Tragedy of Baba/Netaji..

Posted By Author on January 1, 2011

12/2/1967

Got up late.  Body was stiff like a wooden log.  Took hot water bath.  Felt better.  Had lunch and rest all the day.

Never in my entire life span till today I was so much debilitated by about fifty-two miles walk in two days and the strain of the Himalayan one mile with stupendous ups and downs is equivalent to five miles of the plain.  This was my condition at the young age of thirty-one. I was just thinking about this great man, his age of seventy, his immense suffering, astonishing endurance, his mental pressure, conjugal discord, domestic problem, dilemma of revealing identity, mounting debt, financial crunch, inability to remain alone as before, big burden of vast paraphernalia and Ashramites, its care and maintenance, lavish expenses, aristocratic charity, court litigations, political itching, spiritual yearning, clod headed followers and what not.

Even imagination was unimaginable.  His one word or single stroke of pen could have rolled him back in name, fame, power, and wealth but I knew this was not to be. His precarious condition was like Hamlet. “To be or not to be.”

I felt he took Chinu’s birth as nemesis and became kakorrhaphiophobic. (Fear of failure) Leave apart his personal predicament, what an irreparable and irreplaceable loss it was to the nation. He was the only magnetic personality who could bring the strong central government and wiped out mushroom growth of political parties. Colossal corruption amongst politicians and bureaucrats would have withered away like autumn leaves. He alone could create best universities and best cadres to run the country. His charisma and sacrifice alone could have brought golden era for the nation. Thoughts about him were bursting like a defective carburetor in my grey matter and all the while thinking about his tragic life I glided into slumber.

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