When the walls of their sanctuaries crumbled, a tempest of emotions swept through the hearts of those displaced. Anguish, raw and jagged, clawed at their spirits, as the splintered remnants of home-once a tapestry of memories woven with laughter, tears, and quiet moments- lay scattered like fallen stars. Some stood frozen, eyes tracing the ruins where dreams had been anchored, their silence louder than any cry, a mute elegy for what was lost. Others, gripped by a fevered defiance, sifted through debris with trembling hands, seeking fragments of the past-a chipped teacup, a faded photograph-as if to salvage the pulse of life itself. Despair mingled with flickers of resilience; in their hollowed gazes, one could glimpse both the weight of grief and the ember of hope, kindling slowly amidst the wreckage. Each soul, though united in loss, bore their sorrow uniquely, their hearts a mosaic of shattered glass, reflecting the light of endurance even in the shadow of ruin.
Asha ran and won the race. Her face was shining as if she had achieved gold medal or she had come first in class in primary school. Her name is aptly appropriate with her small but significant task she completed without getting motivational doses from some highly-marketed and gigantically-publicized gurus in India. When the small girl stumbled upon her treasure, a secret as precious as a dewdrop cradling dawn’s first light, her heart bloomed like a wildflower kissing the sun. Joy, effervescent as a stream skipping over polished stones, danced in her wide, sparkling eyes. It was as if a constellation had spilled its stars into her soul, each twinkling with the promise of new wonders. Her laughter, a melody woven from the threads of a spring breeze, pirouetted through the air, and her tiny hands clasped the discovery like a moth cradling a flame. Every step she took seemed to paint the earth with colors unseen, her spirit alight with the radiance of a thousand fireflies, each pulse whispering of dreams now within reach. In that moment, her happiness was a canvas of boundless hues, a masterpiece of delight crafted from the simple gift of something truly, wonderfully useful.
Her adventure was praiseworthy because she saved her treasure from the anarchic and chaotic environment, which was mostly man-made and political. For her family, the day brought anarchy. The administrators of the city with some sahibs came to their place and demolished the homes of the area. Asha and her family survived in a small hut built illegally on the government land. For her parents, it was their centre for protection from chilling and cold winter and hottest summer of India. Her parents who labored at nearest market, earned some money for their survival in the city. They come to home to take rest for twelve hours and then follow their routine. They do not have Sundays or fun-days.
The land became graveyard for all the victims of administrative decisions. What could they do? How could they survive? Who would provide them stay? There were multiple questions in the minds of these people who just survived for many years on the government lands in a city like Ahmedabad where land prices are very high and their poverty prevent them to be the owner of any land anywhere in the city. Their property had turned into some sweet memory to remember in future. Fragments of raw walls built with the help of some bamboo and clay mixed with buffalo-dung. The poor in India has only one identity; that is their poverty which brings all other forms of crisis in their lives. For the administrators of metro city like Ahmedabad, it was just an event to display their power. The demolition of illegal homes was a lesson for all who try to use the government land.
The atoms of dust were crying as they were wounded violently. They were flying high and making their wounds appear in the human world of selfishness. The soil became barren like a bride whose husband found dead in road accident. The storm created by giant bulldozers became silent as if he knew the economic, social and psychological wound he provided to the poor and incapable people who could see the drama of their tragedy silently and resist silently without making loud hue and cry. The people surviving on those illegally-constructed huts and rooms on the government land watched the storm and envisioned how their dreams were shattered due to the intrusion of government machinery on their homes. For them, it was an unnatural earthquake brought by their wrongful actions in their lives and therefore they could not complain the god specifically on this bulldozing event but they were frustrated and crying for their miserable destiny of being poor.
When her hut was being demolished, Asha was searching for some things. At last, she found out them from the demolished items. Victorious like Alexander, the great, she appeared from the storm full of dust. She was running with her books. For her, they were a great treasure. She embraced them to her bosom and appeared happily. Her father, who was so fearful about her, saw her running towards him. Asha told him, Papa, I found my treasure. The broken and demolished frame of Dr. Ambedkar was smiling and showing its agreement.
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