How can people forget the destruction of the body of Masterda Surya Sen before his fainted form was hanged to its eventual corporeal end? The British executioners hammered off his teeth, pulled out his nails and broke his limbs and joints before dragging him unconscious to the scaffold whence his spirit flew to eternity.
How can you, O my countrymen, fail to recognise enough the tears of the bereaved mothers, the bereft widows, the orphaned children of the martyrs for the motherland, upon whose agony rests the fountain of bliss, O Indians, that you savour?
How can we ever let pass a day without weeping for the lost lives of the lads Khudiram and Prafulla Chaki of Muzaffarpur memory, the brave souls that died on the shores of Balasore, Bagha Jatin and his comrades-in-arms, the felled fighters of Jalalabad, Masterda Surya Sen and his young revolutionaries?
How can we enjoy the elixir of life without once remembering that our joys we owe to the blood and toil of the revolutionaries whose manhood drove the British away, whose broken bodies and fractured limbs amidst terrible torment inflicted upon by the British police was the price paid to win the freedom we now enjoy?
My countrymen, tarry awhile and reflect. Much blood has flown through arteries slit of heroes who bled to death, yet, yielded not to pleasure, persuasion or perversions galore but grimly hung on to love for the land they called their mother before hanging the other way to eternal life. Shall we forget them who never forgot us as laughingly they shook off their mortal coil that we may see the sunshine of life free of imperial Britain's domination? Pray, pause to think, my sisters and brothers, ponder awhile.
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