Bose Thatha

 Bose Thatha was awakened from his afternoon nap. Once again, loud noises came from the neighboring house—this time, the piercing cry of a child. Since Thatha slept poorly at night, a deep afternoon rest was essential for him. He rose slowly and stepped outside. Near the doorway of the neighboring house stood a little girl, crying uncontrollably. The moment she saw Thatha, she stopped crying and smiled.

“Why are you screaming like this?” he asked. “What will people think of you?”

“My parents cheated me. They didn’t buy me the gift I asked for.”

“Do children cry so much just because they didn’t get a gift? Children these days… their upbringing isn’t right.”

“You may say whatever you want about me,” she retorted. “But I won’t let anyone say a single word about my parents.”

Thatha laughed.

“What was this great gift you asked for?”

“Today is August 15, 1997, isn’t it? Fifty years since Independence. To mark that, I asked my father to buy me a cartoon biography of Subhas Bose. Even today, he forgot.”

“Alright, he can buy it tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow Independence Day will be over.”

Bose invited her into his house. The child looked around curiously. When she saw the photograph of Subhas Chandra Bose, her face lit up.

“Do you like Bose too?”

“I have seen him in person,” Thatha said. “What is your name?”

“Kamini.”

“My name is Bose Pandian.”

“How do you know Netaji?”

“I was a soldier in the army and stationed in Burma. I met him then.”

“Were you a freedom fighter? Then answer me this. Who is greater—Bose or Gandhi? My friend Rohan says Bose is greater. He was a warrior. He fought the British with an army. He says Gandhi was a coward who couldn’t even lift a gun.”

“Whom do you think is greater?” Thatha asked.

“I like Subhas,” she said. “But whenever I see Gandhi’s smiling photograph, I remember my grandfather Sundar. He liked Gandhi very much. He passed away two years ago. You tell me—who is greater?”

“Come tomorrow,” Thatha said gently. “I’ll tell you many stories from the days of freedom.”

Kamini kissed Thatha on the cheek and ran away.

Thatha then remembered he had to cook dinner. The ragi flour was finished; he needed to buy some from the nearby shop. His pension hadn’t arrived for two months. Money was tight. Once again, he would have to ask the shopkeeper for credit. Fifty years had passed since Independence. The nation had forgotten its sacrificers. Trusting the government any further felt like an insult to self-respect, he thought. Ever since meeting Kamini, a new idea had taken root in his mind. Why not teach children? He decided to teach history. He firmly believed that no modern teacher could teach history better than he could.

The next day, Kamini came and insisted that he tell her stories.

“I’ll tell you stories,” he said, “but on one condition. I want to teach history to children your age. You must bring your friends.”

“I will. First, tell me the story of Kappalottiya Tamizhan.”

After the story ended, Kamini began asking questions.

“Chidambaram bought a ship so that our nation’s trade could rise. But now we have Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and so many foreign products everywhere. Why doesn’t our government stop this? Will we become slaves again?”

“The times are different now,” Thatha replied. “Our nation has a strong army. There will be no slavery again.”

“My father says our Prime Minister acts according to what American banks say. Then are we slaves now?”

“We need their money for now, so we may have to compromise for a short while. Don’t worry. When you grow up, all countries—including England—will listen to what India says.”

“Then when I grow up, can I bring back the Kohinoor diamond from England?”

“You can,” Thatha smiled. “But it may take a long time. Perhaps when you become a grandmother.”

The next day, Kamini came with five students. Within a month, twenty students began attending.

In Thatha’s class, reading books was only the beginning. He divided students into groups and made them debate. Was British rule good or bad for India? Was Akbar’s reign a golden age? Were the Chola kings right in building so many temples? Many such discussions took place.

At first, parents complained. They said such learning would not bring marks. Thatha asked them to be patient. As he expected, the children began studying on their own. All of them scored above 90 marks in exams.

More parents wanted their children to study with Thatha, but he did not want too many students.

One day, a student suggested a debate on whose contribution to the freedom struggle was greater—Gandhi’s or Subhas Bose’s. Thatha agreed.

“Your name is Chandran, isn’t it?” Thatha asked. “Is there a bully in your class?”

“Yes. A brute named Bharath. Everyone fears him. If someone slaps him, all their teeth would scatter. No one dares go near him.”

“Has anyone ever opposed him?”

“Yes. Ashwin once stopped Bharath from entering the classroom. Bharath beat Ashwin badly. But the very next moment, something miraculous happened. All the students united and stopped Bharath. Since then, he hasn’t hit anyone.”

Then Thatha asked Rio the same question.

“In my class, there was a thug named Sekar,” Rio said. “He used to pick fights and beat others. One day, a boy named Mano went to fight him. But before Sekar, Mano was like an insect. Sekar beat him so badly that Mano didn’t come to class for two months. Everyone lived in fear, wondering who Sekar would attack next.”

Thatha then shared his view.

“You’ve heard two stories. Who is greater—Ashwin or Mano? Ashwin knew he couldn’t defeat Bharath through violence, so he united everyone and fought nonviolently—and won. Mano foolishly tried to fight a stronger man with violence. If Ashwin is Gandhi, Mano is Subhas. Who is more capable? You decide.”

Rio replied, “But Mano also won. Sekar left the school. His parents said Sekar was shaken. No one had ever dared to raise a hand against him before. One person attacking was one thing—but what if the entire class did so tomorrow? Out of fear, Sekar left the school.”

Thatha was astonished by this answer. Kamini then asked:

“Then Subhas Bose also succeeded, didn’t he? So both Gandhi and Bose succeeded. Aren’t they equal in strength?”

Three years passed. The income from students was not enough for Thatha. No help came from the government, and Thatha did not complain.

Kamini had grown into a young woman. Her energy and mischief had not diminished. Her intellect had only grown sharper.

One day, Thatha fell ill with pneumonia. With the help of a student’s father, a doctor, he recovered—but his strength had waned. He could no longer conduct classes as before. The other students drifted away, but Kamini alone continued to visit him.

Once again, Thatha faced financial hardship. Government aid had become essential. Kamini said her father, a senior government official, could help. Thatha met him and explained the situation. Her father promised help. A month passed—nothing happened. He said the senior officer had retired and a new, very strict officer had taken charge, so it would be better to wait.

For the next few days, Kamini did not come. Crying and arguments could be heard from her house. Thatha thought of going to check on her, but then gave up the idea.

After a week, Kamini came with her father. He looked exhausted.

“For days, Kamini kept insisting that I help you,” her father said. “The new officer is extremely strict. I couldn’t approach him. Kamini didn’t understand and kept crying. One day, she didn’t return home for a long time. That evening, I was summoned urgently to the office. Kamini was there. She had directly asked the officer to help you. He scolded her and told her to go home. She refused to leave. He sent word for me, but I was searching for her. Finally, his staff forcibly removed her from the office.

“A few hours later, the Collector called my superior. Kamini was there too. The Collector scolded him: ‘If you cannot even help a freedom fighter, what is the use of your position and power?’ The officer was suspended for two months. This draft includes three years of your pending aid with interest. I will deposit it in your bank. You only need to sign once. From now on, the aid will be credited on the first of every month. A nurse and an attendant will also be assigned to you permanently. I’ll take my leave.”

After leaving Kamini with Thatha, her father departed. Seeing the pride on Kamini’s face, Thatha smiled.

“So, Kamini—was this the Gandhian way, or the Subhas way?”

“Neither,” she replied. “It was the Kamini way.”