It seemed like a writer's block. He was not able to concentrate and zero on one idea and it was increasingly frustrating as the day progressed. He thumped his fist on the table showing his displeasure and it echoed across the silent room. He was happy that his readers would never find out that a writer of his caliber also suffered from lack of imagination put gently as writers block. But it all changed when he saw her enter the room.
She was wearing a white colored sari bordered in red. She wore bangles which matched the color of the border of her saree. The room was filled with the music of her payal which sang as she walked. The vermilion on her forehead and the big round bindi gave her a divine look. He was surprised that the bindi looked romantic when she laughed and made her appear like Durga mata when she expressed anger. But then he had never seen her angry. She was an ideal house wife who never questioned the income of her husband, had raised 3 girls, looked after the elders, and cooked fresh fish bought from the bazaar. What else could one ask for?
But today it was different. She was holding the lamp close to her face and it increased the aura around her. Instead of feeling love towards her, he felt a deep sense of respect. She was the one who ran the family and was responsible for its happiness. And who takes the credit? The outsiders simply say "Babu?Babu ka kya? He runs his family so nicely". He had never given her any credit in any of his works and she never demanded him for it as well. Infact he hardly asked her opinion in any matters. Or did she have one?
He decided that this time he was going to compensate for all his ignorance. She realized that he was looking at her as he had never seen her before. She asked "What happened?"
He "Do you mind if I write a poem in your honor?"
She smiled and didn’t reply. She thought that maybe he was flattering her for fun and left him alone in the room. He took his pen and connected his two chain of thoughts-one from his life and another in his novel.
Bankim Chandra was happy with the final result and titled his masterpiece as BANDE MATARAM. Little did he realize that 100 years later his ode to motherland will be used as a weapon to create hatred among his countrymen and gain political mileage. May his soul rest in peace in the thought that all the evil plans have been sabotaged.