If the day it all began was any better it would have been a sin.
Unfortunately, I had broken my curfew; the orphanage had quite a few many rules, so much so that there was a rulebook for everyone. If anyone ever broke the curfew though, it would lead to severe punishment.
As I turned round the alley the light from the streetlamps blinded my eyes for a few seconds, making me stand still. A stray dog brushed past my leg. Straydogs were really quite common in India, wherever you went, you'd always see a pack of malnutritioned dogs barking at random people. But it was surprising to see one so alone, that too in the middle of the night!
The orphanage came into view as I kept walking, at a faster pace now that I was aware of the time. It was a shabby old building, crooked and gloomy, with long shadows falling on the muddy roads. The downpour in the past few days was a first, no one in the city had ever seen it rain as much as it had in the past weeks. The warden was standing outside the door, torch in his hand. That smug smirk on his face told me everything: I was about to be kicked out. Even as I was thinking, the caretaker came into vision, with a rucksack on his shoulders and a backpack that looked familiar, really.
To be honest, I knew I would get kicked out soon, for the ugly fellow never really liked me; I was quite glad to be free, out in the open breeze. No words were spoken as I took my backpack, the rugsack was my pillow. The last thing my poor mother gave me before she left was that sack, filled with some birds' feathers and stitched at the ends, barely held together by loose strands of thread.
Mother did not really want to give me away, but living hand to mouth proved to be too difficult for her, nonetheless for both. I still remember her beautiful wheat-complexion that was defiled with muck and mud, wearing rags for clothes and living on the streets. The orphanage beguiled the people as a beautiful building back then, the children were taken care of kindly, and kept healthy. But it could not sustain as the pandemic broke out and many children died. The outbreak of Covid led to the death of even the homeless, who in their right minds would even want to go out?
I came back to my senses as I abruptly turned and walked ahead, towards the banyan tree that had sheltered me since long ago. The warden, whose name I did not even know, sneered, "I better not see your ugly face tomorrow, young man. You should have listened to me that day! I warned you once, but now you've done it. Lost your freedom didn't you?" I did not turn back but shouted, "Then what is freedom, living in a pile of garbage with an even more gruesome fat man?"
The outcome was expected, he chased me as I quickly ran in the opposite direction, towards the school. Though befuddled, he stilll chased, I jumped over the gate with the luggage in my hands. The fatso tried but got stuck. That was my chance, I threw a sharp stone at his head, blood drew as I kept running.
And I still don't know what happened at him. I ran behind a tree, and climbed onto a few awkwardly placed wooden planks. Though it was not the work of a professional, it was secretive enough to stop the onlookers from glaring. I climbed hurriedly to the top where there was a sort of a treehouse, but without the roof. There, hidden, was my secret stash of money that I had gained by working day and night at the supermarket nearby, from where I had just returned.
I looked at the direction of the school gates, where there was..... no one? The silhouette of a plump body was nearing my hiding place. I had not noticed him earlier. What even was wrong with this man, following a teenager just because he was ridiculed by him? He looked around as I gulped nervously, I had no weapons except for a lathi (bamboo stick) that I had found at the security gates.
The school was now a rundown hideout for delinquents for playing cards, drinking or whatever else that they did in there. No one ever dared to even come near, not even the police. But I had a quite daring hobby of going into prohibited areas.
I had already been in there once, they were all just rumours spreaded by the police to stop people from going in thre because that was actually where a great yagna was conducted to ward off evil spirits from entering. India is. afterall, a land of both unwavering devotion and impractical superstitions.
He turned back and left, his mouth probably muttering a stream of curses.
I somehow had to sleep there and find a better job the nextday. I had saved enough to pay for tuitions, which I intended to attend and also for rent at some small room and enough for food. Starting tomorrow, I would be leading a brand new life?
The next day I wandered around the streets, looking for the old room I was supposed to live in. The owner was a nice lady, though old, she still had the stamina of a young girl. I walked into the room with the small key in my hand. There was an open window where bougainvillea creepers crept, so closing the windows would be a problem.
As he was on the terrace, sunlight poured through. There was an electric fan that looked like it could break and fall down any moment. The other antiques in the room were: a study table, a lamp, two bulbs, a rigid bed, and an atttached bathroom. Ther was nothing to arrange; no luggage.
I locked the room and went out, the fresh air made me feel refreshed. I quickly ran down, skipping three stairs at a time. There was a hotel nearby, though it was not lavish, it served food expected from a 5-star restaraunt. My stomach, on que, grumbled. People stared at me as I ran down the muddy road. I remembered some sanskrit words that I had read in a book before,
Rāmarājyavāsī tvam, procchrayasva te śiram
Nyāyārthaṁ yudhyasva, sarveṣu samaṁ cara
Paripālaya durbalam, viddhi dharmaṁ varam
Procchrayasva te śiram,
Rāmarājyavāsī tvam.
It meant: You live in Ram’s kingdom, hold your head high. Fight for justice. Treat all as equal. Protect the weak. Know that dharma is above all. Hold your head high, you live in the kingdom of Ram.
It meant everything to me, and I decided that I would follow it for the rest of my life, The Kingdom of Ram or not. I am still a fan of that amazing philospher for writing that book. But the question that I had asked on that day still comes back to me: What is freeedom?
Well, according to Lord Ram, "swatantrata," or freedom is often understood as the ability to live according to one's dharma without fear or coercion. It's not just about political freedom, but also about inner freedom from negative emotions, desires, and attachments that bind one to suffering.
So, dear Reader, do not be crestfallen. I hope you too find your own answer someday.
For as the Western world asks, “What is the meaning of life?”,
We, perhaps more humbly, ask:
What is the meaning of freedom?
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