Amidst
the sea of applause, Shantharamji, now in his late eighties, a lean and a
physically weak person,
with the help of two young hands walked towards the
dais. As the governor honoured Shantharamji with a shawl, a bouquet of flowers
and a memento, thousands gathered there, saluted the great man with a standing ovation.
Shantharamji gazed at the heavens above for a while and then waved his hands
towards his people for whom he lived. There was hardly anyone in the crowd, who
could hold their tears; tears of joy and gratefulness, offered solely to the
architect of their lives…..Shantharamji.
Obliging
to the pressing appeal of the crowd, he slowly walked to the podium, to share
the glimpses of his meaningful journey.
“It
all began with a fall….” he whispered.
It
was 9.30 p.m., as I got down in the Raichur station. I was full of joy for the
mission accomplished. Gazing my eyes around, I found the crude darkness overwhelming
the earth. I rushed to an auto. The dark clouds, heavy wind and the threatening
thunder were hinting at something unusual and inevitable. As I was nearing the
village, there was heavy downpour. Paying the auto fare, I ran to my palace, a
small rented room.
There was hardly anything to eat. I was
terribly hungry. I decided to manage the night with a piece of bread and an omelette. I took out a bottle of beer, bought from
Mangalore. Covering myself, with the blanket, I started to cherish a glass of beer.
For a while my lonely mother, far in Mangalore, came to my mind.
“Son, live for those, who have no one. God
will be at your side,” her words always keep me going.
My
memories ran back to the day I first landed in Umbli Hosur. I wanted to be a
social worker. My mother never stopped me. She always wanted me to live my
dreams.
It's
almost two years now. I was in my early twenties, full of dreams and ideas. But
the reality around was hard to accept. It was a caste ridden society with all
sorts of social evils. Being born in a Dalit family in this village, was worst
than being a dog in the high caste family. Looking around, I felt threatened
for a while, but my conscience prompted me, 'Don't
give up before you really begin.'
I
started to gather children and teach them in my room.
The
melodious singing, echoing from far caught my attention. There was a small boy,
standing near the fence. As I came out, he ran away.
I started visiting the houses. Each had a
story to tell, a grief to share, a misery to outpour.
On
that morning, while I was teaching the children, I found a gentle touch on my
shoulder. As before, the little boy ran away.
Rain was
getting heavier and heavier.... Clock struck 12.
'Tuck...tuck...’ I felt as if someone
knocked at the door. The beer had taken hold of me. The goddess of sleep was
slowly engulfing me. I didn’t bother to get up.
After
being with the children for the whole day, I went to the sea shore that evening.
Suddenly I realized, there was someone standing beside me. It was the same
little angel, the little boy with sparkling eyes. He sat next to me, as there
was no one around.
Where
do you stay...? I asked him.
Pointing
his finger towards the village, the boy replied, “there.” I happened to see his
arms that were torn apart. The foul smell of cow dunk oozing out of his body
was nauseating.
“What's
your name..?”
“Basava...”
he replied
After
a long silence, he held my hand, “Come to our house”
A
small grass hut, smaller than my room, was their house. The door was locked. We
waited and during all that time Basava sat next to me with a gentle smile.
It
was getting dark and the door was still locked. I thought of making a move,
just then Basava ran to his father, “Appa, this is the Sir, I used to tell you…”
“Come
in Sir. I had gone to work” he opened the door. With him was his little
daughter, Yellamma.
Amidst
the tiredness of the day and the tensions of life, Rangappa was trying to put
up a smiling face.
“What
about your wife...? Isn't she back yet..?” I enquired.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
He
asked the children to go out and play.
What
happened Rangappa...? Where is she…?” I insisted.
“He
took her away...” Rangappa opened the pages of his life. A life bruised with oppression,
struggle and deep insecurity.
“I
had taken, Rs 5000, 2 years ago, as my mother was seriously ill from Gowda (Land
lord). In return he took away the little land I had.”
6 months ago he came again, threatening me
that I should pay him Rs. 15,000, the amount with interest within a weak and if
I fail to do so, I'll have to bear the consequences.
I
am an illiterate, poor villager. From where will I get the money?
“On
that day, he came with his men and forcefully took away my wife. He's a strong
man and powerful too... I couldn't stop him.”
Rangappa
was biting his teeth, “…they used her. Few days later, I got her dead body,
thrown in the village well...” He cursed the day he was born.
“All
that I have today are my children....”
“My
son, Basava, just 9 years of age, is a bonded labour. Yellamma and I too, work
in his field, trying to repay the amount.
“I
am given a month’s time to pay the money back. Lest the seal of bonded labour
will be put on Basava, for life and Yellamma too will be taken away.”
“God will show us the way, Rangappa...” I knew
my words wouldn't console the injustice done to him.
As
I started walking back, Basava came running to me, held my hand, and whispered,
“Sir, I too want to study, I too want to be
like others. Will you help me...?”
For the first time in the past 18 years, my
eyes had gone wet.
The
reality around was pressing on me, to get out of my cowardice and respond.
“I shall...... Basava ...I definitely
shall…” I promised.
Returning
to my room, I called up my mother for guidance. I briefed her of everything.
”Shantha....
the little property that we have and the house, should be of some use...” she
replied promptly.
“No...No... How can that be...? What will
happen to you then...?” I wasn't happy with her response.
“Shantha,
God has his ways. I will be taken care...”
Selling
that little property meant, she had practically nothing. She is a saint who
always thought of others. I have not seen God but I have seen my mother.
Thus
I had gone to Mangalore, as I had also sent a word to Rangappa, that they will
be liberated soon.
I
was back with the amount. Yes, the satisfaction of saving three lives, deep
within was over whelming.
“Tupp...tupp...”
there was a loud noise. It was almost 2 in the morning. I decided to sleep off.
The knock went on for some time and slowly faded away. I slept. Yes, I really
had a deep sleep, that night.
With the early sun rays and the chirping of
the birds, I got up, full of enthusiasm. Without delay, I started towards
Rangappa’s house.
As
I got closer to the house, I sensed a kind of terror in the air. The door of Rangappa’s
hut was thrown, out in the courtyard. I ran into the house and what do I
see…!!! The whole house was in a mess. Soaked in the sea of blood was Rangappa,
fallen unconscious.
After
the sprinkling of water, he opened his eyes. I could feel the desperation, pain
and helpless anguish on his face.
Rangappa…What
is all this…? What happened to you…? I enquired in fearful uncertainty.
“They
took my children away…” he replied.
“Who….???
Tell me what happened clearly…?” I insisted.
“Gowda
and his men had come, last night and asked me to pay the amount immediately…”
“Then
why didn’t you come to me..?” I was angry.
“I
came running to you, thinking you would help. I knocked and knocked and kept
knocking …but you never opened the door…”
“I
then ran back, pleading him to leave my children. All that I received were the
kicks and knocks….Like my wife, my children too…” he wept bitterly
“……..”
There
was a loud noise. Rangappa had liberated himself. Yes, he committed suicide,
jumping into the well.
“Have
thine own way Lord, Have thine own way…” I heard the singing from the far
away church. That was Holy Saturday. People were mourning as their Lord was
killed unjustly and sealed in the tomb.
I
collapsed there in the courtyard. My conscience held me guilty.
‘You
could have saved them….’
I
couldn’t face my conscience. Reality did try to awake me several times but I
never listened. May be I never had the courage to.
“It’s
all over…there’s nothing left to ….I am a failure...” my conscience was still
accusing me.
There
was no point in my being there in that village any longer. I decided to move.
I also came to know that Yellamma
was used by Gowda and his men. She was left as the temple prostitute. My little
angel, Basava, was sealed for life as the bonded labourer. Taking the suitcase,
I started dragging my feet towards the railway station. I remembered the day,
when I first landed in this village, full of dreams; wanting to do something
for the people….the promise that I made to Basava…My mother’s sacrifice …Everything
went in vein.
I
was stopped by the postman. I opened the letter. My mother had sent me Easter
wishes.
Letter read….
“Son,
hope things are fine with you…Know that life is a battle where winning or
losing is momentary. You’ve got to keep fighting and keep moving. Do not
forget, that after Good Friday and Holy Saturday, there is Easter Sunday. When
you are low and feel dejected look at the cross. I wish to see you becoming a
beacon light of hope to the struggling in Umbli Hosur.
Ever at your side
Your Mother
I
stood there at the middle of the diverging road, confused and uncertain.
And there I heard the same song of that little
angel, from the far away cowshed of Gowda. Basava was standing there behind the
fenced walls … the walls possibly he’d never be able to break…and his dreams and
the promise I made…???
I
gazed at the skies. The bright rays of the sun piercing through the corners of
the earth filled me with hope. Sense of determination and dedication enclosed my
whole self.
“Is
everything over…? Is everything accomplished Shantha…?” My inner voice knocked
at the door of my conscience. My suitcase slipped and fell to the ground. I decided
to walk back to the village.
Shantharamji
wiped his tears. Gazing at the horizons, he whispered, “…but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep and miles to
go before I sleep.”
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