‘He Belongs to Me, He Belongs to You’

MAGIC

 
Lo! I saw a magician last night. 
 A slender silhouette -- almost half-naked. 
Was the night at its tricks once again? 
Was the frail figure about to pull rabbits out of his hat? 
Magicians do have this incorrigible habit of pulling rabbits from hats.
But this magician defied all stereotypes. Where was his hat? 
Where the rabbits? 

I looked at the calendar, and gasped. It was 16 August 1946. 
How bizarre! The stars outside had a fickle glow. 
There was chaos, there was confusion. There was hatred. 
The graffiti on the mildewed walls screamed: 
Direct Action Day! 

Piercing the cacophony, a soft, feathery voice
 fell on the turbulent crowd. 
Not a rabble rousing voice, but a magical one.

“I have come here to serve Hindus and Muslims.” 
A hush fell. Louder – louder – louder grew the hush.

Then I saw the half-naked figure walking away. 

All alone – but in sync with 'Gurudeb's words 
'Ekla chalo Re*’. 

But lo and behold! There was more magic! 
The pages of the calendar fluttered in the breeze. 
With great ardour, swayed the trees.
I was amazed; the calendar now showed the year 2023.

I peeped through the window.
 Birds perched on bowers were singing, impromptu songs.
 The folds of their yellow-green-blue-wings hid musical notes.
Then I again saw the half-naked figure. 
Walking alone, but in sync with 'Gurudeb's words, 
'Ekla chalo Re,' ringing in his ears.  

But lo and behold! There was more magic! 
The One Man Army was no longer alone.
The trickle had become a deluge. 
Music poured from every tree.

A multi-layered song was being sung in every tone, 
every tenor, every pitch, pouring love melodies.  
The sun of a new morn smiled from above.  
The heady scent of freshly hewn lawn spread in the air.

Megalomaniacs had fallen pathetically silent.
The muted falling of a leaf creating a quiet turbulence.
An invisible drummer was beating his drum.

“Back to nature --Back to peace --Back to love. 
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth will make the whole world blind. 

Blind-Blind-Blind.” 
The surroundings resounded.
 The boughs seemed to be swaying to the beat of myriad stringed instruments 
Queedle queedle -queedle hoo- ah hoo- hoo- hoo kleek kik ik ik ik .honk honk 
koo- ookoo hoooooooo…

Birds sang from every branch-- high pitch – low pitch, contralto cadences,
 chirruping notes, and even hoarse, grating rattles and loud caws. 
Magic again happened-- creating a soul-- soothing symphony 
of eclectic pitches and rhythm. 

 “He belongs to me, he belongs to you. 
He belongs to the man in the street. 
He belongs to the coward and the bold. 
He belongs to the strong and the effete.
He belongs to the one shivering on the pavement.
He belongs to me, he belongs to you.  

"He belongs to the man whimpering under the awning.
Hoping for something good in the coming morning. 
He belongs to the bruised and the battered.
And the one with unshed tears and clothes tattered. 

"He belongs to the one who lives by his labour. 
And even to the one who does not love his neighbor. 
The spunky woman bending in ceaseless toil.
And the youngster whose blood is on the boil. 
 
"He belongs to the one with the frown. 
He belongs to the white, black and brown. 
The one with a swagger in his gait. 
The one who suffers viciously at the hands of fate.

"The bird fluttering helplessly in the cage. 
The youth struggling with road rage. 
Those engrossed in ego tussles 
and the one flaunting his muscles.
He belongs to me, he belongs to you.”

With a revolutionary fervor, every leaf was shaking.
A symphony of love and peace was in the making. 
The pilgrim was no longer alone 
Love had injected every bone. 
Faces glimmered with hope -- there was no mistaking. 

*Gurudeb means Teacher and refers to Tagore in this case. 'Ekla Cholo Re' (Walk Alone) is a well known song by Tagore.