The Bard

 

‘This is outrageous!’ He thought.

 Pacing up and down his large and magnificent room, The Bard couldn’t help but feel                 shocked.

 Hundreds and hundreds of his fellow countrymen – his brothers – died a gruesome death. Men, women and even children were mercilessly slaughtered. No one was spared…not even one…

They were all shot down in Jallianwala Bagh - why? just for a peaceful acquaintance…

Moreover he was disappointed by the callousness of The Raj regarding the entire situation...

 'Justice must prevail…’

 The old gentleman’s aristocratic features contorted with anger and determination.

 His eyes swiftly glanced at the calendar – May 30.

 ‘A protest has to be organized…’

 He thought of it while looking at the gloomy streets of Kolkata. It was raining – as if the country was moaning for her children.

 He had a task left to be done.

 The old bard marched to his armchair. He picked up his pen, this time not as a Nobel Laureate but as a Knight of the British Empire and wrote to the Viceroy –-

 

 “The time has come when badges of honour make our shame glaring in their incongruous context of humiliation. I, for my part wish to stand shorn of all special distinctions…

 

He continues…

 

..With due reference and regret, I ask you to relieve me of my title of knighthood.’’

                                                                                                       Yours Faithfully,

                                                                                                       Rabindranath Tagore

                                                                                                       Calcutta, May 30, 1919”

 

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