A Walk For Unity

A walk for Unity

Poor mother draped her torn fabric over her fragile body as she woke up to the chores of yet another morning. The drape required many stitches. Her body required even more, just not only stitches but basic nutrition. Unlike the Mandodari she had not just one hundred children but billions. Now they are on their own going about in many divisive ways. A few of them are doing very well. But the rest of them live hand to mouth. Each for themselves has become their policy. 

Those who are doing well go Tom Timing about that all is well with her. But who was there to ask if that was true?

She has become a mere concept to be exploited as a tool in the hands of some crafty men and women. Some use her for slogan shooting exercises for their vocal cords. For yet some others she has become a poster girl. Some write songs about her. 

Somewhere in all this, there was a seed of hope that has germinated. Some yatris were trying to stitch up her drape with love. They have begun their arduous walk. People were joining in this walk showing solidarity. A new dawn may yet become possible.  

I have been following the yatra myself and had registered online with an idea that I would join it for a day when the yatra reaches Karnataka. On Twitter, there is some daily account of the yatra with postings both consisting of written matter and visuals. When the yatra had reached and around Nanjungud I decided to join and took a train in the wee hours of the morning and reached Mysore by about seven-thirty. After a quick breakfast and coffee, I took a bus to Nanjungud and again a local bus to Badanavalu village at a distance of about ten kilometres from Nanjangud. I had looked up earlier about this village. A Khadi Gramodyog centre was set up by a group of four Dalit women in 1927 and Mahatma Gandhi visited this place and blessed the centre in 1932. 

The leader had arrived and paid homage to the Mahatma. That was not the only reason for the Yatris to pay a visit. In the year 1993, some murders happened due to caste wars between Dalits and the upper caste. The two groups were at loggerheads with each other and a physical boundary was even drawn. The yatris with a motive to unite India did their bit in uniting the warring factions and the physical boundary separating the two groups got removed. The very act was quite symbolic and had a far-reaching impact on the yatra itself. 

I wasn’t part of the pass holders and could not witness all this by myself and so I returned to Nanjungud and decided to rest by the river Cauvery as I had noticed a small ghat facility in the town itself en route to Badanavalu. The river runs its course irrespective of what the human thinks of her. It doesn’t distinguish the division that humans have created among themselves. It runs for one and all. A couple of decades ago the citizens of the two states where the river runs along were fighting each other for her water. We, humans, succumb to the divisive virus rather easily. While we have multiplied in terms of number we also divide easily. 

I reached Kodakola where the yatra was supposed to resume in the early evening at about four. The place was milling with the crowd. Soon the traffic got stopped and a posse of policemen and women arrived in a chartered bus. Folk artists were getting ready to display their talents and welcome the leader. Yakshagana, street theatre, dancers who were wearing wooden images, drummers, and women dancers started their show. A crowd gathered around cheering them. The place wore a festive look. Had it not been for my age and my knees I would have joined one of the dancers’ groups, as the beat of the drums cruised through my veins. 

It was past four and I was pacing restlessly on the road in either direction. It was time for the yatris and their leader to turn up. Smaller groups of people belonging to sub-section of the party or followers of local leaders were doing a mock yatra and were taking selfies, photos and videos of themselves for both memory's sake and putting them on social media.  

Suddenly the atmosphere became electric and new energy seemed to pass through the milling crowd. A set of crews of some TV channel became alert and started operating their cameras. Bharat Jodo Slogans reverberated across the street. Some yatris could be seen moving like a wave at a distance. I could hear the welcoming call of the blowhorn from a distance. 

Crowds became focused on the leader who was marching ahead. He was seen to be holding the hand of a girl child and her mother was walking beside him. A tight cardon of police had formed around the leader. Crowds encircled the cardon and were seen to taking pictures. Some carried posters and called out to get the leader’s attention. He was smiling and waving at people. He was sporting a tilak on his forehead to be seen as one with the majority religion. Shouts erupted as people hailed him and his party. Bharat Jodo, Bharat Jodo like a war cry it sounded. 

I marched ahead having got a glimpse of the leader. I was telling myself there seem to be a swell of support. Would he be able to translate this into an alternate vision for the country? Somewhere in the evening when the Sun had set and a cool wind was blowing across showing signs that it could rain sometime, I heard temple bells ringing. I was thinking of the Rainbow the musical group that had scored an album by the title Temple of the King. Would one day would he become the king?

Later at the railway station, I was rested after some dinner I penned the following poem.

Amid the crumbling edifice of their party

Yatris hope to rebuild, their courage quite hearty

Connecting to their commoner from all walks of life

They walk along for hours overcoming their own strife

Suddenly a leader has become touchable

One can walk with, eat with, laugh with

A mere mortal, his appeal now total

Hopes pinned on him; will he ensure?

Endure, withstand the pressure, 

Will he reassure, bring about a closure

To this divisive virus, does he have a cure?

Is it too premature for people's expectation

Time for citizens to do some introspection

Rain or shine, Yatris say we will do fine

Let us not whine, simply not pine

The hardship we need to face shall overcome this phase. 

I read in papers the next day even the rain gods were moved and blessed the yatris with some rain that night and the paper carried the photo of the leader continuing his speech unmoved by the rain. 

As the poor mother had thought there was yet some hope for her and her fellow citizens.