The entire village is heading toward the school. Today is the fifteenth of August; the flag will be hoisted at the school.
The village doesn’t have much love for the martyrs, but since something is happening, the whole village is going. There’s plenty of time and nothing much to do — where else would people spend their time?
So, whether it’s a street performer’s show or Independence Day, people participate with great enthusiasm.
After all, this is the kind of day Kareem’s washed kurta-pajama comes in handy. On regular days, repairing bicycle punctures darkens his clothes just like his hands and feet.
Vaidyaraj ji wouldn’t wear his new coat for no reason in the village, but since it’s a celebration, he’s wearing it today. Lala Sohan Lal has also bathed today — an event worth noting — though his teeth remain as stained as ever, crushed under countless betel leaves from Bansi’s shop. The compounder’s starched pants are a sight to behold.
Even the school boys and girls have washed and ironed their uniforms. The whole village looks freshly scrubbed. Whatever else the martyrs did for the country, they certainly ensured the village got an annual overhaul.
The headmaster walks with pride; today, he gets to hoist the flag. On such occasions, the village transforms into the nation, the girls’ school turns into the Red Fort, and the headmaster becomes His Excellency.
All eyes turn toward the procession of the senior teacher, who passes by with great dignity. The rest of the staff accompany her like a modest cabinet.
The crowd gathers, growing steadily larger. The program begins.
The bank manager sits next to the senior teacher, with the doctor beside him, then the village head, Jamunadas ji, Bhawar Lal ji, and other local dignitaries.
The shops are closed today. Familiar faces are hard to recognize — is that really Amritlal ji, who usually weighs jaggery at his shop?
The headmaster arrives — today’s chief guest, the event’s president.
The microphone crackles to life:
“Dear friends, today is an unforgettable day in our glorious history. It was on this day that the sacrifices of immortal martyrs earned us our freedom. Even after centuries, the importance of this day will remain the same. Now, I request our honorable headmaster to say a few words.”
The crowd erupts in applause. Who these martyrs were, when and how they sacrificed their lives, how independence was achieved, who exactly gained it, and where it is now — the crowd knows none of this. But there’s excitement, enthusiasm, and therefore, clapping.
The headmaster stands:
“Brothers and sisters, on this day, we became free. What a beautiful word — freedom! Freedom is essential for every human being. Without freedom, a person, no matter their material, spiritual, or social standing, cannot truly be called human. When a person has a mind capable of thought, why should they accept the chains of slavery?”
The whole village understands. The headmaster explains.
Gangaram’s mind drifts home — they’ve run out of wheat. He had to buy barley this morning, which no one used to touch for four annas a seer, now costing one and a half rupees per kilo.
Is this freedom? Freedom costs a rupee and a quarter per kilo.
Chaudhary had seen freedom arrive in the city. Even Gandhi Baba had taken beatings for it. Back then, there were no newspapers or radios in the village to witness the arrival of freedom. Now it has arrived — but what does it bring? All day long, the radio blares, “Nazarbaaz Saiyan, Nazariya Na Maaro.”
Where is this freedom? What does it look like? Who will explain it to Chaudhary?
The headmaster continues:
“The clouds of subjugation must part from over mankind. Without freedom, humanity cannot survive. To endure bondage is a kind of mental death. After all, when given life, why should one die? Freedom must be every person’s foremost right.”
The flush on Lala Daulat Ram’s face shows he agrees — of course, freedom should be everyone’s right. The British never took bribes; now, you can get anything done with a little grease. Truly, he’s always prayed that everyone should get this kind of freedom.
“We shall defend our freedom to our last breath… Bharat Mata ki Jai!” Cheers erupt. Joy abounds!
---
Asha runs to her neighbor’s house, banging on the door.
“Brother, open up quickly!”
Vimal peers out, startled. “What’s wrong, Asha?”
“Vimal Bhaiya, come home quickly!”
“What happened?”
“Little Bhabhi’s unwell again — she’s raving, trying to attack Ma, tearing her clothes like a madwoman. She even bit my hands. We locked her in the room, but the moment we opened the door, all hell broke loose.”
“Aren’t Father and the others home?”
“Father’s at the shop — it’s not like he gets a holiday like your dispensary!”
“Alright, I’m coming.”
He follows her, wondering: what will he even do when he gets there? The little Bhabhi isn’t just unwell; it’s madness. How does one handle a madwoman? And a woman at that.
Poor headmaster sahib — one can’t help but pity him. His wife lost her mind in her youth. Some people whisper that she went mad because of his indiscretions — the dark deeds he carried out behind closed doors, the stories she’d hear day after day. One day, she saw it with her own eyes — Rampyare’s wife, shameless!
What can men do? If there’s no food at home, he’ll seek it outside. What does this madwoman know?
They reach the house. All is quiet — the silence after a storm.
She sits alone, weeping silently. Asha’s mother has fled to the neighbors in fear.
Vimal tries to speak to her, but she doesn’t respond, only cries. When he presses further, she gets up and locks herself in her room.
Just then, the headmaster’s mother arrives.
“Son,” she laments, “our lives are ruined! Her family turns a deaf ear. This wretched woman won’t even let my poor boy marry again. She’ll plague him for the rest of his life. Finally, they agreed to divorce. Let’s see what happens. If only we could get rid of her, we could think of something better for him.”
Suddenly, she remembers a letter.
“No one was home to read it. Now that you’re here, read it for me.”
Vimal takes the letter, hesitates, then reads:
“It’s from her family, Mother. They were ready, but the court didn’t agree. The doctor’s report says she isn’t mad. In such a case, divorce isn’t possible.”
The old woman is stunned.
---
The headmaster returns after hoisting the flag. After delivering a speech about freedom. Freedom, essential for every human being, without which one cannot be called human. Bondage, of any kind, is a curse upon mankind!
(The End)
— Prabodh Kumar Govil
