Head held high, eyes narrowed in
concentration,
Not a hint of fear- it’s been
already conquered,
He looks up from his diary, the
tiny hint of a mocking grimace playing on his lips,
With a gaze so stern it smolders the
victorious look from his jailor’s face,
He arises proudly from his narrow
cell, ready for his one last rendezvous.
The name of the Motherland on his
lips,
With a grim satisfaction that his
purpose had been achieved,
He marches on with long strides,
echoing in those corridors which reek of death.
With pride
and sorrow in their eyes, his fellow comrades watches him stride forth,
One last
time, they egged themselves on to watch their hero,
One last
time, they egged themselves on through their tears,
Never had
anyone walked so purposefully towards the gallows,
A silent, poignant
look he gave them; of reassurance, hope and purpose;
Reminding them
of honour and duty and everything worth living for,
He marches
on with long strides, echoing in those corridors which reek of death.
The air was deathly still; his
captors flinched at the sight of his proud,unassuming bearing,
They tried to comprehend his demeanor;
was it pride or suppressed anger?
They found no fear, not even a
hint of dread on the face of their nemesis,
Shackled, though he might be; none
could even hope to chain his spirit,
An all-conquering love for ‘Azadi’;
a love for his beloved Motherland,
Led him forth through thick and
thin, through paths unimaginable for lesser men;
Infusing hope and patriotism in
his comrades, instilling belief and give them direction,
He walked through those doors of
death, climbed those wooden steps, to the gallows,
He
stood proudly on the creaky platform and stared at his captors,
Stubborn
was he to the last moment, breaking their advances to get him to speak,
The
wind caressed his handsome, gaunt face one last time as the noose was placed,
He
felt the tension in the unsteady hands of the executioner as it was tightened,
Silently,
he thanked the Almighty for giving him the chance to serve his motherland,
For
one last time he looked up to the skies and shouted ‘Inquilab Zindabad’
As
the cruel order was passed, his captors cringed in awe of his glory,
Nature,
bereft of her true son shed tears of raindrops on them all,
As
the world echoed in the mournful thunderclaps, which rang as a death knell,
In solemn remembrance
of his supreme sacrifice.
(Dedicated in loving memory of Shaheed Bhagat
Singh, who inspired millions to fight against all odds.)
