A myriad of colours chased each other across an evening sky. The sun gleamed over the brink of the horizon, taking one last peek at the earth. A dry breeze laced through the trees, making them sway gently in rhythmic serenity. Footsteps crunched on the gravelly ground, sometimes muffled by bushels of dry grass. The place was cloaked with a quiet ambience, a humble morose landscape stretching alongside the seemingly endless beach. The Arabian sea caressed the land every few minutes, stroking the sand with gentle tides that rose and fell in hushed harmony.
Imara’s bare feet sunk into the sand as she trudged across the wet beach, wrapped up in solitude. Her thoughts circled each other, dragging her emotions into a chasm of despair. The memory of the rejection letter flashed through her mind over and over, proclaiming its rightful position at the top of her ever - growing tower of failure. Harvard may have been a long shot, so was Oxford and Yale; Princeton had offered hope but betrayed her aspirations at the last moment; and the letters continued to pile up - sneering evidence of her ineptitude. Every attempt at getting admission abroad had sunk her further into the folds of false security, ushered in by the sanguine whispers of Hope, only to be dragged out into the starkness of reality soon after.
A whole year had passed in ‘misguided attempts’, a year where every single solitary relation and friend had advised her to simply apply to local universities in Gujarat itself, if not in the rest of India. Blinded by ambition; she had continued to pursue the goal; unaware of the time drifting past her. Now she walked on a forlorn beach, regret sinking into her mind just like her feet sank into the sand.
The sun had already passed out of view when she sat on a rock by the side of the beach. The breeze had subsided; with only a half-hearted gust passing every now and then; darkness slowly creeping into the sky as a deafening silence spread across the land.
Time passed slowly. Her mind grew foggy with the emotional exertion of the last hour. She stared at the beach, when suddenly the beach began melting away, drifting off into the distant valley of consciousness. It was replaced by the same beach, yet it was different in almost every manner. The sun had risen again, beaming at the ground filled with crowds of people gathered there, awaiting the arrival of someone. At last, the far end of the beach showed a group of people arriving on foot, all clad in white. Even from the distance, an incredibly recognisable figure led the group, his characteristic spectacles glimmering under the sun. They slowly got closer; and every step they took seemingly filled the hearts of everyone present with fervent anticipation; with a mutual sense of admiration and curiosity rippling across the crowd.
Mahatma Gandhi walked on the sun baked sand, followed by his group of satyagrahis, resolution radiating off them with a powerful cadence. They continued approaching, until ripples slowly swam across the vision; until it slowly melted away; as sudden in its farewell as it was during its arrival. The beach gradually reappeared, silent and morose as ever. Imara’s eyes were dewy, her body filled with an almost hysterical exhilaration, the kind which makes adrenaline flow through your veins and fills you with inexplicable effervescent happiness.
She stares out into the horizon, dimly lit by the radiance of street lights nearby, and dwells on her…….vision? Hallucination? Whatever it may have been. Her thoughts race back to the time when she was younger, when everything was perfect; remembering all she had heard about Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. His life, his principles, the repetitive, unrestrained pride every adult about her radiated when telling her about him.
As a child, the Salt March or Dandi March was the epitome of all the short stories she heard from her grandparents. The mere idea of walking from Sabarmati Ashram to here in Dandi, seemed insurmountable, even in imagination. The prospect of envisioning a manner in which one could achieve freedom with absolutely no force or ferity was something so novel to her ears that it arrested her attention. The revolutionary ideals he brought to the country were consumed by her brain in rapturous delight, a nightly ritual that continued for almost the entirety of her childhood.
She could still recall the thousands of facts that had been piled into her brain; hidden away in a corner for years now; bursting out of her memory with unequaled enthusiasm. The fact that he was originally a lawyer. His stay in South Africa; where he organised a peaceful campaign for civil rights. Or his return to India, where he began to gather the people to fight against the unjust practice of the British, later going on to assume leadership of the Indian National Congress. She imbibed that feeling of fierce respect from her elders; at one point of time insisting on wearing khadi everywhere. The nation - wide campaigns initiated by him for women's rights, religious intolerance and untouchability had particularly impressed her.
As the sea continued its continuous onslaught of waves, and the breeze picked up its pace again after a long time; Imara solidified onto a singular resolution, something she barely wanted to consider just an hour ago. Education was all that really mattered, the prestige of the college was never supposed to be a factor in consideration in the first place. It seemed foolish now, the headstrong wish of pursuing further studies abroad; with no actual consideration regarding the practicality of such an endeavor. Yet the bitterness of the situation had fallen away, and Acceptance timidly crept in. She began returning home, her eyes glowing with peace; the torn shreds of her self esteem gradually stitching themselves back together - inspired by the life of a man who had first walked the earth 153 years ago, and whose legacy continues to inspire the youths of today.
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