Gandhi's Daughter

The Return

Her eyes searched. Lingering. Amongst the mud, cooled, enclosed dwellings. Searching for that simple abode, seen, so briefly, so many years before.  It was only in this guise, pure spirit, that she had made the journey. The hindering, limiting, ailments of her awkward self, shed. Left behind. In this lightness of being, the travelling had been effortless. She had returned. Come home.

But, she couldn't find what she sought. The fruitless twists, and turns. Heat scorching, empty. Dustiness covering, reigning supreme. She knew things would have changed. So many years lived. But this place. It was so very different from the memories she held. And, the haunting, sadness of it was, they had forgotten him. Whatever had been that humble place, taken over. Remade. Left, now, just motes of dust, floating, drifting, gently, moving on.

But, as she turned to go, softly drooping shoulders, thoughts ebbing low, she stopped. She heard. Whispers in the breeze, voices growing. In their dream states, other spirits were clamouring, calling.

"Don't go! Please wait! We didn't know you were coming! Don't let us be too late! Stay awhile! You've come home to us!"

Surprised. She halted, and found herself, easily surrounded. Wrapped, cocooned, shaded, engulfed in the heady joy, the light of pure love.

Eyes wide in wonderment, spirit shining, brighter still, she asked the question in her heart:

"Why have you come?"

The answer came, loud and clear, ringing splendour, bell-like tone. All the voices, all at once, together pealed their resolve.

"Because, You, child, You are Gandhi's Daughter! With You His spirit blesses, guides, and teaches us a-new. When we see You, we hear His voice. The truth of His words."

She looked at them. their eager glances, tender smiles, their gentle touches. With tears she spoke, and asked another question:

"What is it that He taught, that you remember Him so well?"

Then an old, old man hobbled forth and took her by the hand. She saw that although he was spirit form, he still needed rest. She found him a shaded spot, found seating so that he could speak, say his words.

Still holding her gently by the hand, his aged voice replied:

"Listen and listen well. He was a Mahatma to us. A Master. A Teacher to lead the way. Gandhi wasn't the name of His birth, but God's Light he was, in truth. His aspirations were a torch, they lit our path, inspired our way. By very, very, small, small steps, He taught us how to be. How the lowly place we were forced to hold, could be shed, and our children's, children free. No longer drudges, meanly kept, despised. We are equal. Stand proud. We live.

Equality, dignity, respect. Education was the key. So even when He wasn't here with us, His hand reached out. Helped us up. We climbed that ladder after Him. The spirits that you see here now, are the ones touched by Him. These are the generations still present, and yet to come, who received the benefit,  the care, of that humble, simple man. They are the real fruits of His sacrifice. The Giver who gave his all. What you see in us, is His dream realised. The truth made bold.

And we are pained He didn't know. That at the very end, He felt so lost, so abandoned. So alone. But we, we whose lives He touched, in our hearts He still glows. As long as our memories serve, and our children's, and their children's and beyond. Don't think that He is forgotten. His name is forever written, indelible, in the heartbeats of our living.

But you, Gandhi's Daughter. You returned. And to you we say these words. Don't look for His mark in superficial, shallow things. That's not who He was. He sought no fame, or worldly renown. No riches, or glory. His life's meaning was much, much deeper. Tell Him when the final summons comes. And You meet Him again. Even if the knowledge is not needed now. We need to let Him know. We loved Him. He was the Master. The Teacher. And, we, we still learn."

She listened to the aged man. The truths he spoke, in the stillness of that heat. She would never forget  the ringing, emotion of his words. The silence, tangible, though crowds surrounded her. The love that dazzled brightness. In her heartbeat, her very breath, that message grew. He was not forgotten.

And so Gandhi's Daughter, with heart rejoicing, left that faraway land. Her spirit returned. Her eyes opened. She awoke. Another day.

Being Jiwan…x