Imagine you are Gandhi. Write a letter to the British Prime Minister calling for Indian Independence....
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You left this world or rather you were mercilessly snatched from us years ago, even before my father was born. Obviously, I never saw or met you. But my grandfather who had seen and heard you a couple of times would often talk about you. We would try to imagine you with the description he provided. “Woh patle duble the lekin bahut tez chalte the (He was lean and thin but walked briskly),” my grandfather would inform. “But don’t get misled by his frail frame. He was a man of steely determination.”
Today’s generation, brought up on countless tales about you told through books, cartoons, movies, music, documentaries, and God knows what else, relate with you also through the cheeky chant: “Bande mein tha dum, Vande Matram.” This October 2 you would have turned 150.
As we celebrate your 150th birth anniversary, I imagine, just imagine, what if that original ‘desh bhakat’ Nathuram Godse had not pumped three bullets into you at point-blank range on that cold January 30 evening in 1948. That dark evening you were not on a joy walk; you were on your way to the prayer meeting.
My colleague and friend Vaibhav Purandare, in his new book ‘Savarkar: The True Story of The Father of Hindutva’, pithily captures the Mahatma’s last moments: “Gandhi stepped out on to the garden lawns on the premises (of Birla House in Delhi) for his evening prayer meeting. He had hardly reached the lawns, with arms around his grandnieces Manu and Abha, when a man (Godse) in the crowd bent down to touch his feet and rose up in a flash and pumped three bullets into the Mahatma at point-blank range.” Hey, Bhagwan!
What if Godse, just as he bent down, in the great Hindu tradition to greet and show respect to elders, to touch your feet moments before he killed you, had changed his mind. What if the revolver Godse used to perform the heinous crime had jammed. These are assumptions. The bitter truth is that evening the man with a diabolical agenda to finish off the apostle of peace succeeded in his mission. And if he hoped, Gandhi’s assassination would throw India into a communal cauldron (communal riots in the wake of the Partition had already singed the subcontinent), Nehru poured waters on it when he named the killer in the radio broadcast to the nation that evening.
I was made aware of the Mahatma’s murder quite early. To the young sensibilities, it appeared complete senseless, mindless thing to kill a defenceless, old man just because he preached peace and communal harmony. But then, Godse didn’t kill the Mahatma alone. He tried to kill an ideology, the very idea of India.
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