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‘I am India, I have been born by the hymns of the Vedas. It is enough for my introduction that the nectar-form Ganga is my mother. I grew up in the ashram of sages. I walk by holding the fingers of the Yug Purushas and burn in the fierce fire of struggles. The first page of my history was written when man had not learned to divide time into days and dates. My blueprint started 10 thousand years ago, but today I do not have evidence to prove such an old history.’
People raise the question that the Indus Valley Civilization has only been for 3400 years, then why do I claim a history of 10 thousand years? What answer shall I give to those historians who become dumb without the testimony of bricks and stones. They see the remains of 3400 years ago, but 5000 years ago, Krishna giving the knowledge of Gita to Arjuna, who had given up his weapon in Kurukshetra, is not seen. 7000 years ago on the banks of Saryu Shri Ram offering Arghya to the Sun is not visible and the hymns of Rigveda composed 8000 years ago are not visible.
I was not always the image I have on the map today. It was cut into many pieces, was divided into Janapadas-Mahajanapadas. Then one day, one of my sons born in Taxila opened his crest, and from here the way for my becoming a united nation was also opened. My limbs, scattered in parts, were folded under one flag.
In today’s geographical language, Chanakya and Chandragupta spread me from Bihar to Balochistan and from Kashmir to Kandahar. I was pleased to see my arms extended, but Ashoka’s valor was determined to expand his grandfather Chandragupta’s empire some more. Ashoka opened my arms from Taxila to Iran. My expansion was taking the whole world by surprise, both geographically and spiritually.
On one hand, shining swords were waving in my hands, and on the other hand the voices of Buddha and Mahavira were echoing from my throat. Then many centuries passed. Sometimes I ran, sometimes walked, sometimes crawled on my knees, but never stopped. I always remember the words of Krishna, ‘Krit me dakshine haste jayo me savy ahitah’.
If I do the work with the right hand, then I will definitely win in the opposite hand. Following the principle of Karmayoga, I reached the pinnacle of wealth and wealth. I came to be called the golden bird and my brilliance tempted the robbers and invaders sitting in distant lands. Arabs, Mahmud, Turks, Timurs, Mongols, came on horseback and stole the gold of my temples, burnt my books, ruined my history.
There were countless wounds on my body, but the ideal of universal brotherhood remained in my mind. I kept on hurting the foreign shamsheers and kept on repeating ‘Atithi Devo Bhava:’. This peace-loving of mine became a boon to the English merchants who had come from across the seven seas. The whites, who rub their noses on the ground in the court of my kings, suddenly became the masters of the kingdoms.
The fetters sent by Victoria held me in such a way that my blood vessels groaned in pain. For hundreds of years I suffocated in the smoke of betrayal, I do not even remember how many times my dignity was violated, how many times my self-respect was robbed.
But I had also produced such red ones, who swung on the gallows for me by singing ‘Rang De Basanti’, such daughters were born, who tied the baby on the back and fought with the British, and untied the threads of their red uniforms. lamps. One of my sons fought with countless English rifles with a pistol at Alfred Park and when the last bullet remained in the pistol, he bowed at my feet by chanting Vande Mataram.
The hands that moved towards me were cut off by my heroes. My valleys are drenched with the blood of the sacrificers, on my forehead the seventy-fifth sun of freedom is about to shine, because in my chest are the tombs of the martyrs.
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