Recollections and reflections

Reminiscences, Rafi Ahmad Kidwai

I first came in contact with Subhas Bose in 1923 at Delhi when the Congress was divided into two groups over the question of what was known as 'Council Entry.'...Subhas Babu, as the favourite lieutenant of Deshabandhu, was playing a prominent part in the controversy. more>>

SUBHASH THE MYSTIC PATRIOT

 

          He seemed grave and reserved:
          In the glory he deserved;
          A sea of patience and calm
          Not stirred by any alarm;
          Carved by God: pure gold;
          Cast into perfect mould,
          Almost unbelievable
          In his nature - firm and stable,
          Unmoved by any whim -
          A tireless, devout pilgrim.
          The Light of the Lord's grace
          Shone in his serene face.
          His eyes held you to him
          Which looked to the Supreme.
          He was quiet in a crowd,
          And did not speak aloud;
          To the world he was a rebel,
          Strong and unmoveable,
          Sharp as a glistening sword,
          Never wasting a word,
          His goal shone bright and clear
          And he, like a true Seer,
          Walked forward unafraid
          Where angels fear to tread.
          Amid all chaos and war,
          He shone like the Northern star.
          The change was when he smiled:
          And there blossomed a child
          Who was not at all defiled
          By commonplace worldliness.
          Strikingly pure and guileless,
          His real nature shone through:
          Earnest, selfless and true.
          Here was one patriot
          Who had for himself brought
          Only a life devoid of rest;
          Loneliness unto his chest:
          Friends he had, but they saw
          Only his plans and their flaw:
          His alliance with infamous tyrannies,
          And his journeys overseas
          At times of war in his nation;
          Not his utter desperation
          To go to any lengths to free
          His nation from the British dynasty.
          He knew he was blacking his name
          And drastically cutting his fame:
          He was unsupported but for his sense
          Of duty to the suffering citizens
          And knew that all those wayfarers
          God had made his task-bearers
          Must dredge on in strife and pain:
          With no hope of the smallest gain
          For welfare of people who seem
          Intent on living an idle dream
          And uniting only to condemn
          All those who try to rouse them
          Or do anything creative and new;
          Among them are the very few
          Who stand up to support the great
          Regardless of their own fate.
          Against humans he fought with equanimity
          Ironically, for humanity.
          All he did was serve us all,
          Answering to Almighty's call.
          Leader he was, and so he'll be -
          Leader by love, not tyranny.
          His glowing pure character made
          Fifty thousand come to his aid.
          And thus they stood: a splendid blend
          United by the bond of a friend:
          Cultures, religions apart
          They were united in the heart.
          Brothers they said, brothers they were,
          And sisters too made a fair share.
          They'll remember him rill the world does end;
          Shedding tears for their beloved friend.
          From this unworthy world he's gone
          Pure and untarnished as the sun.
          He died in body, but in the minds of men
          He lives and reigns by love again.
          Renunciation in his soul,
          He lived to fill his crucial role
          To rouse the flame that The Eastern Light:
          'The Cyclonic Hindu' had set alight -
          Lifelong he gave up all comfort
          And happiness of every sort.
          He lived by his ideals and faith
          Serving God till his dying breath;
          Saffron robes he never wore:
          But who was an ascetic more?

Anwesha studies in class XII in AECS-4, Mumbai. She is a poet by hobby, and an amateur painter and singer. In her own words, "I am an ardent admirer, nay - lover of Netaji - as Kamath says - 'To know him was to love him'".

Author: 
Anwesha Goswami