We Lost the Motherland

Scene 1: The Arrival at Srirangapatna

Location: Srirangapatna, 1929

The sun was setting over the ancient city of Srirangapatna, casting a golden glow upon its ruins. The land, once ruled by the fearless Tipu Sultan, now lay under British dominion, its glory faded but not forgotten. The walls still whispered stories of war, sacrifice, and betrayal.

A black horse-drawn carriage came to a halt near the grand mausoleum of Tipu Sultan. A distinguished man in his early fifties stepped out, dressed in a simple sherwani, his eyes filled with wisdom and reflection. He was Dr. Allama Muhammad Iqbal, the poet-philosopher of the East.

As he took his first steps towards the tomb, his companion, Maulana Syed Suleiman Nadvi, a well-respected scholar, walked beside him.

Maulana Nadvi: (Solemnly) "Dr. Iqbal, after years of longing, we stand on the land where the Tiger of Mysore fought his last battle."

Iqbal took a deep breath, letting the air of Srirangapatna fill his lungs.

Dr. Iqbal: (Softly) "A land where a king chose martyrdom over submission. A land where resistance still lingers in the winds."

The two men walked through the gardens, passing by the grand domes and minarets of the tomb. British officers in their crisp uniforms watched from a distance, indifferent to the emotions swelling in the hearts of the visitors.

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Scene 2: At the Tomb of the Tiger

Inside the mausoleum, the air was thick with the scent of rosewater and incense. The gravestone of Tipu Sultan lay before them, draped in a green silk cloth embroidered with Quranic verses. Candles flickered at its corners, their glow casting long shadows on the marble walls.

Iqbal stood still, his hands clasped together, his eyes locked onto the gravestone. He closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer.

Dr. Iqbal: (Murmuring) "May Allah grant peace to the soul of the warrior who never surrendered, who fought till his last breath."

Maulana Nadvi watched in silence, knowing that Iqbal's heart was deeply moved. After a few moments, Iqbal slowly knelt and placed his hand on the tombstone. His fingers traced the delicate carvings, as if trying to feel the spirit of Tipu Sultan.

Dr. Iqbal: (With reverence) "O King, the world has changed, but your spirit still roars in the hearts of those who refuse to bow to tyranny."

Tears welled in his eyes, and his voice carried both sorrow and admiration.

Dr. Iqbal: "Your dream of a free land did not die with you. It found its way into the hearts of millions, guiding them through the darkness."

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Scene 3: A Poetic Tribute

Iqbal reached into his pocket and took out a small leather-bound notebook. He sat on the cool marble floor, his heart overflowing with emotions. His fingers trembled as he dipped his pen in ink and began to write.

His words poured onto the page like a river of fire, each verse a tribute to the warrior who had once stood against the might of an empire.

Dr. Iqbal (Writing):

"Girti hui yeh qaum abhi baqi hai iqbal,

Abhi is mein rooh-e-Tipu hai baqi!

Tera wajood tha ek shama-e-darakhshan,

Tere lahu ka qatra bhi ab talak roshan!

Tu shaheed-e-wafa tha, tu fakhar-e-jahaan,

Teri qabar bhi hai ek dars-e-imaan!"

("This fallen nation still has hope, Iqbal,

For the soul of Tipu still lingers!

You were a shining lamp of courage,

Even a drop of your blood still illuminates the path!

You were the martyr of faith, the pride of the world,

Even your grave is a lesson in steadfastness!")

As he wrote, his emotions swelled. He could feel the presence of Tipu Sultan in that moment, the echoes of cannons, the clash of swords, the final battle cry.

Maulana Nadvi read over his shoulder, his own eyes moist with emotion.

Maulana Nadvi: (Softly) "Your words will ensure that the Tiger of Mysore is never forgotten."

Iqbal gently closed the notebook and gazed at the tomb once more.

Dr. Iqbal: (Determined) "The British may have taken his kingdom, but they could never conquer his legacy. His roar will live on in every heart that dares to dream of freedom."

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Scene 4: Departure with a Promise

As they stepped out of the mausoleum, the evening sky was painted in hues of crimson and gold. A lone eagle soared above, its sharp eyes scanning the land below, as if it, too, were a guardian of Tipu Sultan's legacy.

Iqbal turned to Maulana Nadvi.

Dr. Iqbal: "One day, his dream will rise again. One day, our people will awaken."

Maulana Nadvi nodded.

Maulana Nadvi: "And that day, his spirit will march with them."

As they rode away from Srirangapatna, the mausoleum stood tall against the twilight, a silent reminder that the fire of resistance never truly dies.

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End of Chapter 22