When the Martyrs of India Asked Me Questions"

 

Note: This is a fictional story, written with imagination and emotion.It brings alive the voices of our freedom fighters.The aim is to remind us of their dreams and our responsibilities today.

Today was the Independence Day of my country, yet I don’t know why my heart felt so heavy and sad.

There was a beautiful fragrance in the air, the birds were chirping, the sky was open with the flight of free birds, the weather was pleasant, and the soft breeze was touching the soul. The scene was so beautiful, enough to heal any sad heart. But still, I don’t know why, I don’t know why my heart remained sorrowful, and a sigh kept slipping from my lips.

I had thought that today, like everyone else, I would celebrate my nation’s independence with great joy. I left home with this very hope — that by looking at my flag, I might forget all my sorrows, that I might for a moment free myself from the responsibilities weighing down my shoulders, that by seeing my tricolor and hearing my national anthem, my heart might once again beat proudly.

Walking on the road, I kept dreaming silently about what I would do when I reached the celebration. Suddenly, from a narrow lane, I heard the sound of people laughing. That laughter had something magnetic, something that pulled at the heart. My mind, already floating with the thought of happiness, stopped for a moment. I thought — let me see who these people are, laughing so freely, as if they were filled with pride and joy.

When I reached the end of the lane, there was a huge garden, glittering with flowers, a breathtaking scene. A few people were sitting there — two or three women and some men — talking with grace, respectfully taking each other’s names, and sharing their life stories. In their voices, there was pride, a smile, a joy like a mother finding her lost child.

When I went closer, they all looked at me. One of them smiled and said,

“Daughter, who are you?”

I replied, “I am a small girl from Hindustan ( India). Today is my country’s Independence Day, and I left home with the hope of joining my nation’s happiness. But when I heard your laughter, I was drawn here.”

At that, one of them smiled softly, as though they had been waiting for me all along. He said, “Oh, so you are from Hindustan?”

With pride, lifting my shoulders, I answered, “Yes, I am from Hindustan.”

Hearing this, one elderly man said with a gentle smile, “I am Bapuji ( Mahatma Gandhi).I fought for your ( my )country’s freedom. I wished that future generations could live freely without slavery, without needing anyone’s permission to follow their dreams. It seems my satyagraha and Quit India movement were not in vain. I had also said never to fall into violence, hatred, or communal division. I trust that you people must surely be living together today in love and unity?”

The moment I heard this, my heart sank. Inside, I whispered: Forgive me, Bapuji. My country is still drowning in communalism, division, and hatred — the very things you asked us to stay away from.

Before I could say more, another man spoke: “Do you know me? I am your Chacha Nehru ( Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru). Didn’t I say that we must take our nation forward with education, with scientific thinking, so that India would never remain behind other nations?”

Hearing this, again a silence filled me. In my mind, I thought of the children of my India living in the slum areas of well developed states who struggle even to receive basic education. For them, even primary schooling is a dream. I wanted to tell him, but my words stayed locked in my chest.

Then a woman spoke up. She said, “I am Rani Lakshmi Bai. The British killed me in battle, but I fought so that future generations could never say that only men fought for India’s freedom. Thousands of women like me gave their lives, so that the injustices and oppression we faced would never again chain our daughters.”

My heart cried silently: Forgive me, Lakshmi Bai. My country still discriminates — by gender, caste, class, and color. We are still divided. The injustice you fought to erase still lives on among us.

Another woman spoke, her face bright with pride: “You must know me, Sarojini Naidu — the Nightingale of India. I always said women should have the freedom to step into every field they wish, to make their own mark without bias or obstacles.”

But I could not answer. Inside, a voice asked me: Are today’s women truly free from these chains? Do they really have equal chances everywhere? I had no answer.

Then Maulana Abul Kalam Azad raised his strong voice:

“I had said — never let religion divide your nation. Whatever happens, whether Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, or Christian, never let India split on the basis of faith. Surely, you are all living together as one today?”

My heart shivered. I whispered inside: Maulana Sahib, forgive us. Even today, people fight in the name of religion. Hindus blame Muslims, Muslims blame Hindus, and division still burns my country.

Just then, a young man said with a smile, “I am Bhagat Singh. They hanged me in my youth because I raised my voice against injustice. Surely, in an independent India, there is no injustice anymore?”

But again, a sigh escaped me: Injustice is still everywhere — in every field, in every department, in every life.

Then another bold man stood up: “I am Subhash Chandra Bose. Didn’t I say, don’t depend blindly on others for your rights? Stand up for yourself!”

And yet again, my heart whispered: We are still failing here too. Even for the smallest things, we depend on the government. We blame everyone else, but never take responsibility ourselves.

One by one, the great souls — Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Chandrashekhar Azad, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, Ashfaqulla Khan — all asked me questions. Their sacrifices stood before me like mirrors, and I was left with no answer but silence.

I kept asking myself: Did they give their lives for this? Did they dream of a free India only for us to remain trapped in divisions of caste, color, language, and class? Did they sacrifice so that even after British rule ended, we would still remain prisoners of the same mistakes?

On paper, it is written: Independent India.

But in truth, my nation is still divided into thousands of fragments — caste, class, gender, religion, color, language, and injustice.

What should I do with that freedom which gives me opportunities only after looking at my gender?

What should I do with that freedom where I don’t even have the right to raise my voice?

What should I do with that freedom where I am judged on the basis of language, color, and creed?

What should I do with that freedom where I have to witness fights between Hindus and Muslims?

What should I do with that freedom where, even while living in Hindustan, I am forced to adopt the culture of those from whom we once demanded independence?

What should I do with that freedom where, even while living in Hindustan, I am asked to learn their language?

I can only hope that someday, we will truly close these wounds — so that no new Bhagat Singh has to give up his life at the age of 23, and no new Rani Lakshmi Bai has to die in battle again for the freedom we already won.

Jai Hind . Happy Independence Day.