Yatra : A Journey

By S Ram Visakh

CHAPTER PLAN

CHAPTER 1……. The Thirteenth Note

CHAPTER 2 ……. Durbar - Darbari

CHAPTER 3 …….. What If ?

INTRODUCTION

This is purely a work of fiction and is a reimagination of Indian Freedom struggle through a creative exploration. Reading this collection of three short stories hopefully would prompt readers to read more about the actual events which happened in rich detail along with discovering ancient Indian philosophy. Happy reading!

(Word count- 4947)

CHAPTER - 1

THE THIRTEENTH NOTE

SYNOPSIS

A chance discovery by a researcher, Alexander of an unpublished manuscript about a shenai which could produce the thirteenth note leads to a spiralling journey of finding its current whereabouts. If the origins of the note could be traced, then it had the possibilities of creating ripples in the field of music, which has only heard twelve notes till date. It was last played at a baithak (recital) in Kashi fifty years back (1890) and now the world awaits with bated breath to catch a glimpse of this unique instrument. Anand Gangaram who was arrested for his participation in Individual Satyagraha could hold the key to this question but will Alex be able to reach the answer?

Alexander James arrived in Benaras in the year 1940 after being fascinated by the Advaita philosophy propounded by Adi Shankaracharya and he wanted to delve deeper into the genesis of the Vedanta. His first pitstop was the Sanskrit College set up in the year 1791 by Jonathan Duncan and the original texts on offer provided him with a sense of direction to probe further. Lack of an intimate knowledge of Sanskrit threatened to derail his efforts and in pursuit of English translations, he reached the library of Benaras Hindu University. Finding authoritative texts was a task in itself and he was glossing over the music section tracing the roots of the famous hymn Bhaja Govindam. While flipping through the pages of Sangeet Ratnakara by Sharang Dev, he found a manuscript cut in the corners by termites, about a performance by Pandit Govind Maharaj during a private baithak in 1890. The last line in particular was fascinating. ‘ He regaled the listeners with a never before heard Raag Bhairav and the six of us who were present there heard with rapt attention, an unusual placement of a note between Pancham (So) and Dhaivat (La).’ Alex proceeded to his place of stay after carefully tucking away the paper from the library. The first step was to go in search of the musician’s house and the next morning was marked by sultry heat. The ghats of Benaras would resonate in shehnai and Raag Bhairav was played as an invocation to Lord Shiva during early morning. He happened to meet a frail old man Dadu barely able to stand on his own and asked him about Pandit ji. Dadu first inspected the foreigner from top to bottom and then with a disinterested look shrugged away his inquiry. After much persistence and convincing, he decided to entertain Alex’s request. Alex asked, “ Can you tell me more about the thirteenth note incident ?.” To which Dadu replied “ There were murmurs about such a discovery and at that time I must have been in my early 20’s learning sitar under the tutelage of Ustad Pheroz Khan. This news was promptly dismissed and Pandit Govind was seen as an individual seeking to disturb our rich parampara (tradition) by making such incredulous claims.” Alex was curious to know more about him and his family. Dadu after carefully folding the paan (betel leaves) recounts “ Pandit ji was suddenly under the scrutiny of local musicians and he was never able to reproduce the note. The patrons stopped inviting him, his disciples were discredited and he could not walk out of his house without inviting snide remarks from the locals. He faded into obscurity and passed away in his ancestral house. The 1918 influenza epidemic ravaged the family, killing his wife and one of his two boys as well .The younger one loathed being associated with music.”

Alex reached the home of Manas (younger son) and he was washing utensils as he interrupted him. After exchanging pleasantries, Manas in response said “ I was orphaned at the age of 18 years and I had nowhere to go. The only possessions I had were my father’s shehnai and this home which was left in a sorry state. I would take up small works but that helped only in hand to mouth existence. Besieged by poverty, I carved out the silver and gold plating inside the four shehnais gifted by the Maharaja and gave it to Bidyadhar Sharma (the Seth who organised the private baithak). He was a patron of music and offered me a higher sum to purchase all of my father’s instruments. You should ask him about this version that you are searching for.”

The quest for finding the elusive thirteenth note went into a spiral and a visit to Seth's palatial bungalow facing Manikarnika Ghat could provide the answer to this enduring mystery. A life size image of Bidhyadhar adorned the living room and they led an opulent lifestyle. His son Binod entered the room and in a sonorous voice commented “ My father passed away fifteen years back due to heart complications and he talked about this concert till his last breath.” Alex told him about his encounter with Manas and he replied “ When the controversy was raging, my father kept silent and it was something he regretted till his last breath. Those six people who attended the concert are not alive anymore but my father indeed got hold of all of his shehnais in hope of finding the one which could produce the said note. Top artists at that time came to our residence to try their luck but all of them failed. The only individual who did not desert Pt Govind Maharaj was his disciple Anand Gangaram and we tried to reach him as well. But by that time, he was deeply involved in the freedom struggle and became a Gandhian. If there is anyone who can lead you to the shehnai, it is Anand ji but that seems like a long haul, my

friend.”

A lack of resolution, an arduous journey with no end in sight and now getting access to Anand Gangaram who was arrested by the British a few months back for leading the Individual Satyagraha, the barriers were too huge to be surpassed. As a measure of last resort, he sent an anonymous article documenting his travail to the Telegraph newspaper and they promptly published it in one of their columns. Soon enough, this piece became widely discussed and the world was curious to know more about this new discovery. The publication traced the letter back to Alex and he was summoned by the British officials to check upon the veracity of claims. After being satisfied, they were eager for an early resolution but Alex categorically stated that without the help of Anand, this task would remain unfinished. The British were inclined to rescind this request since he was lodged in high security prison booked under harsh IPC provisions but the international fanfare, waning support for the Raj and August Offer prevented them from being obdurate. Under strict supervision, the stage was set for the meeting between Alex and Anand inside the premises of the Central Jail. Anand was aware about the heated debates raging across the world and the first one hour of the conversation was solely devoted to knowing about his interests, journey and intention. There was a strange calmness in Anand’s voice.

A long pause was followed by him finally opening up “ I was waiting for the right moment to reveal this secret and this was a promise which I had given to my Guru. The only condition he set for me was to not disclose it to individuals who have a vested interest in securing their personal goals through this information. I admire your sincerity and devotion. On that fateful night, I rushed to Govind ji’s house when the word had spread about the discovery of the thirteenth note. He kept to himself and was in a state of trance. After some time, he made me sit beside him and told me that this was not a result of his mastery or artistic brilliance. Rather this note was a result of a brief moment of epiphany of oneness of atman (soul) with the Brahman (ultimate reality).” He said “At that moment, I just closed my eyes and submitted to the higher forces. If anyone asks me how this moment of magic happened, I honestly have no idea.” After sipping water, Anand laid down two conditions before proceeding further. First, he wanted to secure the release of fellow Gandhian Karimullah Khan, protege of Frontier Gandhi Abdul Ghaffar Khan on medical grounds which was being denied to him and second - the shehnai should remain solely within the Indian subcontinent . The British Government saw this as a form of blackmail but Alex’s passionate arguments, raging Second World War, the haunting past of systematic loot finally sealed the deal in his favour.

With a document acceding to the request in hand, the D- Day had finally arrived. Anand continued “ Before reaching his home, he buried the shehnai near a banyan tree within the Kashi temple premises due to the fear of subsequent fanfare which could corrupt his music and degrade a moment of intimate spiritual connection . When people started ridiculing him, he went into depression but never in those times of solitude regretted his decision. I have done my own research for the reasons behind the thirteenth note over the last 40 years and personally mentored my disciple Bismillah. If there is one person who can produce that note, it is him. I do not think I would be alive to see that moment but this shehnai should be played when India achieves Independence.” Before hoisting the flag in Red Fort at the stroke of the midnight hour, Bismillah played a mellifluous Raag Kaafi and the thirteenth note reverberated across the different corners of the world. Lounging back in his cozy home in Manchester and watching the BBC telecast with a slight drizzle in the backdrop, Alexander exclaimed “Let the notes reverberate”.

CHAPTER -2

DURBAR- DARBARI

SYNOPSIS

The Delhi Durbar of 1911 was the last of the formal coronation events held by the

British Raj in India and during this time the decision for transfer of capital from Calcutta to Delhi was announced. The following year, Lord Hardinge took out a procession through Old Delhi to mark the occasion of shift in the power centre and Ram Singh, the seasoned mahout, was entrusted with the task of riding the Viceroy through the stretch. For him, it was an important day to soak in the grandeur of a historic occasion and display his majestic elephant Moti, in front of lakhs of curious people. An unexpected incident threatens to derail his efforts and bring the entire spectacle to a grinding halt. This story is an account of Ram Singh and Moti’s resilience in the face of adversity and commitment to one’s duty taking precedence before self.

If you went to the Tokri Basti near the Tughlaqabad fort, all roads would lead to

Ram Singh’s cramped house inside the serpentine bylanes. There was a flood of visitors at all times and his wife Kanta loved to soak in all the attention from her neighbours. She would at times break into flight of fancy recounting her husband's heroics and her favourite tale was the one which involved Lord Curzon giving him a medal for being an outstanding servant of the Raj. But the medal was nowhere to be seen and none questioned the veracity of her myriad claims. Ram Singh belonged to the third generation of mahouts who were adept at navigating through difficult terrains, assisting the royal cavalry as and when required along with unmatched subservience to the Nawab of Rampur. In order to please Lord Curzon who was known to be a tough negotiator, the Nawab decided to let him draft his trusted right hand man into the royal cavalry along with Moti, the prized Indian elephant who was known for being tough and steady backed with grace non pareil. The ten years which he spent with Lord Curzon and Lord Minto were largely restricted to ceremonial gun salutes yet he was happy because of the hike in allowances along with increase in prestige due to working with the saheb. Most of the days were spent inside the makeshift tents and he did not prefer talking to the other mahouts. Rather he preferred to occasionally break into folk songs from the Garhwal region and stay within his own bubble. The new Viceroy, Lord Hardinge, seemed like a man in a hurry and his tenure began with the arrival of the monarch to India. After an extensive assessment under his personal supervision, Moti was chosen as the Viceroy’s personal ride.

Dressed in richly embossed silk cloth and effortlessly striding ahead with a customised howdah mounted on top, Moti was paraded across the city during the Delhi Durbar. Lord Hardinge wanted to ensure that no stones were left unturned and the event was indeed a grand success. In fact, the crowd barely noticed the king since he rode the horse and a common refrain which could be heard was “The saheb perched on the elephant seems to be the real raja.” After the coronation, expert trainers from abroad, working under the supervision of Ram were tasked with the upkeep of Moti and it meant long hours of work. He never liked to leave the elephant alone and so decided to lodge within the allotted premises rather than stay in his home. Once in three months, he would make a quick visit in the wee hours of the night to check up on his family but he would send money every month, without fail. The preparation for the parade began in August 1912 and he barely had time to even eat proper meals, due to arduous rehearsals. The basti was happy to know that one among them had risen through the ranks and they were looking forward to going to Chandni Chowk to catch a glimpse of their local hero during Viceroy’s procession.

Delhi during the winters was covered with fog and the impending arrival of the westerlies intensified the cold wave. The visibility was so low that one could barely see a person within a 10m radius. 23 December 1912, the city was ready to welcome Lord Hardinge and his entourage on the chosen date at Shahjahanabad which in halcyon times reflected the Mughal’s imperial imprimatur. Ram Singh went about the day’s affairs like any other one and was looking forward to giving his master a safe and comfortable ride. He was happy to see the sun out and Moti looked resplendent adorning the choicest of jewellery. A mix of vermillion and sandalwood paste was applied on the forehead and the howdah weighing a little over five kilos was placed on her back, upon Ram Singh’s instruction of ‘zook’ (bend). After placing the exquisitely crafted crown studded with diamonds and sapphire in front, both the Viceroy and the First Lady ascended the vehicle without much difficulty. The roads strewn with rose petals, lakhs of people ecstatically waving hands and the sound of trumpets marked the journey. Moti did not care to notice the fanfare and his master sporting a white turban maintained a straight face as if there was no one present to watch this spectacle. By the afternoon, the sky was clear and the sun shone bright. When the cavalcade reached Clock tower in Chandni Chowk in the midst of waves and cheers, there was a sudden tremor backed up with a loud sound.

An explosion which unseated the Viceroy, brought the chattri to the ground and gave way to wails of anguish from a section of the crowd. In the meantime, Ram Singh could not comprehend what was unfolding in front of him and ducked his head in a split second. The shrapnel went past, gently scything the turban. His first reaction was to reach out to Saheb and Madam, escorting them to safety. The Viceroy in the heat of the moment ordered Ram Singh to not stop and continue with the journey, despite grievous injury. Lady Hardinge emerged unscathed. One of the servants died instantly. Moti’s leg was oozing blood due to a stray object which pierced through her toes but she showed great presence of mind by not lifting the leg since that would have thrown everyone down to the ground. The entire Tokri Basti started rushing towards the blast scene but the protocol prevented them from reaching anywhere near the entourage. A gentle wave by Ram Singh on seeing the commotion helped allay concerns for the time being. After gently muttering aaghat (move forward) to Moti’s ears, she kept walking ahead. The aides realised that Viceroy needed emergency treatment since he lost consciousness. He was promptly taken out and given first aid. Upon realising that time was running out, Lord Hardinge who was a stickler for time shouted “The show must go on. I will read out the speech as planned, come what may.”

After taking him to the Viceregal lodge for further treatment, the show went on as planned and Ram Singh was able to take his master to the destination despite Moti nursing a serious wound. The grand day with unexpected twists and turns came to an end. Moti was taken to the veterinary doctor while Ram Singh headed home to hero’s welcome for his valiant efforts. Without speaking a word, he resigned to his room thinking about how insignificant his life or that of Mahavir responsible for holding the chattra who passed away or Moti was to the British. They were only concerned with meeting their own ends and all that the servants were expected to do was show unflinching loyalty to their masters. He muttered “The Nawab of Rampur would never have acted this way and would have ensured that proper care was taken, the way he would have done for a member of his family.” Handsome reward money was issued for finding the culprit by the British, residents of Delhi and local rulers like Nawab of Patiala separately.

One day he saw his 22 year old son move frantically across the courtyard. Upon spotting his father, he quickly ran and hugged him breaking into tears. He revealed “ For the last three years, I have been secretly associated with the revolutionaries by attending their lectures and underground activities while studying in Shanti Niketan. But I was not aware of an assassination plot. When I came to witness the procession, I spotted two people who were very familiar to me, of which I instantly recognised firebrand Rash Behari Bose. When I went towards them to strike a conversation, one of his aides threw a bomb aimed at Moti. Before I could react, they had fled the scene and the sky was covered in yellow smoke. I have been wanting to tell the authorities about this but I do not have the courage to do so. What should I do ?” After some thought, Ram replied “ My grandfather always used to recount Mir Jafar’s story of betrayal, conspiring with Jagath Seth during the Battle of Plassey to help the British make inroads. Since then we have been serving them without getting anything in return. What makes them soldier on despite such setbacks is that they have resolute focus and place their country above any other consideration. It is time we also did that. Only the both of us know this secret and this should remain that way. The actions of your comrades came in service of the motherland. We cannot betray them at any cost. And I am glad you feel strongly about the country's freedom but promise me that you won't take up arms at any cost. Now, go home and take some rest.” Two weeks into the incident, the nation embraced the arrival of a new year, Moti recovered from his injury and vigorously shook his trunk upon seeing his master.

Ram Singh quietly walked up to his designated tent and said

“Namaste Master, I have come back to take charge. I am at your service now.”

CHAPTER - 3

WHAT IF ?

Synopsis

Vallabhai Patel was a late entrant to the Indian freedom movement at the age of 42 and was a professional lawyer with a thriving practice. Khudiram Bose on the other hand was one of the youngest martyrs who was hanged at the age of 18 for an assassination attempt. This story is a fictional account of a conversation between the two titans inside a railway station in Calcutta at the time of Swadeshi movement based on a few situations mirroring real life incidents which happened in their individual lives.

The October rains had just settled in, with a heavy cyclonic storm lashing the city of Bengal and the train which was supposed to go to Dacca came to a grinding halt. Patel, not in the best of spirits alighted from the train and was wondering about the cruel twist of fate. He had been painstakingly saving money to fulfill his dream of pursuing barrister’s course in Britain. A letter which contained the ticket for voyage along with the passport reached the hands of his elder brother instead of him and a confusion arose since they both went by the name VJ Patel. He acceded to his brother’s request of letting him go first respecting the norms of seniority but the heart longed for fulfilling the cherished dream. In the middle of the usual chaos came a sprightly young boy donning a white dhoti and kurta with wrinkles on both sides. His hands could barely hold onto the numerous pamphlets and he seemed like an individual in a hurry. The heavy winds curtailed his movement and he decided to rest on a nearby bench sipping tea. Patel who was sitting next to the boy took the pamphlet and started reading its contents carefully. He then turned to the boy and asked “What is your name and what brings you here?.” He replied in a confident tone “ My name is Khudiram Bose and I am sure you have been reading in the newspapers about the clarion call of the Swadeshi Movement. I am contributing my bit to the effort by spreading the message far and wide.” Patel clasping his suitcase remarked “Master Khudiram, you seem to be a school going kid and at an age when you should be focussing on academics, why are you indulging in such activities which could derail your future prospects?.” The familiar noise of the jhal muri seller caught the interest of Bose and he decided to buy one plate for 2 annas. He offered the local delicacy to Patel which he politely rescinded and with a gentle shrug replied “ Aurobindo Ghosh once said that there is nothing more important than one’s duty to motherland and when you witness nation’s degradation at the hands of a foreign power, then what use is education turning away from the plight of fellow Hindustanis?.” In response to his incisive reply, Vallabhai Patel said “I admire you for your unflinching commitment at such a young age but while you think about the nation, shouldn’t you also be thinking about yourself?. Who will take care of your family who might be dependent on you?.” With a firm look, Khudiram Bose told him that the decision he took was a well thought out one and this task which was bestowed to him required immediate attention. He reasoned that if everyone were to think about themselves then it would never be possible for Bharat to escape from the throes of an oppressive British rule. Bubbling with curiosity he asked “ Patel Babu, you seem to be a well to do man and yet while I was observing, I felt that you were not a content man with something constantly pricking you.” Taken aback by the keen sense of observation, Vallabhai recounted the unfortunate incident of letter mix up which reflected the moral quandary of chasing one’s aspirations and the sacrifices needed to be made in the process . After carefully listening to his story, Khudiram Bose ordered two cups of chai for both of them and remarked “ I see where you come from and there is no reason for you to feel bad about this incident. The spirit of sacrifice should not be seen from the perspective of letting go of something precious rather it is about doing the right thing for the larger good. There is no point in having regrets and once you make a decision, then it is important to stick to it, come what may. The nation would benefit a great deal from a wise and

articulate man like you.”

Patel jokingly chided Khudiram about drafting him into the struggle as well and continued “ I tried reading the poster but it is in Bengali because of which I am sadly unable to comprehend what is written in its entirety. Can you please guide me through the specifics?.” Without any hesitation he replied “ This pamphlet provides incriminating evidence detailing the atrocities of the British Government and the Anushilan Samiti of which I am a part of is inviting patriots to assemble near the station for giving a boost to the Swadeshi movement.” The intensity of the showers was reducing and the station master announced that the train would depart in the next 45 minutes. Vallabhai was aware about the plans for partitioning Bengal but according to him any form of protest should not follow the model of militant nationalism. Then, there would not be any difference between the oppressed and the oppressor. Victory of dharma according to him could be achieved only through the path of righteousness following the correct means. Khudiram Bose citing Bhagavad Gita which greatly influenced him respectfully said “ There is an important difference which you are overlooking , Patel Babu. When those in power are ruthless and willing to go to any extent to stop you from getting access to what is rightfully yours, then dharma is to preserve the conscience of the nation. In Gita, when the stage is set for the battle, Arjuna looks at Krishna and asks ‘ Kim no rajyena govinda….’ (Chapter 1 verse 32-33) which roughly translates to, of what use this kingdom is to me, if I have to fight a bloody war against my own fraternal relations and gurus like Dronacharya and Bhishma. In response to this dilemma Krishna later says ‘Yada yada hi dharmasya…’ (Chapter 4 Verse 7-8) in which he talks about his arrival to uphold righteousness at a time when the fine line between what is right and wrong gets blurred. I believe that there is no point in waiting for Krishna to descend when the ground beneath your feet is slipping away. You are your own master.”

Needless to say Vallabhai Patel was at a loss for words and was not prepared for this level of articulation. After a brief pause for regrouping his thoughts, he said “Master Khudiram, you are well aware of what you are setting out to do and I hope your dreams bear fruition. I must warn you that the Britishers are ruthless, willing to go to any lengths to latch onto power. What would you do if they were to arrest you?” With a smile on his face which bore a piercing look, he replied “ This is not about Khudiram or Aurobindo Ghosh rather even if our voices are stifled, the flame of fighting for freedom should remain ignited across generations. If this is the small price we have to pay for the same, then I have no issues with it.” It was time to call it a day and Patel wished him well for his future endeavours, promising him of any help if needed in near future. Khudiram shook his hands and assured him of him being able to fulfil his dream of being a barrister. His departing words were “Wherever you are, do not forget your fellow countrymen.”

Vallabhai Patel was lounging on a charpoy with his newly born son Dayabhai by his side, reading a small article tucked away in a corner about the clampdown on distribution of anti British pamphlets and protests . He quickly rushed to the drawing room and gently ran his hands through a copy which he carried with him post their meeting. He left a silent prayer hoping that the poor boy would be spared of the colonial highhandedness. Time passed and he was running pillar to post, securing the treatment of his wife who had not been keeping well. Patel grappling with multiple responsibilities was caught up in the vicissitudes of time and scantily kept track of the happenings in the country. On a sultry afternoon, a headline in the local Gujarati paper in the year 1908 caught his attention.

‘EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD REVOLUTIONARY KHUDIRAM BOSE HANGED FOR HIS ROLE IN MUZAFFARPUR CONSPIRACY CASE.’ (Roughly translated). His heart sank and he instantly latched onto the armrest. The seeds which were sown during the encounter would blossom into a towering tree with its roots expanding to different corners of newly independent India. Behind the Iron Man’s genesis was Khudiram’s steely resolve.

By S Ram Visakh