A Story Untold…

, , Leave a comment

People sacrifice their bodies for their country. A martyr’s life is worth many a coward’s. While ensconcing myself in old patriotic movies, I thought of a story. It was a different story, something which is not made prevalent through the fables and patriotic memoirs. I wrote it down in poem.




To all my friends, family and countrymen,

I have just one thing to swear,

I will be cut, bruised, torn apart,

But your repression I cannot bear.


Raise your heads in mortal splendour,

Open your eyes to withdraw treason,

Restrain all that tries to harm thee,

Wear your armour for only this reason.


Vande Mataram


His voice ravaged those around him, like a lion’s roar baffles all;

Mesmerising was his presence, encouraging the Raj’s fall.


The revolutionary briefed all with the battle plan, the strategies considered best;

That the very next day, they would knife the Raj’s chest.


He instructed them to lay siege at the crack of dawn,

And everyone dispersed, anticipating that fated morn.


Everyone left but one small child, who got up long after the crowd dispersed;

He walked slowly towards that epic figure, with an angry expression, tears interspersed.



The father’s features softened as the child approached, a mild smile covered his face;

He opened his arms, inviting a warm embrace.


The son did not accept the invitation, just looked the father straight in the eye;

He forbade him going into battles, to abandon all plans and stand by.


The father explained that he couldn’t, that he had to do it for the nation;

The child started trembling in fear, grief and frustration.


The child argued with him, his Mother on his mind,

The patriotic love took over the figure, left him Blind.


The father gave reason after reason for his actions,

But the child could never understand his passions.


So he got up and started to leave, while the child refused to go;

An ominous chill rattled his spine, as a deep fear started to grow.


Scene 2


The battle begun with a shot from the revolutionary’s bullet, into the heart of a British general;

And a fierce war loomed out of proportion; many a gun and many a saddle.


The attack was one of surprise, and the revolutionaries seemed to have an upper hand;

It was their territory after all, their blood and bones constituted the aura of the land.



They had an upper hand, and at one point they seemed like winning;

But out of the dusty horizon came the reinforcements, the death gods seemed to sing.


They all fell, the Raj’s force was too great;

It ended with the revolutionary’s death.


It was only a small uprising; many such broke the shackles of the British Raj;

 And that freedom became imminent, earlier which seemed only a mirage.



The nation stood up on its feet, as it slowly progressed to new heights;

The young child now had grown up, succumbed to internal fights.


He hated his nation, that consumed his father;

He hated that independence, which exhumed his soul.


He had a family, a wife and a son;

He remained mum, about all the glories his father had won.


He fought with his brother, to never utter a word about his father;

He said he would never forgive him if he did so, he would prefer to be an orphan rather.


But one day the grandson heard such a conversation, and startled was he;

A fire had ignited in his heart, a passion burnt bright in thee.


He wanted to take part in parades, but his father never agreed;

The father grew concerned with all the patriotism he would breed.


Scene 4

He grew up to be a bright young man, and he voiced his love more freely;

The father would resort to barbaric practices, like beating his son silly.


He dreamt of joining the military, the men who would love nothing more than becoming martyrs;

When he voiced his wish to his father, there was an argument fierce.


The father slapped, bruised even forbade him from attending his cremation

If he joined the army; he mocked his love for his nation.


The son got up every time and pleaded his request be amended;

Finally the father locked him inside, the son felt offended.


The next morning the son had escaped, the father felt distraught;

Many years passed since then, many accolades the son had brought.


Scene 5

But his parent’s no longer kept any contact with him; this was his father’s plan;

Hoping that he would return some day, hoping that he would be a changed man.


But that day never came, there was a tough battle once and the son died;

When the letter arrived home, the father fell to his knees and cried.


He was called to give his final farewell, the old man was totally shattered;

But his heart had changed, among the salutes and homage the people had scattered.


He saw it in their eyes, how much his son’s sacrifice meant to them;

And he understood his Father for the first time, the sentiments were the same.


The nation which he cursed so often, which he had hated so dearly;

Which he had blamed for consuming his father and son, was so close, so nearly.


And on his deathbed he thought-


Raise your heads in mortal splendour,

Open your eyes to withdraw treason,

Restrain all that tries to harm thee,

Wear your armour for only this reason.





Vande Mataram

Share and Enjoy

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Delicious
  • LinkedIn
  • StumbleUpon
  • Add to favorites
  • Email
  • RSS