A Companion Unique.

An unfathomed mystery he renders my life

Unannounced he arrives, armed only with a smile.

Like a waxing crescent, seamlessly he grows

Illumines the depths and soon he wanes.

An intruder he was, a companion became.

Leaving his abode faraway, mine he shares

To what end, only the Almighty knows.

He cannot fight my battles, neither my enemies face

So he brings to me his victories, a comfort and solace

That shine to be my star and melt into my armour.

I cleanse him of his errors and defeats in return,

And replace his burden with an enlightened slogan

For together we are meant to bloom and flower.

Thus,

His treasures he empties on my lonely hours,

I replenish them with enriched dreams anew.

In this mysterious exchange between the two

No gain no loss marks the deal.

Only an amused Witness sanctions the seal,

To see the strength of his spark be added to mine

And then blazes the renewed aspiring flame

With a deafening chant of the sacred Name.

Sometimes he clutches onto the precious defiant memories

That refused to annihilate at the mighty compulsion of Time.

Fiercely he guards them, scantily he shares the felicity

As if that which outlived the roll of centuries

Could cease with a touch of my vagaries.

Cautious, he strives to protect their unblemished sanctity.

Often he invites me to visit his world

But never is the veil rent

And only with enticing glimpses

Returned I am back to my realm.

Unfair the terms of our truce-

I remain content with scraps obtruse.

While he gets my All to intrude.

Sometimes my stumblings

He rushes to support.

Often, it is I at his throat.

Accountant of all his errors

Unforgiving about most.

But all contraries meet a common ground

When a Presence mystique is felt around

For the heart leaps in an instant recognition

Of an essence familiar in this vast unknown.

The fragrance of a devotion, ancient.

The incense of an adoration, ardent.

For the altar of worship may have changed

The soul that once bowed remains the same.

And the memory when kindled,

Sweeps in a defining moment

All doubts that plague and riddles that maim.

Leaving behind in its hush only a whisper

The remnants of some poignant utterance.

What was denied to him in one lifetime,

Perhaps he comes to claim in another.

From his peaks we scan greater heights

This is a sojourn from Light to Light.

All his past I own, all my future he.

Entwined forever in this path to seek and BE.

Eternally we wrestle in an embrace sublime

Together we script a Fate Divine.

Some Answers Found...

It was merely a Youtube video.

India, 1925. A village in Punjab.

A rare footage. Colourless. Grainy. Jerky.

The visuals appear to depict the daily life of a villager. A matter-of-fact narration. Mostly, an impassive, academic tone. Perhaps, it was an ‘educational’ video. The intended audience may have been curious Britishers wanting to know about the life of a ‘native’ in an Indian village. Hence, a series of mundane activities were recorded, but something else was captured. Something else altogether.

About a minute into the the movie, your fingers tap to pause the video. For something has just hit you. And hit you hard.

As you stare at the frozen screen it gradually sinks in.

Pre- Independence India- An era that we have seen on the silver screen...read in those classic pages….heard in those melodious tunes. Suddenly, without the aid of lighting or sepia filters, no costumes, no songs no contrived recreations- It appears right before your eyes. Sans the glamour. And the aesthetics.

This is the hard reality- the raw, bleeding wound.
This is misery that defies histrionics of an actor, desperation that transcends drama on stage, anguish that eludes the notes of a symphony.

That man you see on the screen...that farmer ploughing his field...that women drawing water.. They are no ordinary men and women. They are ‘subjects’. Citizens of a colonised country. There must be something radically different in the air they breathe. In the lives they live. In the dreams they see.

And suddenly, things not apparent become evident. A single word colours your thoughts-That is an ENSLAVED human being. Their very body language exudes servility. As if at any moment, they would fall on their knees. There is less of an usual hesitation on facing the camera and more of a sense of fear. And awe. And heartbreaking timidity. As if the one behind the lenses is not just a photographer, for them he is their Master. This very thought is enough to grip you with repulsion and calm rage. The suffocation is beginning to get tangible.

And then you see children on screen too. Staring right into your eyes. And you instantly feel something strange. It is not the blank stare that jerks you, it is the vacant gaze. Eyes without dreams or hopes or mischief or even a simple glint of curiosity that ought to have been evoked when seeing a new gadget. Instead, they express nothing...they question nothing…. You begin to doubt if you actually saw any LIFE at all in those eyes. Yes, you did. Stifled lives.

Nature too does not stand immune from this darkness. The breeze that blows, the trees that sway, the river that flows….all follow their customary path. All of them look normal. But none of them Free. None of them ‘ours’. And then you begin to question the very meaning of freedom. Is it an abstract concept...an idea...a narrow creed...an illusion? Can the land, the streams, the wind actually perceive political sovereignty? Then what was amiss in those visuals?.Was it a sense of joy, a sense of harmony- as if this was just not their natural state of existence. So that is it. Liberation is a state of Being. It was the absence of this Being that created that overwhelming sense of vacuum. And it is so simple. The entire mass of land throbs with just a simple CRY. The cry of emancipation. The cry of Aspiration. And this was the cry of the human Spirit. The fettered soul that recoils from this falsehood, this cowardice, this indignity and seeks to soar high. Seeks growth. Yearns for Light and Liberation.

And in one single, all encompassing moment- grand mysteries appear solved. Question that haunted for a century find their answers. You no longer struggle to comprehend the emotions of that man who smilingly went to the gallows, the man who consciously chose a life of struggle, the man who bore the burden of a failing endeavour, the man who picked up a weapon and the blemish of the blood, the man who aspired to make an offering of his entire existence. You immediately and almost spontaneously understand. You feel the source of their strength. The depth of their emotions. For you have just seen a fragment of the darkness and indignity. Seen a few minutes of the sublime horror they must have actually lived for years before deciding to stand up and resist. And then their battle does not seem so inconceivable anymore. Some remnants of the warrior still linger in you. You almost see yourself taking the grand heroic plunge too. For it is impossible to resist the call of the moment.

And in this sweeping emotion all their meanderings, all errors, all experiments, all ideologies, all philosophies, the web of all ‘isms’ everything seems acceptable. For though their visions may not have been perfect, their executions even less so- there was something that was impeccable perfect- Their ability to hear that CRY. That intoxicating cry. That insane cry. The cry that can shake the very depths of a man. The cry that can compel one to wage unimaginable battles. The cry that can sustain one to endure the war.

Then there is a deluge of revelations. You begin to experience this overwhelming feeling of love- pure and unconditional for no particular object as such- not the land or the people--it just exists. Perhaps for an entity that lies beneath or beyond the these visible manifestations. It is this Love that must have drawn out the promise from those men, made them take that pledge and kept them undeterred till the very end. And their deeds, their sacrifices, their suffering becomes comprehensible. Attainable. For in that brief, flaming moment of revelation you instantly feel that for this LOVE, you too could have given your all.

And this love comes with a sense of power. A mighty power. It is something more than conviction-more than belief. It is a certitude- and assurance. Now you begin to comprehend that last hours of those martyrs...men who have seen the edifice of revolution they nourished with their sweat and blood fall to ruins, yet depart in peace without anxiety, or regret, or despondency. For they have experienced the LIVING TRUTH of their struggle. The Truth that shaped those grand dreams of victory cherished by the wounded warriors. The Truth that made it possible for them to cling to the dream in the darkest moments. For they must have realised that triumph of Truth is inevitable. As inevitable as the dissolution of darkness at the break of the Dawn. Hence, that sublime, assured smile lights up the gallows.

By the time the video ends, you realise that this experience defies the mind and its cynicism. You no longer care whether India existed as a nation or not, whether patriotism is a provincial concept, nationalism a regressive ideology, and Independence a farcical idea. For you have just heard an entity 'that does not exist' breathe, you have felt a 'narrow' sentiment to be the most expansive emotion that ever stirred, seen an 'outdated' concept invoke the highest form of love one can experience. And everything else is inconsequential.

And thus, no matter how dim the dawn of Independence was. No matter how bleak our future looks. 15th August, 1947 was and will remain a the day of Victory. For it was a day when a mammoth struggle culminated, a massive falsehood was defeated, a magnificent ideal was born and a resplendent Force had descended. The events stand tainted, the day remains unblemished.