THE LEGEND

"Boom." Most probably, that was the sound when the bomb fell on the parliament floor. It was half past twelve, and from the very beginning, the day felt like something special — both in aura and atmosphere. This was not one of the routine assembly meetings that took place every now and then — it was written for the pages of history.

In the kingdom of kings, only slaves were left — such was the impact of fear. Fear, as they say, is the greatest weapon to suppress the masses, but for how long? Someday, somebody is inevitably born who grows bigger than fear and thus changes the destiny of the whole endeavour.

It was the mid-1920s, a century ago from today's perspective. There was nationwide agitation — people were panicked but awakening. Taking to the roads, mass protests and rallies were beginning to become a common view all over the country. Still, as an ideology, the whole movement was driven by non-violence.

Mahatma Gandhi, a prominent figure well known nationwide, was trying his best through his methods to wake up the conservatives and the middle classes — with seemingly little effect on a government that merely viewed it as a minor stimulus.

"Awakening always comes with suffering, because awakening is the realisation of suffering itself."

And so it was with the country and its men — trying their best to free their nation from years of slavery and bondage. Non-violence was good but slow at work. Mahatma seemed to have his own plans but was stubborn in his methods — he would not let even a single act of bloodshed occur on the country's land.

But this was not the same ideology of their oppressors. They were keen to set a mark upon the minds of their subjects — a fear that would never again let the masses raise their voices, come on streets, or stand for their rights and their nation. And to enforce it, the peaceful protests of that time were brutally suppressed — with lathi charges and sometimes even open-firing on the protesters.

Looking at the futile results of peaceful protest, and having had their first taste of brutality and bloodshed, a new class was emerging. A class of young but radical Indians — the class that respected Mahatmaji but didn't follow his methods. The class that was revolutionary in its ideology, and whose aim was not just to free the country from bondage but had plans even beyond it.

It was a new class. A class of Revolutionaries. And the revolutionaries had their own perspective on the same matter — and thus, a different method.

Central Assembly Bombing

It was 8 April 1929, Monday. One of those crucial Mondays for Indians. Despite high opposition from the public and prominent leaders, two bills were about to be passed — bills seen as a direct threat to the liberty of Indian traders.

Vithalbhai Patel, the then President of the Central Assembly, was presiding over the session when a sudden explosion shook the hall and smoke began flooding in. In the midst of that smoke, two figures emerged — shouting "Inquilab zindabad!" and "Long live the proletariat!" while throwing red pamphlets.

It was a difficult moment — they were so young to be doing this. But the cause, and the purpose, were enough. The men didn't move an inch. They didn't try to flee. And nor did they struggle when they were arrested.

The young men were Batukeshwar Dutt (then 19) and Martyr Shaheed Bhagat Singh (then 21).

The two low-intensity bombs were thrown at spots chosen specifically to cause the least harm. Nobody was killed and only a few injuries were registered. Bhagat Singh himself wrote in the pamphlets he threw that the sole purpose was 'to make the deaf hear' — they had no intention to harm anybody. And the purpose was successful.

As a court verdict, both Dutt and Singh were punished with transportation for life.

He didn't stop there. Audacity and fearlessness were so central to his character that they became permanently woven into the name 'Bhagat Singh' in India. Later, in jail, he undertook hunger strikes — the longest of which stretched over 116 days. It stands as one of the longest and most inspiring strikes in Indian history, which inspired many more Indians to join the freedom struggle.

It was not his first time being arrested — he had been taken into custody as early as May 1927, for his writings which were seen as a threat to the British Indian government. He was pressured into accepting himself as a participant of the Dussehra bombing case — which he was not. Or else become an approver for the British — to which he simply chuckled and laughed.

Soon after, it came to light that Bhagat Singh, along with Rajguru and Sukhdev, was involved in the Lahore conspiracy case — and were sentenced to death.

Looking Back

That's the history — the history nearly all of us know, the history we worship. But what is most beautiful here is not just the history. It is the mind that carved it.

Singh as a man is great to aspire to. In ideology, you will find him as one of the greatest to aspire to. We need to accept that despite Bhagat being a hero — a great revolutionary — he was a human too, and thus he suffered the same pain that you and I do. The same responsibilities. The same feelings. And still, he would choose to suffer.

What is it that truly creates men like him? The dreamers who don't just dream at night — but the ones who envision their dreams in the daylight.

At the last phase of his life — an age that, for many, hasn't even felt like a beginning — Bhagat said that he had hundreds of things left to do, and just as many desires. But if his death would inspire Indian mothers to raise future Bhagat Singhs — children who would grow up to make the exploitation of men by men impossible — then he was eager to die.

On the evening of 23rd March 1931 — a day before the decided date — the three martyrs and national heroes, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev, were hanged. At the mere age of 23.

Former Life

Every life-enduring spell arrives from a laboratory completely unknown — a place first shaped by circumstances, and then, by the men themselves.

It was around 1923. Bhagat Singh was just an ordinary boy studying in National College at Lahore. He was not particularly studious then — even his comrades remembered him as an underconfident, easygoing, perfectly ordinary kid. Something like a village boy who had just stepped into a new world.

And yet, despite all of that, there was something special inside him — the thing every child is born with: a never-ending curiosity and a lust for knowledge. There was something else too. I think. An impression — an impression of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, which had taken place when he was just 11, in the year 1919.

All he did — and all he wanted to do — was read. Read and read and read. Study so that he could put arguments before the opposition, protect his cause, and bring about a change.

He read voraciously — influenced deeply by Lenin, Karl Marx, Trotsky, Aristotle, Plato, Hobbes, Rabindranath Tagore and others. He read about revolutions, about the oppression of men by men. He could see the world changing — but no real change in his own country. What he read, and who he was influenced by, was stirring the lava — and it was then just a matter of time for the volcano to burst.

What was happening inside the mind of that young man — that teenager — was something that was going to shape the fate of an entire country.

It was 1928, and his friends would recall that this was not the same Bhagat Singh they had known. There was a change. A big one, to say the least. What had occurred in those five years was enough to give birth to a legend.

There was something different in him now — in his voice, in his confidence. His words no longer felt like just passing remarks — they always landed deep. He had become an expert speaker, a proficient planner — not just a strategist, but the finest executor.

It was the time when all the world was waiting to see was a change. Or, as it turned out — an explosion.

But we have been so busy watching the explosion that we forgot to ask what lit the fuse.

Here is what none of the history books bother to ask. Where did the explosion come from? Not the bombs. Not the arrest. Not the hunger strike that lasted 116 days.

Long before any of that — there was a boy. A perfectly ordinary boy in a college in Lahore, reading everything he could reach, watching the world, being written on by things he didn't yet have words for.

The explosion was the last chapter. What we actually need to understand is the first one.