Introduction to Mee Nathuram Godse Boltoy…

(no intention to copyright infringement, only a translation to the best of my abilities of this brilliant, brilliant, brilliant play)

Nathuram Godse is a much derided figure in India because he is only projected as a one-dimensional personality. Someone who was a killer, a clinically mad person, who took a gun and shot Gandhi. Its never as simple as that…or as Nathuram says in the play, “murders can be simple…but never assassinations. I assassinated Gandhi”. Society has since ensured that Nathuram’s point of view was never brought to light, that no one was able to hear both sides of the story and the concept of natural justice in society’s eyes, basically died.

The play “Mee Nathuram Godse Boltoy…” is a landmark play in that it attempts to bring out Nathuram’s point of view on the assassination. He highlights how in his view the assassination of Gandhi was inevitable and necessary for India to move ahead. It highlights how he had tried all other non-violent means endlessly before taking this route. While the play itself is unparalleled in artistic and ideological terms, just the introduction at the beginning of the play, given by Nathuram’s character, gives the viewer a good insight into context of the play. Whether one agrees or not with Nathuram, atleast he was a person who deserves more than to be written off by a politicians hand.

Despite violent protests by Gandhians, the play has done more than 600 shows in the last ten years, all of which were houseful. The play has been performed at various places ranging from metros to naxal affected places such as Chandrapur. The lead character (Nathuram) is played by Sharad Ponkshe who I believe is easily one of the best actors in India…and also the bravest. He once started the 2-2.5 hour play at 9 PM, but could finish it only at 6.30 the next morning. Reason, Congress that defended MF Hussain’s right to draw whatever he pleased, sent 150 goons to disrupt his show. Sharad stood his ground (unlike Hussain who fled from a mere court hearing and accepted citizenship of a country that has NO freedom of speech) and completed his show at the risk of death, and seeing this, none of his audience members retreated either. I am translating to English the introduction to the play so make it accessible to everyone who does not speak or understand Marathi.

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“All your faces are unknown to me. Frankly speaking, the word ‘unknown’ itself is wrong as in the word itself, the presence of ‘knowing’ is felt. You faces are new to me. New…not unfamiliar. The young among you may not have been born then and the state regulated school textbooks have since described me to you as nothing more than a ‘hindu madman’. The middle aged among you may remember that period through which their parents that were fleeing the massacre of Maharashtrian Brahmins, wondered “who is this Nathuram? Why are our houses being burnt because of him?” Yes, but the very old among you must remember me. Many may have read my articles in newspapers, my editorials (and Nana Apte’s) in the Agarani newspaper, heard my speeches and even met me in person. But that meeting and this acquaintance, they have consistently denied since 30th January 1948!

But will they be here? Who will bring such old people here? So old?! My age-group? Do you know my age? I am 93. You will say I am lying…that I look much younger! But the secret of my ever-lasting youth is my death, untimely death. Don’t you think death is actually a boon that gives one ever lasting youth? Try thinking about someone close to you who is no more, someone who has died 20-25 years ago. Can you see wrinkles on her face? Her teeth must still be intact, her jet black hair must still be flowing in the wind…and your hair? Uh Uh…don’t touch your head…you may not find anything there at all!So your friend is young, because your friend is dead! The curse of old age is only for a living body.

This blessing of ever lastng youth was bestowed upon me by Tatyarao Savarkar (Veer Savarkar).

Tatyarao, I bow to you. The brilliance of the sun, the force of the wind, tenacity that would made an armour jealous and sharpness of intellect that will shame even Brihaspati (divine teacher of sciences and arts), the human personification of all these is the form of Tatyarao Savarkar.

I still remember that day, I was in jail and the enquiry was on. And without any proof or linkage, and with the sole purpose of harassment, this Bheeshmacharya (Savarkar) was arrested and brought to Delhi. I stood up the moment I saw him, I touched his feet. He blessed me saying “live forever”. I said…forgive me Tatyarao, but I don’t think I will be able to follow this order of yours! Tatyarao said, you don’t understand Nathuram, my blessing was not that you live a 100 years, my blessing is that you will live forever. And you have become immortal. The instant you pressed the trigger and Gandhi fell dead, that instant your name became immortal. Whether you killed Gandhian thoughts or not, is an issue open for debate, but you killed Gandhi and have yourself survived. Gandhi’s detractors, those hoping for a true Hindu Rashtra will place you on the thrones of their hearts, but even Gandhi’s supporters will make you immortal in his biographies. Just like no biography of Gandhi can begin without the mention of his parents, in the same way none of his biographies can be completed without mentioning you.

These were Tatyarao’s words…like etchings on a stone. Every word he spoke was an arrow that pierced souls and every word he wrote was like the Vedas, how could this blessing of his be wrong? So thus I am, a 93 year old, sent to the gallows at age 39, an untimely death. Untimely, but something that I had invited myself, something that I completely agreed with. But this everlasting youth…its like Ashwatthama’s. Ashwatthama is wandering till today looking for medicines to heal the deep wound on his forehead…my wound is in my heart, in my mind. How many blows I have taken, the riots in my country, the rapes of my mothers and sisters who are now refugees, the Rs550 million that we had to give away to Pakistan solely due to Gandhi’s childish tantrums and…the breaking up of my undivided Bharat and gifting of my Sindhu river to Pakistan. Ashwatthama wants medicines, all I want is to touch the pure water of the Sindhu. The longing for that touch is in my existence…for the last 50 years. I have written in my will, that my ashes should be handed down through generations, but unless all of the Sindhu river comes back into undivided Bharat, my ashes should not be immersed into the Ganga. (I want my soul to be tormented till then).

After reading my will, TS said, excellent Nathuram, you are the Dadhichi of modern India. Your ashes will become weapons. I said, Tatyarao, please don’t compare me to such a powerful person. It is true that Shivaji’s Bhavani sword was made of iron, but every piece of iron cannot become the Bhavani. But would he be Tatyarao if he could be rendered speechless by anyone?! He always had answers, not questions, he said, Nathuram, because the Maharaja touched the sword it become the Bhavani, the importance lies in the fist the wields the iron, not the iron itself. You aren’t keeping your ashes behind…you are keeping behind your thoughts and your intentions, these will evolve into weapons.

The only good thing in my life was that I went as iron to Tatyarao, and the alchemy of his touch made me into gold. All the bad habits, mistakes in my life are my own, but whatever good I have done is solely due to Tatyarao’s grace. He has no responsibility in anything wrong I have done. If gold ornaments go from a temple deity to a thief, it is not the fault of the gold is it?

So such as I am, Nathuram Vinayak Godse. My birth was in the first decade of the last century, 19^th May 1910. My father worked in the postal deparment, my mothers name is Lakshmi. You may have heard of several of Vishnu’s avatar’s, but Lakshmi’s avatar only for efforts and poverty, was in the Godse household. She died suffering from separation from her Son. Like Dasharatha, the same love, the same suffering, the same separation. But her Ram wasn’t going to the forest, he was ready for his journey to the next world.  Her Lakshman was rotting in another jail.

My fathers monthly wages were Rs15/-, in Rs10, he used to run to household and send Rs5 to his father. My parents had three children, none survived…they conducted prayers for a child, and I was born. I lived, to fulfil the both destinies, that of my parents not having a child and that of Gandhi getting assassinated.

After that my life was straight forward. I never stole in my childhood, so the question of asking forgiveness from my parents never arose. I never took the oath of celibacy…that, I was doing anyway. I wandered tirelessly among refugees and destitute. I helped them with food and clothes, but because they did not have enough clothes did not mean that I wanted to strip. I did not spin the charkha, I did not clean toilets, I never took a vow of silence till the day I was hung. In that sense, there is only one common point between Gandhi and me, I killed him, and because of that, I was killed. But there is a massive difference, he was willing to live for his ideals, but I was willing to die for mine.

Albeit, there is no reason for you to be interested in this life of mine is there? Who was Hirkani before she climbed the fort? Babu Genu lived in your memory only in the moment of his death where he stood in front of a truck carrying foreign goods. In that sense, Nathuram’s true biography starts from 30^th January 1948, after the assassination of Gandhi.

Frankly speaking, Nathuram’s life was only 655 days 30^th Jan 1948 to 15^th November 1949. My birth then happened on the day when the Indian cabinet agreed to give Pakistan Rs550 million…”