By the first week of November, the plan was ready to be implemented. We had done every preparation we could. The gawai were ready to sing in various places, and pamphlets were already printed and transported to the locations where the gawai planned to perform.
The first performance was scheduled for November 4th, and I chose Chowk, Lucknow, as the venue. It was a perfect mix of commercial and residential areas, ensuring a diverse audience. Akatsuki had done a remarkable job of spreading the word among the locals, announcing that there would be a "fun performance by a local band," and everyone was welcome to attend for free.
The performance was set to take place around 9 o'clock, depending on the number of people gathered. Given the buzz in the air, it seemed likely that we could start earlier than planned.
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POV: Rakesh
My name is Rakesh, and I work at a bleach factory near the bank. It's not hectic work, and it pays a decent amount, but life is still difficult. The price of grain is increasing day by day, according to my brother, who is a farmer. The Britishers are pressuring farmers to switch their crops from grains to opium or cotton. They keep pushing zamindars and independent farmers to comply.
I don't understand what these hated foreigners want from us. They came here to trade, not to rule us. I can feel our power slipping from our hands; we're becoming more like slaves to these foreigners. It frustrates me, but there's nothing I can do.
As I was returning home, I noticed a large crowd gathered near Azhbari Gate. Remembering the rumours I'd heard about a song performance, I thought it might be a noble idea—something different that could relieve some of the tension in the air. I planned to join the crowd, hoping it would lift my spirits.
I saw some of my neighbours as I approached. I greeted them and noticed a large number of children in front of the stage. Among the crowd were people I didn't recognize, handing out small green flags to the kids. At first, I thought of leaving, suspecting this might be some religious gathering. But just as I turned to walk away, the performers took to the stage.
They greeted the crowd loudly and began, "In these difficult times, when we're under so much pressure, we only have each other to support. So let us present a song that unites each of us."
As they started singing, the melody reached deep within me, stirring something I didn't know was there. The words felt like a balm to my weary soul:
Yahan vahan saara jahan dekh liya,
Ab tak bhi tere jaisa koi nahin...
I don't know what stirred inside me, but as the song continued, I found myself singing along with the people beside me. The energy in the crowd surged, and it felt like we were all connected at that moment.
Vande maataram, vande maataram,
Janam janam tera hoon deewana main...
It was as if the performers were channelling our collective longing for freedom, and the crowd echoed back their fervour. The green flags waved in the air, reflecting our shared hopes and dreams. The realization struck me: we were not alone in this struggle; there was a growing movement among us, one that could no longer be silenced.
Tu hi zindagi hai, tu hi meri mohabbat hai...
As we sang together, I felt the weight of oppression begin to lift, even if just for a moment. The harmony of our voices resonated with the spirit of resistance, igniting a flicker of hope in my heart.
Maa tujhe salaam, maa tujhe salaam,
Amma tujhe salaam, maa tujhe salaam!
We shouted together, but the loudest voices weren't just from the adults around me. It was the children in the front row, their voices ringing with innocence and joy that cut through the tension hanging in the air. Their carefree approach to the moment reminded me of the simple joys of life—joys that the Britishers were trying to strip away from us.
As I looked into the bright, happy smiles of those children, a wave of understanding washed over me. It wasn't that I couldn't do anything; I just hadn't found a way to do something yet. Perhaps I had been too focused on the barriers and struggles that surrounded us, too blinded by the weight of despair to see the potential for change.
At that moment, as we sang in unison, I realized that this performance was more than just a display of talent; it was a declaration of our resilience. These children, with their pure hearts, were the embodiment of our hope, and their laughter was a call to action. It made me rethink my own role in this fight against oppression.
As the song continued, I felt an urge rising within me—a desire to be part of this movement, to contribute to the cause in any way I could. Maybe I couldn't wield a sword or make grand speeches, but I could find ways to support my fellow countrymen, to stand with them against the tyranny that threatened our way of life.
The performance was a reminder that change starts from within, and it can be fueled by the most unexpected sources. In this crowd, united by song and spirit, I felt the first stirrings of my own resolve. I might not have known the path yet, but I was determined to find it. For the children, for my brother, for every farmer struggling under the British's oppressive grip—I would find a way to fight back.
As the performance progressed, they captivated us with more songs—Saare Jahan Se Achha and Dil Diya Hai Jaan Bhi Denge. The words resonated deeply, filling the air with a passion that ignited something within me. Whoever had penned these lyrics must have harboured an immense love for our land, for they encapsulated the essence of our struggle and aspirations. Each note struck a chord in my heart, reminding me of the beauty and richness of our heritage that we were fighting to preserve.
When the performance finally came to a close, the performers began distributing pamphlets. I eagerly accepted one, even though I sadly couldn't read its contents. The pamphlet felt like a tangible connection to that night—a keepsake of the emotions that had washed over me, the hopes that had been stirred within me. I clutched it tightly, determined to hold onto this moment as a souvenir of newfound resolve.
The next day, the songs still echoed in my mind, their melodies replaying like a cherished tune. I found myself humming the lines as I worked at the bleach factory, the rhythmic sounds merging with the mundane clanging of machinery. When I shared my experience with my colleagues, I noticed their eyes lighting up with interest. One of my coworkers, Mohan, mentioned hearing rumours of another performance in Dailganj.
"It's supposed to be amazing!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "Everyone is talking about it. We should go together!"
His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon, we were all in agreement. We decided to gather after work and make our way to Dailganj for what promised to be another thrilling performance. I felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness, eager to witness the spirit of our people once again. This time, I hoped to connect with the words, to understand their meaning and purpose.
As we approached the venue, the vibrant energy of the crowd enveloped us. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement, and I could see familiar faces in the throng. The performers took to the stage, and I felt a thrill run through me, knowing we were part of something greater than ourselves. The gathering was more than just a performance; it was a movement, a collective cry for freedom that echoed in every heart present.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with my friends, ready to experience the music and camaraderie that promised to awaken our spirits once more.
POV END
As the performances continued to resonate across various regions of India, it felt as though a powerful current of unity was surging through the air. For nearly a month, our voices echoed from state to state, each gathering a testament to our collective spirit. The songs that had once felt like whispers of hope now thundered like a mighty chorus, rallying hearts and igniting the flame of resistance among us.
What began as a simple performance had evolved into a movement. Crowds swelled, drawing people from every walk of life. Farmers, labourers, and merchants stood shoulder to shoulder, united in their desire for change. The thrill of anticipation hung thick in the air, and with each new gathering, the camaraderie deepened, binding us together in a shared purpose that transcended our individual struggles.
However, as the British authorities began to take notice, their attempts to quell our growing numbers grew increasingly desperate. The sight of uniformed soldiers descending upon a gathering sent ripples of tension through the crowd, but rather than scattering us, it only fueled our determination.
As the British struggled to disperse the throngs of people assembling across the country, it became evident that their resources were being stretched thin. News of large crowds reached them from every corner, and in their haste, they failed to see the bigger picture. It was not merely a series of performances; it was a powerful uprising taking root in the hearts of the people.
Each performance became an act of defiance, a celebration of our shared identity and aspirations. Even as the British moved to dismantle our gatherings, the spirit of resistance was already taking hold. We were more than just singers and dancers; we were warriors of hope, armed with the most potent weapon of all—our unwavering unity.
With every note sung and every pamphlet passed, the revolution began to take shape, weaving its way through the fabric of our society, drawing more of us into its fold.