The watchtower had stood the test of time
Kingdoms had disappeared, resolves had crumbled
But the tower stood, tall and proud
Looking its nose down upon time itself
The old man screwed up his eyes, sheilding them
From the sun that shone like a ripe red fruit
He smiled and with a tight resolve, he took the path to the mountains
The pathway was now coarse, with overgrown brambles and rock-strewn
His rheumatic knee hobbled along painfully
Hie eyes watered as sharp-edged rocks rammed into his shoes
And tore his flesh but he bravely marched on, smiling
Even when the wind slapped across his face
At last he was on top of the mountain; the watchtower suddenly in front of him
Eyes smarting with emotion, ignoring the incumbent pain in his limbs,
He limped towards it, touching the structure with reverence
Kissing the high walls that had been blessed with the blood of the martyred soldies, eons ago
His father had been one of them; he had resolved to come here one day
It had taken very long but he had kept his word
“Babuji, Vande Mataram!” And the hills echoed his voice mingled with theirs
Heaving a contented sigh, he lay down on the ground and closed his eyes…