Mid 1900s, at the backstage of a Theatre, Satyen stood infront of the mirror. Being dressed in vintage hunter’s costume, he saw the revolutionalist inside him for the first time. The darkness revealed the turmoil of false Independence. The starstud stage lighting symbolized the revolution and the upcoming Reformation. Amidst the fire kissed surrounding, he stood burning .For to light the future of the reformation, revolutionists should burn and so did he. He being a native of East Bengal is a mere refugee lost in the colors of the Independent India.”Independence, huh?, he cried. He saw Independence doomed in the hands of power and Authority for he like many others saw thousands dying of starvation. The roads, the fields, the rivers and Nature in hunger of Human life thrive mass suicide era in Bengal. A state where Sun rises with the death of a young boy who is yet to dream and sets with the last breathe of a man who lost to poverty. Amidst the revolution and reformation, was born a generation of calamity, disaster, hunger and fight for livelihood. Satyen, the boy who grew up to be a man with the bloodsheds of his family. He grew up with the stage being set around the merciless killing of farmers and women. He fed himself with the series of suicide made by thousand of mothers for they failed to nourish their children. Satyen entered the stage, sounds of applause buzzed in from every corner of the theatre. Only Satyen knew, he never longed or desired to be a theatre worker.What he wanted was to be a part of the Revolution through his work, but he failed. Never being judged by his depth, he was a mere piece of entertainment to the audience. After the play was over, he took his payment and departed from the theatre. Little knew the theatre that the man departed for the last time, little knew the audience that they witnessed him for the final time. Back home, under the dimmed light and blurred vision, he saw a new era. He saw an era of enrichment, he saw an era of true independence where people cherish and love to live. He took out a bottle from his bag and kept it just beside him on his reading table and then opened his diary.He wrote,
"For life and death complement each other,
So do Independence and Revolution.
For here a river bank corrodes,
Somewhere a new bank originates.
For somewhere a revolutionist dies,
Revolution takes a new turn.
Every bank corrodes for the enlargement of the river,
And
Every revolutionist dies for the enrichment of the Revolution.”
The pen stopped, tears dropped on the pages of the diary and there he opened the bottle and drank it in one go.
The label on the bottle “Poison”
Independence laughed another time, Freedom and Revolution cried for the last time.
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