The Light of Freedom

Summer holidays were always a welcome relief for Kartik to escape from the daily school routine, the humdrum of traffic and of course the military strictness of his father. Kartik loved to visit his grandparents , in a remote village more than five hours of journey from the noisy city. A big house with spacious rooms, titled roof, a cool courtyard with plenty of space to play unlike the crammed up two bed room apartment back in the city.

The moment Kartik reached the village, grandpa was waiting eagerly to receive him at the intersection which had three lamps on a single pole set up during the British raj. The very street was called the three lamps street. Like always grand pa was on his rickety bicycle with a special seat on the back tyre to carry Kartik. The ten year old quickly hopped on his favourite seat, clinging to grand pa’s shirt. The bicycle moved along the mud path through fields, trees and half dry ponds. Grandma welcomed Kartik with her wrinkly soft arms. 

Kartik quickly moved through different rooms finding all the things the way he had left last summer: the torn kite, the wooden toy with a broken leg, the wooden Top painted with tricolours and of course the comics of his favourite heroes. The boy was filled with pride for finding his things and not being accused of being careless and his half broken favourite toys being thrown in the dustbin without an ounce of remorse by his parents.

Night descended, with a hearty meal, Kartik decided to sleep early. He was put in the king size bed by grand pa. Grand ma tucked the sheets and planted a moist kiss on his forehead. Lights off, the old people left the room. Kartik slept and when he opened his eyes it was still dark. Kartik was too excited to take a morning walk where he could meet his friends either fishing, or paddling on a canoe in the water hyacinth pond. Pulling the bed sheet around him like Saigon to protect from the morning chill , he tiptoed in the courtyard and went to the North corner where there was store room usually filled with all the junk articles. Kartik reached the room and saw the usual the four key padlock was dangling half open like an earring not properly clasped. Kartik didn’t waste anytime, pushed up the heavy iron door which  was rusted at the hinges made a creaking sound. The room initially was dark but slowly his eyes adjusted to see the things strewn everywhere . The junk list was endless : a baby crib, a tricycle with a broken front wheel, iron boxes of all sizes, sticks, brass, copper vessels, cycle tyres and tubes and gosh! A dozen of walking sticks. One stick caught Kartik’s eye. He went closer picked it up. He noticed it was bit longer for a walking stick. It had long hook on the top. In the middle there was brass grip to hold. Kartik took the end of the the Saigon to wipe the dust.

When the layer of dust got cleared, the brass grip was shining. Squinting his eyes Kartik tried to read whatever was engraved on it.

“ Ta- ta- saw..no sa..”, he stuttered.

“ It’s Tata Swami !”, spoke an authoritative voice. Kartik turned with a jerk to find a tall man wearing a dhoti and khaki shirt and khaki turban, raw leather crude boots with his cold breath almost touching the skin.

“ How did you mange to come in. I didn’t hear you. A..a...a I mean who are you?”, spoke Kartik nervously.

“The way you came in !”, Said the stranger. 

 “ I never saw you here. I am mean in this village. Every summer I visit this place. Anyway I am glad I have company. Tell me something about you”’Kartik wanted to divert the topic.

The tall stranger took the stick with the brass grip from the boy. He caressed it lovingly as if knew it intimately.  

Kartik was curious to know what exactly the man did. He was both polite and scared of him.

“ I used to light kerosene lamps in the streets with a stick but now most of them have been replaced with electric bulbs except the three lamps in the intersection”, sighed the stranger. 

“ Oh yes , I have noticed them but never saw them light. May be I don’t venture during nights there”, said. Kartik.

The stranger appeared to smile and asked the boy to accompany him. Initially he was hesitant but decided to go with him. 

It was still dark. Only few dogs half dozing and half awake were barking. Since the stranger had the stick no one dared to come close to them. 

Kartik was now comfortable . The stranger started talking.

English Saheb Mr. Paul Remington was a kind man. He was impressed with my height and the way I carried the stick. He appointed me to light the lamps in the streets and by lanes as well as of his bungalow during the evenings and also to ensure that no lamp would blow off during the night. So almost my job also included that of a night watchman. I didn’t mind. I was not married and so not answerable to anyone. people respected me for I worked with the ‘Saheb’. But to tell you the truth most of the time I never understood a word what he spoke in the alien language. All I used to do was to salute and smile at him.

One evening when I was on the job, I saw lot of men in uniform visited saheb’s house. They were all having a heated discussion which of course I never understood. Keshav, ‘Saheb’s’ cook who knew the language told me that the uniform people were agitated about a band of freedom fighters who had done enough damage in Delhi and now had arrived in the adjacent town. They might attack the arms depot next to our village. 

I failed to understand the word ‘Freedom’. We are free. We have job, money, and we move anywhere we feel like - I thought and promised myself that I would be extra cautious and not let a single street or lane go without light. 

That evening while I was going to my work, I saw a bunch of soldiers kicking a man and calling him names. I felt sad. They left him almost half dead and bleeding. I picked him up, washed his wounds and gave him water. I took him to my home. Next day morning after my duty hours when I went home and spoke to him. His face was swollen and lips bruised and one eye was totally caked with dry blood and he was unable to open. He was an educated man. He told me how they were struggling to get freedom for the motherland. Briefly he told me the exploits of the rulers. He clarified that only few people like Paul Saheb are good the rest are demons. It’s time we throw them from our country. Every person young or old, rich or poor should help us in this struggle. 

Though I didn’t understand much about freedom, I asked my guest to take rest and left for my work in the evening. I was trying to light the lamps but suddenly the stick fell from my hand and hit a bystander who was a white man. In no time like swarm of bees , a whole lot of them came and hit me calling me all names. Though I was injured I did my duty and left for home the next morning. My guest was angry but helpless.

I asked him how I could help them in the struggle. My guest whose name was Azad Babu told me about his plan of robbing the arms depot two days later with a group of his friends. The arms were important to fight against white soldiers. I understood my role. 

The day of the robbery, I summarily lit all the lamps and stood near the depot as if guarding it. When I saw a group of young people coming towards the depot, faces covered, I realised they were the revolutionaries. I started dousing the lamps one by one. The entire street was plunged into darkness. It was pitch dark . All one could hear foot steps and sound of wooden boxes being dragged . Suddenly I heard someone shouting “ where is that idiot who lights the lamps ? It’s so dark. The Indian dogs have been successful in taking away two complete boxes of guns and bullets.” I was happy and left the place quietly and entered the bungalow. But already the white soldiers were there. One of them raised a menacing finger at me. I pretended that I was unaware of what was happening. Paul saheb called me closer and before I could realise a tight slap landed on my face. The other soldiers pounced upon me like hungry dogs and I was thrown in the prison. 

Kartik realised that they had reached the three lamp post. The stranger took the stick and somehow out of nowhere lit the three lamps  the boy was so excited to see them. The stranger smiled at boy and told him that it was time to go. 

“ It’s still dark. Let’s go back”, Kartik `said . 

The stranger laughed . “ You better go child. I have to light more lamps where it would be dark now.”

Kartik was scared to be left alone. He told the stranger that he would wait under the three lamps till he comes back. He also complimented for his heroism in the freedom struggle.

“ How many times I told you never to leave the child alone. You know he sleep walks. See he is also blabbering . Look! Where did he get that ‘Tata Swami’ stick. Hope his ghost didn’t trouble my child”, shouted grandma almost in tears.

“Shhh...stop Janki, You are insulting the great and only freedom fighter of our village . Remember how he sacrificed his life saving us and the poor fellow was hanged to death just under this very three lamp post....”, Kartik could hear the faint voice of his grand pa.