MY FATHER

That was an inauspicious winter morning thirty-seven years ago.
But for me it is only recent past as the events never fainted of my memory.

A car intervened my sight and stopped in front of my home,
While I was basking as well as studding on the courtyard,
Also thinking about visiting my ailing father in the hospital.
I was chalking out algebra, hence did not pay attention to the incident,
Also I was not expecting anyone to visit my place that morning.

But a loud wail distracted me and I peeped through the door,
 It was my mom, who was getting down from it crying,
I speculated the matter, rushed home without seeing who else was in the car,
 Spread myself on a bed crying aloud, as I was his darling son.
   
Ask him about the significance of the  term 'father' to understand my pain,
Who lost patronage and affection of his father in his childhood,
When he was yet to understand the meaning of life at the age of twelve,
When his shoulders were jerrybuilt to lift the burden of a household,
Along with the load of books to ensure a secured a  future for himself.

A bold revolutionary communist ended his glorious journey,
Inscribing his name in golden letters in the history of Indian freedom struggle,
After fighting and winning the prolonged armed war of freedom,
Against the British rulers and the native kings who supported them.

The schools in the periphery voluntarily declared leave for the day,
And arranged a vast procession of students and teachers in his respect,
From home to the funeral ground with flowers, drums and bands to pay their homage,
To their loved a freedom fighter, Sanskrit scholar, teacher and homeopath.

I was sitting still near his lifeless body until he was carried in the procession,
My eyes fixed on his earthen lamp lighted calm and contained face,
Mind got busy in imagining his hardships in guerrilla warfare in Nilagiri hills,
Risking and sacrificing the golden days of youth for our motherland.

I feel proud of him being his son, when I think about his not accepting,
The travel passes, the pensions, portfolios and privileges offered to him,
For his contributions towards the struggle of independence,
Saying, "I have not done this to enjoy the fruit,.it was my duty towards my mother"
That too when we were penniless as he had resigned from his private teaching job,
In order to serve my old and bedridden grand father.

Also his words I remembered and materialized in my life,
I don't know in to what extent, "Speak the truth, you will never need,
To remember what you said yesterday and will never be ashamed of that."

I must confess he was atheist only reading and writing patriotic songs,
But never forced anyone about it, never he interfered or argued or discouraged 
Belief, worship and rituals of my mother or of anyone else in the whole household,
If life be, hopefully be it like his, if death be today or tomorrow,be it like his.