August 7, 1941 there isn't any visible signs of disturbance in the nature at the great loss humanity had suffered. Nature refused to shed her seriousness. She looked detached as usual. But the world, India particularly, stood numb. He was the man who greeted the world with his offerings of songs. He was the man who was ashamed of badges of honours, who denounced nationalism for internationalism. A saint, poet, world citizen- was many things to many people. Yet he died restless, his heart was weeping. Humanity had failed him. Brothers waging war on brothers. Destruction, for what? he never understood. His own land were being controlled and prowled. Love and peace were nowhere to be found. He fought hard against it. But inside, he knew he was only partially succeeded in his mission on earth. He was going to die like a soldier in the battlefield, fighting the battle. But there are laws much more powerful and unchanging, against which we are totally helpless. He knew its time.
Making sense of this world