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“Vande Matram, Vande Matram……”
Kaivalya experienced absolute contentment, while he gazed at the children singing the national song in full spirit.
‘So Mr. Kaivalya.’ A voice brought him out from his bliss, ‘I see your idea has materialized well.’
‘All thanks to you, Ms. Sama.’ He greeted her with a smile, ‘If it weren’t your persuasion, the madarsa authorities might have rejected my plea.’
‘Well, I am always in for a cause. But tell me; wouldn’t it have been better if you had conduct it within grownups?’
‘You see that earthen pot, Mam. Can you reshape it into a glass?’
‘That’s impossible; after the potter gives raw clay such shapes via drying/firing, it will break but won’t reshape.’
‘Exactly, these tiny tots are like raw clay. If their minds are nurtured with apposite manners & dispositions, like singing of national anthem & song, and pinning the tricolor pin; this all will develop a sense of pride and commitment towards their homeland.’
‘And that’s why you visit schools & religious institutions, for sanskaars?’ She smirked.
‘Indeed Ms. Sama, you see its not religionism, but nationalism.’
‘Utilizing education! An M.B.A. who’s aware of his social responsibilities.’ Sama gestured a salute, ‘JAI HIND!’
