Conversations

I was on the eleventh day

of my fast,

tired and weary,

with a film floating

over my eyes,

I began wondering

when would every child

get enough to eat

and go to school.

We had replaced the

Empire with another

and they had tried

their utmost to turn

us into subservient tools.

 

Just then an old man appeared.

I knew I was hallucinating,

but in exhaustion, I said,

‘Go on, speak!’

He offered me a packet.

‘What is it?’ I asked with suspicion.

‘Salt,’ he replied with humility.

‘Salt!’ I spat out the words:

‘Must you rub salt on my wounds?

Don’t you know I am on a fast

and haven’t eaten for days?’

‘It’s what I struggled

with the Empire,’ he replied.

‘This fast must not now go on

it’s easy to die for your country,

but you must now live.

This salt is all I have to give.’

 

As he was walking away,

I ran after him

and grabbed him

by his loin cloth;

it was coarse.

’What are you wearing?’

my throat was parched

my voice hoarse.

‘Khadi,’ he said,

‘it was the warp and weft

of our struggle, which led to

the Constitution,

you now seek to amend.’

 

‘Khadi!’ I cried scornfully,

‘it’s a relic of the past

we long foresook;

they’ve thrown the weavers out

and brought in the poly-global look’.

 

The old man looked at me sadly:

‘it took us many years,

many hands to spin;

the women who spun

entered the struggle

as did those who wore it.

The cloth was cut

to our measure, now

you must find

your own measure.’

But is measuring alone

the only measure of our times?

 

‘Who are you?’ I asked

measuring my words slowly.

 

‘It’s wonderful you have

brought the people

to the streets,

but remember,’ he said,

‘amidst the heat,

if you choose to walk

in ahimsa’s footsteps

you must remain non-violent.’

 

‘And what if something turns amiss?’

I retorted.

‘Remember Chauri Chaura,

remember this.’

‘Ah, but now the ‘chors’ are

in the Upper House

and Lower,’ I said,

lowering my eyes

to his clumsily built sandals.

 

He was walking away fast,

But I shouted after him,

‘Is this a global village?’

‘It’s a global pillage,’

he responded over his shoulder,

‘but now each of you

will have to find your own way

of doing satyagraha.’

August 26, 2011 Sagari Chhabra