religion.

Everything was done by everybody for religion, regardless of being a Hindu or Muslim. Both killed, raped, looted and separated their ways. They fought for freedom together for ages, and then they fought with each other to feel free. And that is how we got independent… independent of?

I felt a sharp pain in my back as I turned to the side in the bed. I woke up to a new morning with an old ache. People who work on computers whether be an engineer or accountant or data operator, every such person must be having the same pain. I faintly unlocked my phone and suddenly my whole system changed. I rushed to the bathroom.

While I was struggling with my earring, I heard the announcement of flag hoisting on television. I ran to the drawing room and stood in attention for the National Anthem. As I was hymning the tune I saw the president paying salute to the flag, army doing the same in their beautiful uniform and the flag flowing in the air with its chin up.

“I want to see this live someday”, I declared in my mind room. The army persons were paying tribute to the flag; the crowd was quite sober out there at the event. It was when my phone rang that my eyes shifted away from television. It was my colleague on the other side.

“Office on 11, be on time”, it was more like an order. “Hey! I have got a set of tasks lined up, I will be late. Please wait till I reach.”, and I hung up with an explanation of being late in the near future. What I watched next was the president standing with his head down in respect and before him was a lady standing in a white saree and a blue shawl.

Her features told me that she belonged to north east and the commentary next introduced her to be the wife of late constable who lost his life fighting the terrorists. His wife politely received the honour and left the stage. As she was walking down the steps, I saw a grief yet satisfaction on her face.

She was crying as they pulled the camera on her. It was live. She met the president, she got the honour and she was crying. He had lost his life serving for the nation and she had lost her love. Nor she had anyone to complain, neither did she gestured to complain. She was polite and took it as an honour. He had chosen the nation first and she obliged.

My phone beeped again to a friend’s message. Meet me in 10 minutes. My friend was in town and he was leaving to the city he worked in that very noon. I tugged my hair, put my heels on and took the keys of my bike. I was driving my way to the cafe when I felt a change in the air. The weather was soothing, different from the other days. “May be the patriots and leaders who lead us to this day are doing this change”, I felt.

I reached the cafe. I was waiting there for my friend when I saw there was a change in the scenario. There were people hanging around with the flag painted on their face, gipsy and bikes were campaigning around like leaders, people around me were busy taking selfies. It was all engaging yet disturbing for me.

As we settled on a table; I and my friend couldn’t hold to watch the television in the cafe. The republic day ceremony was still on air. We were enjoying the showcase. The tableau from different states showing their culture, art and nature mesmerised my eyes and held them for ten long minutes.

Likewise, even my friend was concerned about the value of the day. “You saw the people? I don’t know what they feel it to be. I saw a flag waving on a gypsy.”, he was surprised. “Haha! Doesn’t happen in your metro city”, I said mockingly. And our talk over the respect of this day went on.

I left for my office, biding him goodbye. I missed the flag hoisting but met and greeted everyone. We sat over a light conversation on Bollywood with our boss and then he proudly told us how every year they celebrate the Independence Day and the Republic Day, invite friends, family, neighbours, workers, clients and even the kids passing by the office. They try to create a healthy celebration and a remembrance of the day.

Next, I drove back home. I spent the afternoon watching a movie on television that was based on a cricketer’s life and how he won the world cup for the country. It was a good film though.

I went for a walk in the evening with my friend. I told him about my whole day and how I felt about things; about the weather, the people, the television and everything else. He heard me with a smile and reciprocated politely as I asked him for his opinion. He said, “I think all the people who live nearby should gather in a ground and remember the freedom fighters and defence officers who have sacrificed their lives for the nation; that will be the best way to celebrate this day.”

And he was right, I realized. That one response summed up my whole day. Everything that I had felt that day, everything that had made me think a lot, that every thought got an answer when he said. “. We should at least resolve to follow a thought or a way given by some patriot.” such wise words felt my eyes as they dropped a tear of satisfaction.

The event of celebration that was been held in the capital every year, that was shown live to us, that we ignore every year, was actually a way to meet our real superheroes. The event salutes the efforts of our soldiers, give them a chance to rejoice and also show them the country they guard.

The flag hoisting give us a moment where all of us unite to pay respect to the nation who fought for our freedom, the flag that represented that freedom and the people who survived and even sacrificed for that freedom and the people who were trying at present to keep that freedom intact.

The small celebration like the one that was held in my office was just a way to keep the day alive, save the day to pass like just another holiday. And try to be a voice who said “We salute you” to the ones who worked even that very day for our safety. I got the purpose then.

The movie that had been telecasted was actually a salute to a sportsperson who had contributed shaping our country by his game and making the country proud in the international level. The channel contributed to the day by showing us the man who inspired us to be a better person and pursue our dreams.

The youth that was flaunting the freedom and was waving flags on their gypsy and bikes should have heard my friend. They could have got what this day was about and how they could have respect the day doing something better rather than wasting it that way.

 “By crushing individuals, they cannot kill ideas.” by Bhagat Singh, I read. I pledged to follow these lines and to never stop following my dreams and ideals even if it costs me to stand alone. I tried to make these words alive.

“Remember the freedom fighters and defence officers who have sacrificed their lives for the nation; that will be the best way to celebrate this day.”