The Much Awaited Moment

14 August, 1947

Gayatri ran her hands through the smooth, silky cloth of the sari her mother had gifted her. The softness of the fabric, a reminder of the good thriving in her country, calmed her disturbed mind. She brought the sari closer to her nose, taking in the scent. She was going to wear it on the auspicious day – the day for which she had been waiting ever since her…

Screams filled her ears and a splatter of blood obscured her vision. The air was saturated with the words Help! Help! The sounds of whips caused her to lift her hands to her ears, shutting down the flashback.

Her cacophonous thoughts reminded her of her grandfather, killed in that bloody raid. Anger surged in her heart, mixed with an unwanted grief. Grandpa…

Tonight, the deeds of the culprit would be avenged. Many years ago, her uncle, her mamaji, had killed his wife for protecting his beloved. Gayatri hadn't eaten for days, she remembered. But tonight, the good will triumph.

However, the usual silence before the storm was brimming with riots between the Hindus and the Muslims. Why weren’t they rejoicing? Everyone’s wish was going to come true. Then why were the communal groups fighting?

Doesn’t Bapu say everyone’s equal and needs to unite?

After tonight’s turning events, she would be able to walk freely on the streets, in the galis, without the unsettled fear of any impending danger. She would be able to experience watching a film, able to eat food of her choice…

She was going to be independent. Hindustan was going to be independent.

Gayatri smiled. Pakistan had gained its freedom today, it was only a matter of time before…

She didn’t know what it was like to be free – to voice your opinions, to not hesitate. What with the valiant nationalists, she was soon going to learn.

In her heart of hearts, glory was finding its way. Now everyone in the world would know the injustice her country had been subjected to. Added to that, the earth will discover the talent of her motherland’s people – the weavers of intricate cloths, the makers of savoury dishes… the Hindustanis.

‘Gayatri!’ A voice rang out through the room in which she was contemplating the near future. ‘Gayatri! The time has come!’

She quickly changed into the sari she'd been clasping in her hands. With every twist of cloth, the excitement increased.

An adrenaline rush prompted the girl to run out of the room, straight into her maa’s arms. ‘Maa, is it true then, is it really going to happen?’

‘We have to go, Gayatri. Come, I we will walk to the nearby intersection. Mohan is driving the cart to the fort. Come on, dear!’

As Maa walked, Gayatri skipped on her toes, the situation seeming unbelievable. The galis were almost empty now, everyone having departed already. The rest were humming, secretly rejoicing in the moonlight that seemed to renew every moment.

When they reached Mohan, the jolly and good-hearted cart man, he ushered them on with a smile. Gayatri knew what he was thinking – the thought was dwelling in everyone’s minds at that time.

As they drove on, the trees greeted Gayatri like an old friend, waving their leaves at her. They too must be happy, she thought. Smiling at each person she saw, she waited for The Moment.

After a few minutes of patience, a magnificent fort of red sandstone loomed before her. The Red Fort. She checked her watch. 12:00 a.m.

Gayatri, her mother and Mohan joined the crowd gathered in front of the pedestal. The same mood hung over the monsoon air – that of relief, wonder, intrigue. Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the crowd. Narrowing her eyes in focus, Gayatri saw the familiar man with that familiar topi. Chacha Nehru!

As he began to speak, an abrupt silence blocked the throats of the onlookers. Everyone was quiet.

‘At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom.’

Gayatri felt herself lifting off the ground as she celebrated the moment with joy.