ESSENCEOFFREEDOM

BY SREELEKHA CHATTERJEE

- Swami Vivekananda

It’s my last day in town Instead of feeling the joy of going abroad, an overwhelming sense of melancholy envelops me, much like an overcast sky suppressing the bright sunlight. My mother, seated next to me in the car’s front seat, doesn’t talk, unless I ask her something to which she replies almost reluctantly, looking in another direction in monosyllables. She is unmindful, gloomy.

“It’s your last day in the country ” She utters when I pull the car at the traffic signal I remain quiet, unsure of how to react to that.

My surroundings stir with penetrating midmorning sunlight, palpitating with life thronging pavement, mixed shops at the roadside, and barrows moving with fruits and vegetables. Several small children, probably between 8 and 15 years of age, hover around every car, scooter, auto-rickshaw, at the signal with vibrant tricolored flags of various sizes. I notice their disheveled state tattered clothes, unkempt hair, faces and body smeared with dust and dirt, indicating that they live in filth and squalor, unknown to my world of safety and cleanliness. One of them comes up to our car.

“Sir, won’t you buy one for your car?” He asks

I spot national flags everywhere on dashboards of cars, attached to scooter handlebars, and jutting out of autorickshaws

“It’s independence day,” I say aloud, suddenly feeling patriotism surge about me

I remember with pride how the first Prime Minister of India, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, had expressed relief from the oppressive British rule in his famous celebratory declaration “At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance ”

I wonder whether we have become a nation where we can freely voice our concerns, grievances, and deliberations

“Do you go to school?” I ask the boy, while buying a mini-sized national flag.

The taciturn boy doesn’t answer, goes away

Probably, the sad, embarrassing truth is that they have never been to school, leave alone the basic amenities that each and every citizen deserves Education is everyone’s birth right For providing basic education to all, a lot more schools need to be built in every part of the country. But why am I even bothering, or rather pondering over not-to-be-easilyresolved matters Tomorrow I will go to a different country, where I will get all the economic and social security for myself

The signal turns green, and I drive onto a side lane. Outside a government hospital, I notice a long queue The newspapers always point toward shortage of medical facilities in almost every corner of the country. We need adequate infrastructure, many more hospitals and medical colleges in urban as well as rural areas to make available essential health care both preventive and supportive services to the citizens in the form of medicine, equipment, modern techniques and approaches. But why am I even worrying about the depressing occurrence? What is the use of such a percipient, momentary empathy?

We reach the marketplace. A number of greengrocers are seen carrying out their daily transactions with the customers We reach one of their stalls to purchase some vegetables potatoes, onions kept in plastic bags, while tomatoes, bitter gourds, brinjals, lady fingers, bottle gourds, and many more spread out on a wet jute cloth and displayed on a rickety wooden table, from which the water sprinkled onto the veggies are dripping After enquiring about the current prices of most of the vegetables, we realize that theyall seem to be skyrocketing.

“Why is it that the rates are so high?” I ask

“It’s the untimely rains, lack of proper storage facilities, and inadequate transport options. But to tell you the truth, it’s our unchangeable fate ” The vegetable seller says with an eye-roll, casting an impatient, indignant look “Who is suffering the most in all of this? The common man!” He resumes. “The farmers are the worst sufferers.” My mother says in a deeply perturbed manner, when we get back to the car

“Why can’t we do something about that?” I ask, recalling how the struggling farmers smitten by distress,financially burdened by the erratic weather conditions unrewarding their hard work, tortured by moneylenders have committed suicides in the past when unable to pay their loans and other costs of cultivation. Apart from acknowledging the real issue of self-destruction of the farmers that rests in our system, they can be provided with zero-interest loans along with flexible payment deadlines, and above all, appropriate counseling sessions for treating mental health problems. But why am I showing so much of concern? How is it affecting me, specially, when my life is about to take a spectacular turn a splendid, carefree one?

“Who? The government is doing whatever it can. But the support of the youth is very much required in accomplishing the task of our societal welfare If young, educated, talented people like you decide to go for safe and secure options in life, whom should we resort to for setting things right?” My mother says, breaking into my thoughts, her eyes red and brimming with tears

I remain silent, unable to understand why she is blaming me for the hardships faced by my countrymen affected by life’s tumultuous waves

On our way back home, I glance at the azure sky dotted with numerous vibrant kites like an uncountable procession of people, amongst them the tricolored ones seem to be the brightest

Excited voices of people enjoying independence day by exchanging sweets, hoisting flags, and flying kites, while loud music of patriotic songs and peppy numbers play in the background are seen everywhere.

As I park our car outside our house, I see a young delivery boy, probably of my age in his early twenties, ruffled hair, fatigued eyes, and clothes somewhat disarrayed at our gate.

On seeing us, he smiles cheerfully an inherent trait, a well-mastered art of his occupation, or probably a mannerism taught by the company where he worked and says, “Happy Independence Day!”

“Are you looking for someone?” I ask

“No. I’ve already delivered a parcel inside.” He says and walks up to his motorbike and drives off.

We’re of the same age He is struggling to make both ends meet, while I am enjoying a comfortable life. Can’t we do something for their proper education, training, and assist them in taking up more meaningful profession and not allow them to remain caught up in this kind of work? If the youthremains stuck in the delivery job, what will happen to the country?

“I’m not going anywhere,” I announce while walking inside the house

My mother turns around with arching brows and widened eyes.

“I won’t remain a passive onlooker anymore to other adversities I’ve resolved to contribute in alleviating their sufferings in whatever way it’s possible for me.” I continue, surrendering totally to the flow of emotions through me, feeling a sense of peace and contentment for the first time since morning

She looks away, perhaps to hide her tears that she mops with the back of her hand

“God bless you, my child! You can achieve all your dreams and be affluent in your own country where you can create opportunities for yourself as well as for others ” She says smilingly, her eyes still moist with the emotional upheaval

As we enter through the front door, we notice a box on the table covered with a shiny, decorative paper, probably the parcel that has been delivered. My mother opens the cover and inside it we find tricolored barfis (sweets) with a note from a friend that says, “Happy Independence Day! Let’s believe in collective effort for a comprehensive growth of all Indians.”

I fathom that the message just received has spoken my mind, as the true essence of freedom doesn’t mean to engage ourselves solely in our own privilege and prosperity but in sharing and caring for others who are less fortunate, working toward their enlightenment, elevation, and providing them with whatever that remains within our capacity The real nationalism lies in serving our fellow brothers and sisters.

Sreelekha Chatterjee’s short stories have been published in various national, and international magazines and journals like Indian Periodical, Femina, Indian Short Fiction, eFiction India, The Criterion, The Literary Voyage, World of Words, Writer’s Ezine, and Estuary, and have been included in numerous print and online anthologies such as Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul series (Westland Ltd, India), Wisdom of Our Mothers (Familia Books, USA), and several others. She lives in New Delhi, India.

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