Perhaps the best of piece of literary work I have ever read after superlative creations such as Bhagavad Gita, the Bible, the Quran and Gitanjali is certainly the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi.His narration of his experiments with truth convinced me for the first time of the beauty and greatness of real truth. It is his autobiography that inspired me to go through all that was available on Gandhi.The more I read about him, the more conscious I became about this "tiny" man who could make people contribute even gold ornaments to the freedom struggle.It was the unseen power of truth and the truth alone that made even women of Kerala, who are addicts to gold ornaments come forward to lay them down when Gandhiji asked for them.
But, my humble experiment with truth was a lamentable failure. After reading the autobiography of Gandhiji for the sixth time, I decided that I would speak truth,only truth and nothing but truth! As I stuck to my determination in the next two or three days, a strange reaction occured. I had nothing to speak, whatever I spoke had some shade of falsehood hidden somewhere. Either it proved to be skeltal truth with its intensity misused or truth which got automotically exaggerated. Perfect truth, unadulterated, transparent, seemed alien to my 10 year old vocal chords. So on the third day, when I kept mum in my room as if I had swallowed my own tongue because of my failure to speak truth alone, I sadly decided: Truth can be spoken only by such great man like Mahatma Gandhi who could rewrite the whole fate of a nation and who showed the new rays of light to misguided world which was blind? So late that night, I childishly came back from my three-day-old determination that I would speak only truth! I consoled myself with my theory that a lie saves better than a truth kills! I further thought that God would forgive me if I spoke a few lies here and there.
But to be honest to the history as Gandhiji himself was, I must say that Gandhiji once did me some unforgettable and unpardonable harm. That was nearly a 14 years before while I was a 5th Standard pupil, a half minute drama was arranged under the strict super vision of Narayana Swamy master. It was to be presented on the stage during the school anniversary. Since such celebrations took place only once in a blue moon in my locality the teachers and the parents decided to make the function as colourful as possible with entertainment, including a drama. It was a half minute drama, In the half minute drama which would depict very lively the death scene of Mahatma Gandhi. Swami master selected me for the role of Gandhiji. The scene was scheduled to be very simple. As the curtain would rise up, I had to stand in the right middle of the stage as Gandhiji bending and putting the whole weight of my body on the stick in the right hand . Kochunarayanan, a 2nd standard pupil was to be in the role of Godse. He had to be on the left middle of the stage with a wooden gun. He had to aim the wooden gun at me and produce the round of shooting !!ttttoooo! with his mouth, at the right moment when I would fall down saying Ram Ram............... The rehersal, under direction of Narayana swamy Master, who was known for the use of cane which was almost part of him as he carried it always, was superb and perfect. As the speeches by the big guns of the locality and the dance items by little girls snatched away much more time than calculated, poor Kochunarayanan had to be woken up from his profound sleep almost at midnight to come to the stage as Godse. As his makeup was ready and as he had carefully kept the wooden gun safe in his khaki trouser pocket, Swamy Master could instantly push him to the stage once he was woken up, with the walking stick on which I bent heavily in the full make up of Mahatma Gandhij, I was ready for the bullet on the right side of the stage.
As the curtain rose, people laughed aloud as they saw the familiar lad in the form of bald bespectacled bending old man. Kochunarayanan was standing as a silent statue, imercilessly aiming his wooden gun at me. As he was woken up from his midnight slumber,he forgot to produce the sound "tttooo" with his mouth . As the minutes passed, I was in the horns of a dilemma, as I could not fall down without his making the sound. I waited and waited, but to no avail Kochunarayanan was slipping down to sleep with his wooden gun aimed sharply at me. I lost hope that he would make the sound. I was left with no option but to shout to Swami Master. He was standing behind the side curtain shaking with rage and with his notorious cane. I said aloud to Swami Master "He does not shoot me down sir..................... What I said was well picked up by the microphone. I noticed that I was turning the startling tragedy of Gandhiji into a ridiculous comedy as the audience were laughing aloud hearing my statement to Swami Master who was hiding behind the curtain. At that particular juncture, I sincerly felt that even death could be a far better alternative than the indefinite waiting for Kochunarayanan's trigger to be released. I willfully fell down, putting my hand on my chest and singing the mutilated prayer "RAM , RAM". Kochunarayanan suddenly woke up from his sleep and seeing me falling down, he made the sound with his mouth after I fell 'dead; on the ground.
The curtain too fell down on the miserable comedy, back in the make-up room Swami master was blind with anger. His vibrating cane was fully active to give me three sharp lashes on the right and, as if not content at all, he gave me four more on the left thigh. While beating me black and blue he was shouting "Mahatma Gandhi was known the world over for his patience what a paradox, it is that you, a pseudo Gandhi did not have the patience to wait even for the last bullet". I too felt that death from bullets might have been a hundred times more acceptable than the death from the cane. 'Godse' who was dead to the world so far, too woke up now and was given his share of punishment, The cane split into two in the course. So, Kochunarayanan, was on cloud mine that he received only five lashes, compared to seven I got.
That was the funny harm Mahatma did to me. I cultivated a blind admiration for his courage, heroism , dedication , proletarian out look, martyrdom and above all his commitment to truth.
