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India received its Independence rather too hurriedly and was totally unprepared at that time, many thought fifty years ago. We in our small big village of Nizampatnam on the Bay of Bengal thought so, at any rate. Though it was in the air for some time about the Cripps Mission and Wavell plan and such things, we in the younger generation were skeptical that the British really intended to leave India and end the golden days they enjoyed here. We were apprehensive that knowing the cunning fox, it would somehow manipulate to get at the earliest and scheme for it in some form or the other. Mountbatten’s handling of the Kashmir issue confirmed this lurking suspicion.

The only one among us who was absolutely sure of the British leaving India was Mr. Chavali Balasundara Rao, a veteran old Congressman who acquired a limping leg during an earlier satyagraha. He was a man of cheerful disposition and radiated love and affection. We admired and adored him for his witticisms and erudition.

I happened to be one of the few officials stationed there in charge of the informal rationing introduced in 1945 by the Madras Government and spent about three years of my formative years there. Though I was very young, I could manage the rationing reasonably well with the support of local people like Balasundara Rao and the numerous ex-army personnel who settled there and led a contented, peaceful life.

Nizampatnam then was a mere fishing village and the largest among the nearby smaller villages. The fisher folk indulged themselves in smuggling of rice when they were not engaged in fishing. It has since then been transformed into a nourishing fishing harbour and may soon get its earlier position as a port town which it was centuries . In those days, it had no roads at all, not even the ones that pass off by that term in some of our villages, except the cart tracks on a sandy terrain. It was formidably aloof from the nearest towns like Repalle or Bapatla by a distance of about 20 miles, cutoff by canals and drains. It was an overnight boat journey from Tenali. Two drains separated it from the talk headquarters. In the rainy season people were transported on two palm trunks tied together, hollow in the middle and a plank spread over on which they perched themselves. But in the rest of the seasons, they had to wade through waist deep water from one bank to the other. They gathered their shoes, if they had any, which they held aloft along with other material they happened to carry with them, lifted their dhotis or saris as the case may he, and merrily pushed along in the water, oblivious of the surroundings and the other crossing the creek in a similar manner. There was no sense of shame or embarrassment on the part of any of them. Lord Krishna is said to have divested the naked Gopis of their sense of shame and ahamkara once by making them raise their hands too. This typical stage of absence of self-consciousness, which is said to be rare to be achieved even by the yogis, was being experienced by the common folk like us every time we crossed the drainage canals. It greatly uplifted the sense of well being and perhaps contributed to the health of the village folk.

One cannot think of Nizampatnam without recalling the son of its soil, who put it on the national map. Havildar Poturaju, who shot down the first of the F 16 Sabre Jets so generously donated by Uncle Sam to Pakistan, which Pakistan fielded against India in the 1965 Indo-Pakistan war. These state-of-art fighters were the latest in the series then and most sophisticated and were assidously touted as the most invincible in the American armoury.

It was Havildar Poturaju, a tiny man belonging to the tiny village of Nizampatnam, who had the credit of having shot down the first Sabre Jet and did his village and the country proud. As he later recalled at a reception in his honour held in the Brindavan Hotel, he was perched on the mountain ranges of Haji Pir with his machine gun in hand and the ill-fated aircraft happened to pass by and as the range and angle were right, he pulled the trigger and brought, down the much feared monster to the bewilderment of all concerned.

He did not realise what momentous action he had then taken by bringing down the plane, till the next day, the Captain visited the station and congratulated and shook hands with him and presented him with a full bottle of rum. Later he was given leave and taken round the country as a hero, which he really was, because, after the first of the jets was downed by him, others started tumbling down. Well, in all fairness, no one should grudge the share of the credit which Havildar Poturaju brought to Nizampatnam, to cheer leaders like me.

By the time of the big event on the 15th August 1947, I had made enough friends with the local youth, which contained a motley crowd including the local village post-master, the forest ranger, and the village officials. There was a local Homoeo practioner and a school teacher Ramasastry who was proficient in playing on the harmonium. His younger brother had a drum which did for a tabla. The choir group was ready, with me in the lead as a singer. Enthused by the abundance of talent in the village, we made bold to float an association named Vijnana Samiti, there. I had since then started several other organisations which are happily surviving even to this day. Praise be to the Lord!

When our group was not rehearsing our music, we were indulging in card games. I learnt my bridge the hard way, by playing as a partner with Balasundara Rao, an expert in the field and when our team lost money I was greatly benefited by his frank opinion of my play. There was a scholar poet belonging to the town, one Mr. Sistla Sitaramanjaneyulu, who was proficient in Telugu and Sanskrit and lived in the simple true unassuming Gandhian style. But Balasundara Rao was a giant among them all, with his finger in every pie-politics, literature, poetry, gourmet-eating and entertainment, et. al.

It was therefore quite logical that we had to celebrate the big event on 15th August in the grandest manner possible, consistent with our resources and the available manpower. As the V-Day approached, the radio blared through the freshly installed community radio set and the newspapers flashed the details of the transfer of power and arrangements being made in Delhi. It was increasingly becoming obvious that the British were after all packing up.

But as a disciplined government official, I wanted to make sure what the Govt. wanted us to do or not to do. To me, it was patently a political event however much it concerned the nation. I eagerly awaited instructions from the Government, but perhaps they did not have the time to pass on the orders to the lower rungs or simply lacked the inclination to do so. I was at a loss, therefore to determine as to how far I could get involved in welcoming the independence of the country. As there were so specific orders either way, I took advantage of the absence of any orders prohibiting the celebration and gave myself the benefit of doubt. (I always since then prided in being a legal luminary). By way of abundant caution, it was agreed that the officials would do all in their hands unofficially and the local political leaders would take the credit. This was satisfactory to both sides and Balasundara Rao was most happy that the folks would not miss the event. Even in those days the petty officials at the local level were capable of putting spokes in anything being done in public interest and he wanted to be sure that some myopic petty minded man did not come in the way and spoil the game.

Such were the circumstances when a momentous decision was taken to mark the historic event that would go down the pages of history. My RSS ground and the organisational skills acquired during my student days stood me in good stead and the local co-operation was overwhelming. As a result we welcomed India’s Independence in big way, with a music concert, orchestra included, (courtesy Rama Sastry and his brother) with national songs to of the glory of India that is Bharat. The tricolour was ceremoniously hoisted and homages paid.

Fifty years later, I am thankful to the Lord, I am alive to recall this historic event, when the country threw out the British yoke and became free. An event that changed the shape of the country and the psyche of the nation.

However, some questions on the basics still remain unanswered then and also now, such as for example, was the freedom we got the same as the Ramarajya of Gandhiji’s dreams? Where have the values we cherished before gone? And the oneness and the pride in the national concept of being an Indian, felt throughout the length and breadth of the country? Do we always need an external danger or a common enemy to keep us together as a nation? And to keep away from the mischief with silly local issues the vote mongers take advantage of? Where giants like Prakasam, Nehru and Patel strode and bared their chest to the police and strode the political stage why do we have to put up with lilliputs who cannot venture out without gunmen or commandoes? Do we have to be helpless spectators in the mad and vulgar rush for money, more by means foul than fair, and relegate the nation’s interest to the ground? And do we have to meekly submit to the brute force of the petty politicians and their henchmen?

Many more such questions linger on in the mind when one recollects the day on which we got the Independence and celebrated with gay abandon, hope and optimism fifty years ago. In contrast today we look with cynicism, disgust and disappointment at the sad turn events are taking and the slide down of the values that once made us keep our heads high.

To be fair of course, there are any number of achievements and successes of which we can be rightly proud of. But the steep fall in human values is the greatest upsetting factor.

Being a robust optimist myself, I look forward to the future fondly hoping against hope, that the country would some how be put on rails and towards progress and restoration of the cherished basic values and brute force over come by moral force. Or, does one have to look to the rising of a KALKI to destroy the evil forces or a Malthus to take over! Only time will tell.