Bharati’s Unhealed Heart

Achyut Tiwari
2 min readAug 17, 2023
Bharat Mata Painting
Bharat Mata Painting by Subrata Ghosh

Independence Day, a jubilant summons embraced by countless souls, both men and women, young and old. Do they fathom the sorrow that lingers within our Motherland’s heart? Do they grasp the irony of commemorating a day declared by the very conquerors who once held dominion over us? Every time the festivities commence, a sense of emptiness pervades, a restless yearning that unsettles the spirit.

On the 15th of August, 1947, we stepped into a realm of autonomy, albeit tethered to a distant monarchy. A sacred land, cherished by generations past, was surreptitiously seized, leaving wounds unattended. Lives lost, a foreign creed planted its roots on hallowed soil. A parcel of our sanctified expanse, merely a geographic notion to them, while for us, an integral essence. And amidst this backdrop, do they fathom that our Mother’s heart still aches?

Seven decades onward, we stand poised to celebrate. Is it my obligation to unearth the silver lining? Yet, what of Mother? Her anguish endures. Maa Bharati, sundered and scarred, her own progeny left to endure the turmoil. Oh, does she perceive that amongst her offspring, there exists a faction tainted by cowardice?

A part of my soul rebels against acceptance. Another facet within me recoils from the mirthful revelry. Sapta Sindhu, that glorious realm of seven rivers, we safeguarded the source but relinquished the deltas. The invaders orchestrated their strategies, maneuvering lives and lands as chess pieces on their grand board.

Perhaps the divine comprehends the destiny that unfolds for Bharat. Yet, Bharat has relinquished its true essence, forgotten what it signifies to be Bhartiya. We’ve lost fidelity, betrayed our essence. Gandhi, draped in white, shunning material wealth, yet we are ensnared in a complex where affluence is deemed venomous. Meanwhile, our brethren perish in the clutches of impoverishment.

As a united nation, ambiguity shrouds our beliefs. Equality adorns our rhetoric, while caste-based laws proliferate. A tapestry of contradictory laws, some regional, others faith-bound. Amidst this complexity, we seek refuge from self-discovery, quivering at the thought of rekindling our essence. We shun renewal. En masse, we resemble a flock of timid sheep, our confidence waning. Not every blemish can be laid at our feet, as our trials are evident. Perfection eludes us, yet the juncture looms when we must decide, or else be subservient to the whims of those who thrive on dominance. Alas, the dishonorable offspring of Maa Bharati persist, subscribing to dictated terms until eternity’s end.

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