An early summer - II

The gruesome attack on a hapless farmer had the village up in arms and the next few days saw incessant rioting between Hindus and Muslims. The two communities had been living on barbed memories for too long. Of the few hundred families in Sultanpur there wasn’t a single one which hadn’t lost a member to the partition pogrom. With a history like that even the minutest of skirmishes resulted in rioting since many saw it as an opportunity to vent their hatred. Years of togetherness that the village had seen was stark in contrast to the bloodshed that was now commonplace.

While the riots went on unabated the sober voices of the village were cut-up, snapped and threatened to be choked. In all of this there was a young man, Rajbir Singh, all of 31, who stood in the way of rioters pleading aman (peace).

‘Please don’t do this, we haven’t yet even cleaned our previous wounds, how can we inflict fresh wounds on each other. Raab will never pardon us for this.’ Rajbir pleaded to the mob.

In a fit of anger someone from the mob attacked him. There was a deadening silence, rioters came to a halt. But sacrilege had been committed!

The prodigy was half-burnt. The news soon spread and a shocked village woke up to take cognizance of its inhumanity. Rajbir was now struggling for his life at the makeshift hospital.

Half-conscious, he murmured lines from one of his poems.

life at best, appears foggy

sometimes obvious, sometimes illusive

these are my chosen paths

to traverse them my fate

Rajbir was an exceptional poet who had won immense praise from litterateurs for his wonderful works and more so for the drift of his works. As a kid his major influencers were great poets like Bulleh Shah and Waris Shah. He grew up in an ardently religious family, his father was a Granthi in the village Gurdwara and his mother too was a devout believer in the creator’s artistry. While his own religion played an important role in his embryonic years, he was never far away from other religions. His was a respected family in Sultanpur with known lineage going back several generations. The Panchayat would often call upon his father to understand his views on ethos for the village.

Rajbir painfully lived on for a few months, serving a brutal reminder of the past. In his comatose state he did what no saint could do, no religion could. He brought together an embittered people, urged them to live up to human values. Sultanpur was witnessing a societal revival of sorts. Things were beginning to look up. Suddenly the skies seemed cloudless and beautiful horizons were all over.

Yet that fear remained. In a society all kinds of people live together, some move on in life while some hold on to their grudges. The day Rajbir chose to traverse his path and keep his tryst with the almighty, Sultanpur was on tenterhooks fearing a repeat of the past which would only insult the martyr.

Days, months and years passed eventually the fear gave way to optimism. Bhim Agarwal, who had seen Rajbir grow up in to a fine young man and a brilliant poet would often reminisce anecdotes from the poet's life at Panchayat meetings. Rajbir’s parents continued to stay in the village, leading a lackluster life, often finding courage in their son’s deeds.

Sulanpur still reveres its hero. At Rajbir’s memorial villagers still flock in remembrance of the poet. His epitaph reads:

Let bygones be bygones,

The exalted will rise again.