I am the wind that blows along the plains of India and through the hills, and rustles through the mountains and creates ripples on the surface of rivers and waves in the seas. I am the wind that connects India like stories of great valour do. And today I have a story of unparalleled valour to tell.
It was the nineteenth day of April 1919, a warm sunny April day in Amritsar. I was busy carrying the aroma of fresh crops and cries of babies and affable chidings of their mothers on that tragic Baisakhi day. All of a sudden they started shooting. For ten minutes their .303 Lee-Enfield kept spewing fire. And after ten minutes, the fragrance of fresh crops abandoned me and so did the hollers of the babies. I smelt of gunpowder and of burning flesh and the only sound that I carried was of grief. Historians call it the ‘Jallianwala Bagh Massacre’. It was then when he first decided to fight against the tyranny of the British Raj. The son of the village chowkidar was livid and I could see it in his eyes which burnt like embers. 13 year old Chandra Shekhar Tiwari was then studying in Varanasi.
I recollect how the name Gandhi drifted through me to all parts of India. This name had the power to bind people regardless of their creeds and cultures. Tiwari venerated Gandhi too like all adolescents of his age and did whatever he could to help him by showing total support to his non-cooperation movement. “Azad” is my name he said when he was arrested and presented before the magistrate. The magistrate sentenced him to 15 lashes. With every lash he screamed “Bharat Mata ki Jai” and “Gandhi Ji Amar rahein” alternately. The sounds of the whips were noticeably subdued and I merrily carried his war cries. Tiwari was now Azad – The freeman.
But 23 policemen died in the nearby Chauri-Chaura and 3 civilians along with them. I was a silent testimonial to the police opening fire on protesters and then the protesters burning them to death in retaliation. I gusted in repugnance when Gandhi suspended the non-cooperation movement. And I was dismayed upon seeing the disconsolate visage of Chandra Shekhar Azad. His god had failed him; his motive was filched from him. He was a man full of fury without any platform to vent his ire. For three months, he stayed motiveless. A fresh new dais was waiting for Azad though, a militia that called itself “Hindustan Republican Army (HRA)”. Azad was a sturdy young man now, baked in the Suns of North India. His folks called him Bhim Dada for he was so much like the mighty Mahabharata warrior prince– strong and mercurial. None could beat him in wrestling. HRA found a coach in him, someone who could teach them, the art of fighting like a raging bull. People generally laugh combatants off as people with limited cognitive abilities but no, if Azad was sturdy bodily…mentally he was a prodigy. Clandestinely, he dispersed flyers and bulletins to clear the airs of fallacies of British benevolence from the minds of the Indians. And he was very efficacious in doing that. But their resources were limited and their reach was confined. What they needed was money and a plan to acquire it.
He found the guiding light in Ram Prasad Bismil and Ashfaqullah Khan, revolutionaries with an undying spirit and fellow members of HRA. Bismil was a shrewd man and was always the one with a plan. He masterminded the looting of a train believed to be carrying bags full of British treasury cash in Kakori (near Lucknow). On August 9, 1925 when I was in a pensive mood and was not rushing wild, 10 members successfully ransacked the train from Shahjahanpur to Lucknow. The train came to an abrupt halt and 10 people jumped out of it in some time, the sounds of sky fires ricocheted. The indiscriminate chattering of the ‘victims’ indicated that young Indian revolutionaries had looted state treasury money. I smiled and gusted as a commemorative gesture. Revolution was once again buzzing.
After this episode, the British Regime let loose a period of subjugation, search and seizures in the country. Many of the HRA revolutionaries were detained. After deliberations that lasted for over a year and a half, the court sentenced Bismil, Khan, Lahiri and Singh to death; the others were given life sentences. But Chandra Shekhar Azad was still free. He was the master of disguise. He sometimes was an English Babu, sometimes a Muslim Dervish; at one time he was the priest at a Hanuman Temple. I smiled at his many facsimiles. But he seldom smiled; for he was on a mission to reorganize the association. He travelled from Jhansi to Khandwa to Indore; he crossed the Vindhya Jungles and finally settled in Kanpur. With his credentials of a revered revolutionary who knew how to fight and flee at the opportune moment, Chandra Shekhar Azadsoon met people keen to give him their support. It was in Kanpur that he met Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev and Batukeshar Dutta. Hindustan Republican Association was now Hindustan Socialist Republican Association (HSRA). Name changed, but the motive remained the same. Convocation of all revolutionaries from different provinces was held covertly at the behest of Chandra Shekhar Azad. The clamour for “Poorna Swarajya” was resonating; more people were joining the HSRA. Bhagat and Azad were slowly turning into ideologies.
And in the middle of the rising nationalistic sentiments, the old guard of pure unadulterated nationalism, Lala Lajpat Rai was beaten mercilessly as he led a procession against ‘Simon Commission’. While dying he said “Lathi Blows inflicted on me will prove one day as nails in the coffin of the British Empire”. Lala Ji’s death was not to be forgotten. Chandrashekhar Azad, Sukhdev, Rajguru and Bhagat Singh conspired the killing of Scott and Saunders, the officers who ordered Lathi Charge on Lala ji. Saunders was shot dead while Scott managed to escape with injuries. Lalaji’s death was avenged. Azad and his associates again camouflaged in various avatars and disappeared.
But death was chasing Azad and he had fooled it on many occasions. I saw him rushing to Alfred Park, Allahabad on twenty seventh day of February, 1931. I saw a colleague of his rushing into the park too. I was still and I could feel a faint smell of treachery. And then I became testimonial to another mad round of police firing. One of Azad’s comrades was probably a police spy.
But Azad was not in a mood to take the bullets lying down. His small pistol and a handful of bullets kept the Police grounded. No one dared to get near Azad. Those who managed to get a glimpse of his gigantic physique got awed at the very sight of it. All 80 sepoys kept firing and Azad kept firing back until he was short of ammo. Death was now standing right on his head but only to be cheated again. He shot the last bullet in his head. Chandra Shekhar Azad was not dead, he was martyred. He was immortalized. In his own words:
दुश्मन की गोलियों का हम सामना करेंगे,
आज़ाद ही रहें हैं, आज़ाद ही रहेंगे
Note –While Azad’s courageous side is quite well known, the story of his astute planning and organization skills remain uncelebrated. Chandra Shekhar Azad was running a parallel struggle against the British when Gandhi and Nehru were leading their “homemade-add-salt-to-taste-peaceful-revolution” against the British. The bigoted historians had every reason to shun his story. But, not anymore!
Jai Hind
Bharat Mata ki Jai
Vande Mataram
