Waiting for Hon'ble Chief Justice Surya Kant

I was on cloud nine when I received an invitation from the Old Students’ Association, Government College, Hisar (now renamed Guru Gorakhnath Ji Government College) to attend the Alumni Meet-2025, Diamond Jubilee Celebration (1950-2025) scheduled for January 10 this year. I felt elated to learn from local newspapers that my old classmate and close friend, Justice Surya Kant, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of India, had personally selected his close classmates and some very senior teachers for this privileged occasion. I felt flattered to read my name alongside some eminent persons in Haryana like nonagenarian retired college teacher Prof. Gugan Ram Godara, Choudhary Ajay Singh Chautala, an ex-Minister Prof. Chhattarpal Singh Kundu, and Chaudhary Bansi Lal University (CBLU), Bhiwani Vice-Chancellor Prof. Deepti Dharmani. My wife advised me, “Now you are going to meet your great classmate, Justice Surya Kant. I hope you will welcome him in some presentable dress.” I nodded my head in complete compliance. “Yes, yes, why not!” My son and daughter went to the famous Chaar Marla Market of Fatehabad town to buy a good blazer for me. I was persuaded to buy a pair of new shoes for the great day. When I was informed on the phone by the Principal’s office that I was lucky to have been issued a VIP pass with the word “Proximity” printed in red, I was required to bring a passport-size photo to affix on it. It was a very foggy and cold morning on January 10. Along with my old classmates Jasbir Singh Bhayana and Gurdip Singh “Amritsaria” (earlier members of the famous Bhangra Dance team of our college), I reached Government College exactly at 9 a.m. and completed the due process of registration in time. Soon, we were formally welcomed by staff members and student volunteers by putting a tilak (sacred mark) in red on our foreheads and showering flower petals on us. With the red VIP passes dangling from our necks, we were greeting our old classmates with great enthusiasm. We seemed to have become real VIPs like our top bureaucrats and big leaders for a few hours because of our old ties with Justice Kant!

After some time, we were escorted to the Food Court where tea, coffee, and snacks were being served. No doubt, the breakfast was delicious, yet my eyes and those of many of my classmates were desperately looking for only Justice Kant. Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933), an American author and poet, aptly says, “Time is too long for those who wait.” Some of my classmates stood at the main gate of the college, eagerly waiting for Justice Kant to arrive. Principal Dr. Vivek Saini was kind enough to assure us, “Don’t worry, Sir! As soon as Justice Kant arrives, we will request him to meet you first of all in the open college lawn where we have placed chairs and sofas for you to sit comfortably under the sunshine and meet him face-to-face gracefully.” We also learned that our old classroom No. 4 was specially decorated for sharing our experiences and memories with Justice Kant. In the same room, Prof. M.M. Sharma, Madam Shanti Malik, and Prof. Ved Guliani taught us, where Justice Kant met us daily, cracked jokes with us, and touched the feet of his teachers who shaped him into a great orator. Around 2:00 p.m., we were asked to take our lunch as Justice Kant was likely to reach the college at 2:30 p.m. The lunch was quite sumptuous and we ate our fill. After lunch, I saw some TV anchors moving around, requesting us to give a few bytes on Justice Kant, recalling the good old days we spent with him.

One more hour passed. Now, we started making desperate queries: “Has Justice Kant arrived?” Around 4:30 p.m., we saw a helicopter hovering over our college building. Many of us shouted, looking up at the sky, “Justice Kant aa gaye, aa gaye!” (Justice Kant has come! Justice Kant has come!). There were pleasant drum beats, plunging me into a reverie. “As soon as I meet him, I will hand over the editorial he authored forty-five years ago for the college magazine, ‘Bhor Ka Tara’ (Morning Star). If I am urged to speak a few words in his honor, I would say politely, ‘Now, you are expected to become the voice of the poor and weak of this big ancient country and protect the basic tenets of the Indian Constitution also! Sir, in your hands lies the destiny of our ancient beloved nation!'” But very soon, we came to know that it was just a rumor. The Honorable CJI had cancelled his “historical tryst” with us due to his very tight schedule. My heart sank when I learned that Justice Kant’s chopper had flown towards Guwahati as he had some urgent task to attend there. Then I saw a very aged Prof. Gugan Ram walking towards the main gate with a stick in his hands, sensing that now it was not possible for him to meet and felicitate his old student, Justice Kant! I saw many of my classmates leaving the venue in mild disappointment. I also put back the photostat copies of Justice Kant’s editorial into my bag. At around 5:30 p.m., we also left the college premises for home, hoping to see our great classmate and friend, Justice Kant, on some other day in the future.

Dr Raj Bahadur Yadav

https://newsarcindia.com/the-alumni-who-never-came-a-day-of-anticipation-at-government-college-hisar/

Bhagat Singh’s vision of unity, equality

THE execution of Bhagat Singh, Shivaram Rajguru and Sukhdev Thapar on March 23, 1931, remains a defining moment in India’s struggle against colonial rule. Their martyrdom continues to spur the spirit of patriotism and sacrifice. Beyond his revolutionary actions, Bhagat Singh’s writings reveal a deeply thoughtful social and political vision rooted in equality. Many of his biographers — including his own comrades Sohan Singh Josh, Ajay Ghosh and Shiv Verma — have described him as one of the most intellectually profound figures of the Indian freedom movement.

Writing under pen names such as Vidrohi, Ranjit and Balwant, Bhagat Singh contributed to the Punjabi monthly Kirti, founded by Santokh Singh in Amritsar. Working closely with Josh when the latter took over as the editor, he addressed pressing social issues.

In his 1927 article titled ‘Communal Riots and Their Solution’, Bhagat Singh examined the divisive impact of colonial policies following the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. He argued that the British fanned communal flames to weaken national unity. Referring to the 1924 riots in Kohat, he expressed anguish over how religious identities were manipulated to incite violence. He criticised both the masses and leaders who failed to rise above sectarian thinking.

In another important essay, ‘Achhut Samasya’ (1928), Bhagat Singh addressed the deep-rooted problem of untouchability. He pointed out the hypocrisy of demanding political freedom while denying basic human rights to millions of Dalits. He condemned practices that barred them from temples, schools and even access to drinking water. Emphasising moral responsibility, he argued that true freedom must include social equality. He also highlighted the contradiction between religious pride and the lack of compassion for marginalised communities.

Bhagat Singh’s concern extended to economic injustice as well. In Kirti, he wrote about the hardships faced by farmers and industrial workers under colonial rule. He supported mass movements, recognising their role in mobilising the oppressed. He criticised the British for exploiting peasants, such as in Punjab’s districts where farmers were forced to pay taxes despite crop failure. He also admired the courage of Ganesh Shankar Vidyarthi, who fought for workers’ rights despite repression.

Bhagat Singh firmly believed that India’s liberation required unity among workers, peasants and the oppressed. Only such a collective struggle, he argued, could dismantle imperialism and build a just, socialist society.

His cautionary note against communal politics remains strikingly relevant today, as divisive debates often overshadow key issues like education, healthcare and employment.

https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/musings/bhagat-singhs-vision-of-unity-equality/#google_vignette

Dr Raj Bahadur Yadav

The writer is a retired educationist based in Fatehabad

A Reunion to Remember: Classmates Reconnect with Chief Justice Surya Kant (NewsArc May 9, 2026) by Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav

How a convocation in Bhiwani became a deeply personal homecoming for Haryana’s most distinguished son Memorable Moments with Chief Justice Surya Kant — Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav 

 After being sworn in as the 53rd Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of India on November 24, 2025, Justice Surya Kant was invited to participate as the chief guest at the Alumni Meet-2025 of Government College, Hisar, scheduled for January 10, 2026. However, due to a pressing schedule, he had to cancel his visit at the last moment. We returned home that day feeling somewhat disappointed, yet a few of us remained hopeful of meeting him again in the near future. 

 Fortune smiled on us once more when, in the first week of April, we learnt that Justice Kant was scheduled to visit Chaudhary Bansi Lal University (CBLU), Bhiwani, on April 25 to address its convocation as chief guest. 

 Justice Kant happens to be the first person from Haryana to have reached the august office of Chief Justice of India, and he has consequently become a celebrated figure among intellectuals of humble origins across the towns and cities of the state. He holds a deep empathy for poor litigants who need justice the most. We all cherish memories of trusted friends and classmates — and Justice Kant is certainly one of them. Shakespeare puts it beautifully: “But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end.” (Sonnet 30, Lines 13–14)

 Dr. Vivek Saini, the current Principal of Government College, Hisar, along with Dr. Surendra Kumar Kaushik and Dr. Pramod Malik of CBLU, facilitated our meeting with our distinguished classmate.

 The tenacious and meticulous hosts at CBLU ensured that Justice Kant’s visit was both smooth and inspiring. I had dressed in spotless white, befitting the academic occasion. Seated in one of the VIP rows reserved for “Special Guests of Justice Kant,” we felt genuinely honoured. I was accompanied by two classmates — Jasbir Singh Bhayana and Giriraj Singh. I must say, honestly, that our only claim to a seat in that row was having once shared a college with Mr. Kant.

 With quiet contentment on his face, the 92-year-old Prof. Gugan Ram Godara also walked in and gently settled into his seat. We approached him and touched his feet to seek his blessings. Soon after, Justice Kant appeared on the dais alongside Haryana Governor Prof. Ashim Kumar Ghosh, Chief Justice of the Punjab & Haryana High Court Justice Sheel Nagu, Education Minister Mr. Mahipal Dhanda, and Vice-Chancellor Prof. Deepti Dharmani. 

 We rose to sing the national song, “Vande Mataram.” Justice Kant spoke warmly of Chaudhary Bansi Lal as the architect of modern Haryana. He exhorted students never to forget their roots, to pursue noble aims with focus and determination, and to look beyond their academic degrees towards a larger concern for those around them. Justice Kant was a highly acclaimed Hindi debater during his college days, so we were all the more delighted to hear him speak with remarkable fluency in English before a gathering of the literary and intellectual elite. He is a man whom God has liberally blessed with sterling qualities of both mind and heart. 

 Now, a glimpse of the memorable moments I spent with Justice Kant. After the convocation concluded with the national anthem, “Jana Gana Mana,” I met Justice Kant on the sidelines of the venue, greeted him warmly, and handed over to him the original copy of an editorial — now laminated, though yellowed with age — that he himself had authored nearly 45 years ago as student editor of our college magazine, Bhor Ka Tara (Morning Star). My name, too, finds mention in it. I also presented him with a copy of my book, Common People in Shakespeare’s Plays.

 I could feel tears rushing to my eyes when I told him, “My children jump up with great joy whenever they see you speaking on our television channels!” We were all moved when Justice Kant bowed gracefully before our revered teacher, Prof. Godara, and honoured him during the lunch gathering — a gesture as memorable as it was heartfelt. 

 Time flies, yet such soul-stirring memories stay with us forever.

https://newsarcindia.com/a-reunion-to-remember-classmates-reconnect-with-chief-justice-surya-kant/

 — Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav Behind Kath Mandi, Kranti Nagar, Fatehabad, Haryana

Travails of becoming Mahatma Gandhi (Daily World 22nd May, 2026) by Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav

Nature teaches us never to give up! (Daily World 19th May, 2026) by Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav

A tale of a selfless nature lover (Daily World 14th April, 2026) by Dr. Raj Bahadur Yadav

The roots that are withering away The Tribune, Chandigarh[ Published on April 3, 2025]

A library that opened a new world

Words inspire, words hurt ! - Raj Bahadur Yadav

    Words inspire, words hurt !

                                                            - Raj Bahadur Yadav

 In my childhood, I was an innocent witness to family squabbles in our village when the elders scolded an abusive young man,"Jabaan sambhaal kar bol!"[ Guard your tongue].In the heat of the moment, the rustic people said a lot of things they regretted later on. The harsh words always leave a bad taste in our mouths, whereas the polite and pleasant words build up an ambience of mutual trust and selfless attachment .Now when I have turned 59 year old, I find  humming softly to myself the most popular lyric"Ek din bik jayega matee ke mol" sung by Mukesh Chand Mathur better known mononymously as"Mukesh" in  the legendary filmmaker and producer, Raj Kapoor's film,"Dharam Karam"[1975]. In my humble opinion, this is one of the most melodious and soul-stirring songs the Indian cinema has ever produced . Let me recite its opening lines," Ek din bik jayega maati ke mol/ Jag me reh jayenge pyare tere bol"[ One day, you will be sold for the price of clay/ All that will be left in the world will be only your words". I cannot help sharing with the readers another inspiring line of the lyric," Koi nishaani chhod phir dunia se dol"[Leave a mark, then depart from this world].

                                                                                  On getting the congratulatory comment,"Shabash"[Well done!] from my school teacher in my notebook, I felt greatly elated and would show the written remark in Hindi to my father at home in the evening. I felt inspired to study with more enthusiasm when he patted on my back saying," Bahut achcha, Shabash!"   In 1978, as a student of Government College, Hisar,  I was jubilant to see 80/100 marks on the front page of  my answer-sheet of English paper with a  special compliment ," Very, very good", from Prof Balhara, who taught us the famous novel,"Animal Farm"[ 1945] authored by George Orwell in B A--I [Arts]. Some of  the toppers and brilliant students from four sections of our undergraduate class had applauded me,"Quite excellent. Keep it up!" Such kind words of my teachers and classmates kept me inspired for decades together  to burn the mid-night oil and  become a diligent student and teacher.

                                                  There is a well-known English proverb,"Whoever guards his mouth and tongue/ Keeps his soul from troubles". The words spoken by reckless and thick-skinned people pierce our hearts. They can hurt us beyond description, make us forego our meals and sleep. Once a villager visited his maternal aunt. The peasant woman prepared"Kheer"[rice boiled in milk with sugar] for him. When she had served him the food, she asked him,"How does it taste?". Instead of answering her question, he put a counter question to her,"How many buffaloes have you got, dear aunt?" She gave a plain reply," Only one". The fool in him became active," If this buffalo does, what will you do?' She got alarmed at his unexpected query yet she told him," We shall buy a new buffalo, my son!" But the country bumpkin in him did not feel satisfied with her honest answer and blundered into the avoidable folly," If that buffalo too dies because of some disease?" Now, the old lady seemed to have run out of her patience. She picked up a bamboo stick lying near her to teach him a lesson," Thahar paaji, abhi maja chakhati hun"[ Wait a moment, rascal, I will teach you a lesson! ]. The youth stopped enjoying the sweet dish and made  a rush for the exit door.The sweet liquid in white was  trickling down from his shirt. Somebody standing in their courtyard asked him," What is this dripping down from your shirt?" The fool now felt ashamed of his thoughtless words and could acknowledge his folly," This is the juice of my tongue!"

Fragrance of my childhood memories - Raj Bahadur Yadav

  Fragrance of my childhood memories

                                                                  - Raj Bahadur Yadav

 

I feel quite happy and hopeful while going through  William Shakespeare's sensible advice,"With mirth and laughter/ Let old wrinkles come".  I happen to be on the wrong side of my middle age and my body has lost the bounce and vigour of my youthful days.  When some friend or acquaintance asks me", What are you doing these days?" I answer in the lighter vein,"likely to complete the last unit of the bulky syllabus of my life !" They burst  into peals of laughter. They tease me further," What is that, Sir?" Having retired from government service, now I have to reconstruct my old house and marry off my grown up children. I am in the last queue of my life,waiting for a call from God to join the heavenly choir! " They take my leave saying," You crack good jokes!" I cannot deny that the  child in me still lives.

                                                            My face perks up when I go  down the memory lane. Childhood memories still inspire me to dream  and take keen interest in real life. Graham Greene has very perceptively observed," There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in".Here is a vivid account of a small incident of late sixties. During the summer vacation of 1969, I visited our native village alongwith my father in Pratapgarh district of Uttar Pradesh. On return journey to Hisar, while boarding  a bus, my foot slipped and I had suffered several cuts and bruises on my  ribs and right knee. As the fate would have it, my father had had to leave me behind in the village, requesting my grandmother,"Let him study in the village primary school here once his wounds heal up. I have to go back  to Haryana to rejoin my duty. Mother ,please take care of your prattling grandson. He is the "birva"[ a small plant  ] of your family garden".  I had nobody in the world to care for me except my father and grandmother as my own mother had passed away a couple of years ago.

                                                     In those days, the school teachers were full of missionary zeal. As a student of class four, I was expected to wear "Gandhi cap" of white colour, possess a "takli"[ spindle] to spin khadi .We had a few lessons on "krishi"[ agriculture] also and allowed to dig with spades, sow seeds and grow plants of wheat, .barley and mustard on the school land. One day, I spotted a tiny plant in our field. I took a" khurpi"[blacksmith made spud] from our house and dug it out very carefully so that its roots remained intact. We had a thatched roof over our "dalaan"[verandah], supported by thick mud walls. Grandma smiled at me," Kisan banega, beta?"[ Will you become a farmer,son?]. I dug a hole  into which I set the root ball very gently with my little trembling hands. I  filled the hole with  the same soil which had come out.  On getting up in the morning, out of sheer curiosity , the first thing I did, was to take a close look at the young plant. It was rainy reason so it grew rapidly. Every fresh leaf gave me immense pleasure. I had embedded a few thin bamboo sticks into the ground around it. Soon its tender , thread like green stems gripped them and the gourd vine aggressively climbed up the thatch-roof.  I made it a point to water it when there was no rain for several days. The entire thatch  was replete with broad green leaves and white flowers. I thrilled with great wonder when I could locate the first baby  gourds growing. Once, a vegetable farmer of our village, chanced upon the  bloom of this beautiful vine, and exclaimed in delight," Bahut hi sundar hai eh gol lauki ki bel?" My grandma told him with a sense of great pride," Mere potte ka kaam hai yeh bhai!"[ This is the handiwork of my grandson] My grandma tired plucking the "gol lauki" for cooking vegetable for home and preparing" raita". Then, she started giving it as a gift to villagers and relatives who would visit her. When they thanked grandma and admired me for  my keen interest in trees and plants, my joy knew no bounds.   In fact, I was myself  like a  young tree being looked after my grandma. She woke me up early in the morning, took me to the well for a fresh bath, baked fresh chapattis for me laced with  desi ghee. Then, she would very affectionately say, " Now go son, don't be late for your  school!" Having borne gourd fruits in abundance, the  vine wilted and withered away in course of time. But its splendid  image still lingers in my mind and heart . My grandma too left this world in 1974. Though I did not take to farming when I grew up as my grandma had guessed, yet I developed a strong passion for books and became a teacher of English language, and, in the end, retired as school principal. I  shall never forget two of these: that mesmerizing gourd  vine and my kind and loving grandmother.

Mother, O my dear mother !

Mother, O my dear mother !      

                            --Raj Bahadur Yadav

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Mummy!  O mummy!  I heard my 26 year old son calling out his mother from the bedroom. On not getting an immediate response from her, he repeated,"Mummy, O mummy!" When I asked him,"What is the matter, my son? Can I help you?" He replied,"No papa! You cannot do it!"  Meanwhile, his mother came rushing from the backyard of our house assuring him loudly,"Aayee beta! Abhi aayee"[ I am coming son, I am coming at once].My heart leapt to my mouth, watching my only son, Monu, groaning in severe pain, struck unfortunately by rheumatoid arthritis,a chronic inflammatory disorder. On seeing her, he demanded," Where are my clothes? Have you  placed the steel chair in the bathroom which I use while having my bath?" The doting mother replied," Go now and take bath my son! I have placed everything in order there."

                                        The filial bond between my son and his mother reminds me of my own dear mother. She was a tall and well-built peasant woman. We were fated never to meet again after she fell ill and died in 1967. My grandmother used to narrate her tales of deep affection for me," In the mornings, she gave you a bath in fresh water drawn from our brick-lined well , massaged your whole body with mustard oil and applied home made "kajal"[kohl]  in your eyes. She added carefully a dot of "kajal" on the left side of your forehead in order to ward off "buri nazar"[bad glance]. Once you fell very sick. Your father said, " I am going to call the "hakeem"[ an expert in using herbs]  to treat him". But your mother insisted,"  I am not ready to take any risk. You must take my son to a good hospital in the  city. In those days, nobody owned a scooter or motorcycle in the village. Your father  hired a "tanga"[horse-cart] to reach the "Swaroop Rani Nehru Hospital" in Allahabad. In reflective moments, my heart cries out,"Mother,O my dear mother!"

                             

                                 When I became a college student  in late seventies, I read Maxim Gorky's  novel,"The Mother[1906]" for the first time. In those days, this novel hogged  a lot of limelight. It was quite common among students to quote Gorky," Only mothers can think of the future-- because they give birth to it."  Gorky was born in Nizhny Novgorod in 1868  and became an orphan at the age of nine. He must have missed his own mother a lot all his life. The novel focuses on the role women played in the struggle of the Russian working class on the eve of the aborted revolution of 1905. Pelageya Nilovna Vlasova is a poor widow of a factory worker. Her husband was a heavy drunkard. She knew nothing but beatings and constant terror of being beaten up. Her  son, Pavel Vlasov also follows in the  the footsteps of his father and starts drinking. Nilovna feels alarmed. But her deep affection for her son brings about a big change in him.He abandons drinking. One day, he returns home with a bundle of books and talks about social and political change..From an impoverished and brutal individual, Pavel gets transformed into  the representative voice of the poor and exploited  factory workers because of a great mother like Nilovna. She taught him," You will not drown the truth in the seas of blood".

The Tribune : An authentic witness to tragedy of partition

The Tribune : An authentic witness to tragedy of partition

                                                 -Raj Bahadur Yadav

The Tribune has been the voice of the people of India in general and that of Punjab in particular since 1881 when it was established in Lahore by Sardar Dyal Singh Majithia, a Punjabi banker and an activist in progressive social reforms in the land of five perennial rivers . I have been a keen reader of this popular English daily for the last four decades. While dusting off an old  rickety box of books, I came through a handsome series of  reproduced  front-pages of The Tribune of the most turbulent year 1947 [ Page From History,  1997 ] with comprehensive news reports about the ill-fated Hindu,Sikh and Muslim refugees in millions  crossing the border from India and Pakistan.Due to constraints of space, I would refer only to some select pages of this great national daily to highlight the main political developments of those disturbed times and  huge sufferings of the victims of partition. In its late morning edition of August 11, 1947,published from Lahore, The Tribune breaks the front-page news,"New Status For Provincial Govts". We learn from this news report that the Indian Independence Act, 1947 would come into force from August 15 . The Provincial Governments in nine provinces would now  be bound to function under the Government of India Act, 1935. The Provincial Premiers and other Ministers were required to take fresh oaths without any reference to British King.  In those days, Britain was running out of dollars to fund the food imports for India.  Prime Minister,Clement Attlee, was feeling  helpless in addressing the deep financial crisis into which Britain had plunged.  Against this  political background, the people of India  were eagerly waiting for the historical day- August 15 to come soon, but  at the same time, the monster of communalism  had  come to pose a serious threat to their peaceful existence.. The Tribune[ Lahore, August 12] quotes Mahatma Gandhi,"No wish to live to see such madness. I will place my life in the hands of God". Gandhiji was greatly moved by the communal riots in Calcutta. When the country was on the threshold of freedom,  the Hindus and Muslims had gone mad.   But there were good and kind people also around. The Tribune[Simla, October 2] takes note of  their humanistic gesture,"Instances of Sikh villagers helping Muslim refugees moving from Beas to Amritsar with fresh drinking water and milk have been reported". The floods had caused a heavy damage to roads, railway lines and bridges.In Sialkot district,the railway line between Dera Baba Nanak and Jassar was under water over a distance of eight miles. The Hindu-Sikh convoys got stuck up at several places, facing great hardships. Amid reports of raids and attacks on refugee camps, The Tribune of October 5 has once  again  shown Gandhiji lamenting,"Does Independence mean goodbye to civilization?"

                                                                                          The Tribune[ Simla,October 9,1947] draws our serious attention towards its front-page headline,"Famine Threatens East Punjab".  More than five lakh Hindu and Sikh refugees are reported to have taken shelter in various  camps of Punjab..The Tribune cautions the rulers of the day,"Lakhs may perish unless timely help comes". The vigilant and genuinely a pro-people newspaper gives us "positions and numbers" of Hindu-Sikh refugee camps  located in different districts. There is a heart-rending tale of uprooted people from Lyallpur with the caption,"1.5 Lakhs Hindu and Sikh Refugees Held UP: Lyallpur D. C.'s Fiat". The Staff Representative of The Tribune reports that the people from villages on the Lyallpur-Jhang Road "have been held up by the Deputy Commissioner of Lyallpur. They have been told that unless they pay off their land revenue, they will not be allowed to proceed on to East Punjab".The innocent people had come with  one week's food on the assurance that after that they would be evacuated safely. They had left their home and hearth behind which might have been occupied by Muslim refugees by then.. Destiny had played a cruel joke with them. Their deep agony could move even God Himself but  the small men in big chairs were adding insult to their injury.   The Tribune[Simla, December 5, 1947] breaks a good news for the nation,"Hindus and Sikhs Evacuated From W. Punjab". As per the news report, over 8 million refugees had crossed the Indo-Pakistan border in both directions upto November 21, 1947. Long live The Tribune, the Voice of the common people!

Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV

Magic of the sunshine in spring

   Magic of sunshine in Spring

                                    --Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV

 With the onset of Spring season in India, the summer also knocks at our doors. Towards the end of March, I stopped using muffler as my small turban in the morning while I happened to be on a morning walk. I had thrown the warm clothes into the closet  much earlier. Though the wind seems to be cold a bit brushing past my ears in the morning, after two or three rounds of the track in the local public park, it becomes tolerable and quite soothing too.

                                                            Like human beings, now the birds too become active early in the morning, chirping,hopping from one  branch to another with their beautiful tails rising up and down umpteen times within a second.In every flower-bed, I notice an enchanting bloom with red,yellow and pink flowers greeting you,"Ram, Ramji" just like some people with whom I have struck a nodding acquaintance. The dew drops appear like pearls settled on flowers, bushes and grass.The long  golden beams of sunshine falling on the grassy patches and piercing the dense green boughs of the trees cast a sort of magic spell on me. I feel wonder-struck and thrilled, with my eyes riveted on the light- green leaves, above and below the little white, violet and pink blossom on the farthest-tops of the different trees. I am quite happy, watching people passing under the soul-soothing shadows of trees. When I myself enter  such a  natural umbrella or canopy , I feel as If I should halt there forever, forgetting my home and hearth. Trees have a great curative power, capable of cooling our frayed tempers. I feel myself lucky when my eyes meet the pleasant rays of sunshine filtering through the green foliage. With folded hands, I bow down to eternal Sun in reverence. Neem[Azardiachta Indica] , Peepal and a few other trees brought from hilly areas are still shedding their leaves. These fallen leaves in contrast with the freshly sprouted leaves symbolize the cycle of life and death,rise and fall of empires and civilizations.

  During Spring, the mornings are really pleasant and the people are filled with fresh energy to start their day's work. A peasant is the happiest person, visiting his fields to find his wheat crop maturing. A wordsmith or a writer like me feels inspired to muse about new tales,full of fresh ideas.

Ek shaam, shaheedon ke naam

Beauty of the word

Those were the days! -Raj Bahadur Yadav

   Those were the days!

                                             -Raj Bahadur Yadav

 I spent the golden period of my life at Kurukshetra University as its student from 1981 to 1983. It has been long 36 years since I delivered my farewell speech  at a select gathering of my classmates and teachers in the Arts Faculty building in which the Department of English was housed then. Before the farewell party took place, there was a fierce debate as to who would thank our worthy teachers[ including eminent scholars like Dr R S Singh, Dr OP Grewal and Dr Bhim S. Dahiya] on behalf of MA[English] final year students. Some of the boys and girls came forward with their written versions,citing different thinkers and poets. But the majority opined," Whosoever wants to address us, should have the  ability and courage to speak extempore." There was a pin-drop silence for a while. Some of the boys darted an impatient look at me and  I had to promptly reply, "O.K., I shall do this job but--".  But there were no takers for my "but" as I had represented the university twice in inter-university literary debates held at Panjab University, Chandigarh. One of them assured me," Don't worry. One of us will keep standing behind the back door and knock lightly at it  to signal you to end up your speech after a gap of 15 minutes. In case, you feel short of words , just leave the stage with a graceful bow,"thank you very much"!
                                                            The KU campus is spread over nearly 400 acres of land. Memories come crowding down into my mind. In those days, the crops of wheat and paddy also grew on it. A small water canal flew  through the campus from west to east-leading to ancient Bramha Sarovar. On both banks of it, stood lovely green trees and bushes. To this day, I have not been able to understand as to how so quickly I and my classmates took bath, finished our breakfast and got ready in the morning to attend our lectures.Having crossed the Narhari Hostel located in south, we would turn towards north and then towards east dawdling along the canal, laughing and talking together. I can still visualize in my mind's eye the yellow,brown and even a few green leaves floating down from trees and falling on the running blue waters of the canal. A whiff of fresh air from the east would enter my nostrils and  intoxicate me with intense pleasure.
                       One day, one of my classmates told me,"Dr R S Singh has called you in his office". Dr Singh  was a renowned expert on Indian fiction. When I entered his august office saying,"May I come in, Sir  !" A gentle smile flitted across his face and he said to me," An inter-university paper reading contest on Fyodor Dostoevsky[1821-1881] , Russian novelist , is going to be held in the Department of English at Panjab University, Chandigarh next month. I recommend your name for the two member-team for this literary event". It was a god-send opportunity for me to prove myself as a budding scholar. In the first week of February, I 1982, I started for Chandigarh, the City Beautiful--full of art,culture,literature and culinary tastes.  I had worked non-stop for almost one month to prepare my paper on Dostoevsky's famous novel,"Crime and Punishment"[1866]. I was really lucky to have read out my paper and answered all the literary questions put to me on part of the audience in the graceful presence of Dr Darshan Singh Maini[ a reputed literary critic and poet  who  contributed for decades middle articles for The Tribune ]. I held my breath when the results were being read out. I felt I had arrived when Dr Maini himself announced from the stage,"The first prize goes to Mr R B Yadav of Kurukshetra University". As a team also, we had cruised to victory and lifted the  literary trophy in the magnificent auditorium hall of the English Department of Panjab University, Chandigarh. I shall always remain greatly indebted to my worthy teachers of Kurukshetra University, my alma mater. Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV

Joys and travails of writing

   Joys and travails of writing

                                                  Raj Bahadur Yadav

 Albert Camus, the French philosopher and the author has said,"You cannot create experience. You must undergo it".  Last week, one of my old classmates  asked me,"How did you learn the art of creative writing?"  I thought for a while and told him, "From the artless people of my village,particularly my grandmother. Having finished our night  meal, my grandmother used to light a bonfire, using  dry dung cakes and logs of wood. All the family members sat around it and she would anchor the long story session". Her  tales,intermittently backed  by pithy folk songs, kept the audience spell-bound and enthralled. At the end of every tale, I underwent a "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings" as a listener. The seed was sown, and the first cotyledon sprouted from my creative urge in the form of  a short tale"Sachcha Nyaya"[ True Justice]  published  in the Hindi daily, Punjab Kesari ,in 1975 under a weekly column "Baal Katha". I was studying in the 10th class then. In those days, we didn't subscribe to any daily newspaper. I was in the air when I came across my first published piece  at a hair dresser's shop. I requested  its owner," Uncle, can give you me this newspaper as it has carried out my short story today?" The middle -aged owner said," Quite nice,  but I cannot give it to you right now as I have myself  yet to go through it. Come in the evening to collect it."  As soon as the sun set in , I rushed to his small shop located in the local market of Hisar city. The moment I got that newspaper, I felt I had come to possess the most precious treasure of the world. This tale[ with its genesis in an ancient fable] related to the greedy milkman who mixed water with milk in order to make a fast buck and a monkey snatched his purse full of coins. Sitting on a distant branch of the tree, our primordial ancestor  had dropped half of the coins into the nearby pond and the other half at the feet of the milkman who cheated his innocent customers. 

                           Henry Miller , an American writer, aptly thought,"Writing is its own reward".  While studying in the Government College, Hisar, I contributed a poem ," Matmailey Gaon Ki Or"[ Towards the dusty villages] to the college magazine in late seventies. Justice Surya Kant [ then a student of this college] had edited the Hindi section of the magazine and appreciated my poem, extolling the virtues of rural life. From the 1980s onwards, I started penning down my thoughts and feelings in English. One day, while taking rounds of a  public park in the morning, I asked Prof MM Sharma,my English teacher,"How can I write better articles,Sir?" To this question, he promptly replied," Write,write and write!" I have authored several middle articles in the recent years. Some of them have appeared in The Tribune too. I have continued writing despite  struggling hard to come out of a debris of rejections. The editor's thoughtful reply,"I regret we will not be able to make use of  it",  leaves me floundering around and I find myself getting nowhere. On sober reflection, I am able to discern the flaws in them. Then, once again, I sit back and start musing about some new theme.The day my article appears in The Tribune, I am extolled as a genius by my friends. But  I am fully aware that my  craft has not yet reached the threshold of "flowering" though every fresh piece I compose  gracefully shows  that my last published write -up  was no fluke. I happen to be a writer with a little modest success , believing firmly in Benjamin Franklin's famous quote," Diligence is the mother of good luck". 

Dr RAJ BAHADUR YADAV

Joys of creative writing

Joys of creative writing

A tale of cold and cloudy day