On the morning of that fateful day, 27th January, 1931—As usual Azad took a dip in Yamuna river. Than he did usual worship and prayers. He was only wearing a langot.
Then he restlessly began strolling to and fro on the bank. He was lost in thought. All the memories was coming to him. Meeting all those great comrades from Bismil to Bhagat. What an eventful 15 years have been with the party! He also thought of the future, the new beginning he will make to honour the sacrifice of his comrades like Bismil and Bhagat Singh.
Then he saw a boat approaching and docking at Saraswati moorings. A familiar figure got down from the boat. Azad recognised him. It was the familiar figure of Tiwari.
Tiwari came and bent to touch the feet of Azad saying, “My respects, Panditji. I apologize for being late. But don’t worry. I have arranged for your travel to Mumbai.”
“I don’t understand,” Azad spoke.
“I am coming from the house of that wily businessman who owes you money. I don’t trust him. I didn’t want you go to his house. After a lot of threats I made him agree to pay at least four thousand. He was going to cheat you. I realised it the day we two went to him.”
“What was he saying, the thug?”
“It pains me to say. He didn’t want to part with the money. He was behaving as if he were the chief accountant the party. He asked why Azad needed so much money and for what purpose. Imagine.”
“So, what did you do?”
“What could I do? I twisted his arm and made him agree to pay you at least half of the deposited amount. He could sell you, Azad. I wouldn’t let you go to his house. Who knows…?”
“Friend! Now you are my only confidant. I trust you so much and I have no one else left to talk to.”
Tiwari laughed in his heart.
But he sang a different tune, “Panditji! I am your servant. It is my good luck to be of some service to you, Azad! I fell redeemed.”
“Tiwari! This Azad is very sad. Fell so lonely. Alone Azad can’t dethrone the colonial British. I’ve lost so many comrades, great comrades. All of us together could have done something. You have stood by me in the difficult lonely period. Give me your shoulder to cry on. I will never forget it.”
“Don’t lose heart, Panditji. Ups and downs are a part of life. An able commander can raise a new army to renew the battle any time. I am certain that you will rise again. And surely in the final battle the British will be defeated. Just don’t give up and don’t lose faith in yourself.”
Tiwari had rehearsed these lines on the way. The wily character was play his double cross game very craftily. A man in trouble tends to get consolation anyone’s sympathetic words however phoney they may sound. Azad was completely taken in by Tiwari sweet talk.
He asked, “Where will he meet us?”
“We have fixed the meeting in Alfred park near Darbhanga house. Right on dot at 10 a.m. He will bring the money. Let’s move. We must be there in time.”
“Who else will he bring?”
“No one. He is supposed to come alone. I made that clear to him. There we shall find enough bushes to keep ourselves out of the sight of the others.”
“Alright. Let’s go then.”
Azad reached Alfred Park with Tiwari a little before 9.30 a.m. They sat down under a tree some distance away from Indian Press.
There was something unreal in the air.
“I feel somewhat uneasy and empty…,” Azad remarked.
“You are going to Bombay. That’s why,” Tiwari tried sound normal.
“Yes, but I am not going to any foreign country. Bombay is city of our country. I have lived there.”
“I understand you like that soil.”
“I’ve been to that city several times. Today I am having a strange feeling.”
“Yes. Times change. At different times one has different moods…feelings. The situation is different.”
Azad felt calmed. He thought that Tiwari was an intelligent person, gauges his moods very correctly. A faithful creature. Dogs are well known for reading the minds of their master.
Little did Azad realise that Tiwari was no more him faithful dog. He had turned a wolf.
Azad glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to 10 a.m. He said, “Let’s go towards Darbhanga House. That man should be arriving any time now.”
Suddenly, Azad happened to glance towards Cornhill Road. There he saw large number of policemen. The C.I.D. Inspector who was running Tiwari was closely following him. He was glad to see that Tiwari had brought Azad to Alfred Park as planned. As soon as they had entered the park he had informed the police headquarter and the authorities had sent an army of policemen under a white officer. The park was under siege and the police force was closing in.
Azad sensed the danger. He spoke, “Tiwari! How come police is here?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get out of here…Run!” Tiwari played innocent and put on an expression of great surprise.
Now they could see the police all over. There was no escape. The white police officer was issuing the warning and asking Azad to surrender.
The firing had begun. Tiwari was really scared now. He could get killed in the cross fire. And he was afraid that Azad might suspect his betrayal of him. So, he spoke to clear himself, “It is the doing of that dishonest businessman. He would do anything to steal your money. What a traitor, O God!”
Azad was still thinking Tiwari to be a true friend. He was too grateful to Tiwari for supporting him during his lonely period when he had no one to talk to.
Azad said to Tiwari, “Tiwari, run away! You save your life. I will hold the policemen.”
Tiwari played his last card of subterfuge, “How can I leave you alone in this situation? No.”
“No Tiwari! Don’t worry about me. I will feel relieved only when you are safely away.” Azad pushed him off. Tiwari ran to safe spot showing false unwillingness.
Now both sides started firing. British Police Superintendent got of his jeep with his service pistol in hand and ordered, “Hands up!”
Azad fired his gun. The officers pistol flew in the air and he screamed. The bullet had gone through his hand.
The policemen rained bullets at Azad from all sides when they saw their English officer injured. Azad replied in kind sending down many policemen including Inspector Vishwanath Singh. Azad to had taken many bullets.
But how long could lone Azad hold out? The police had unlimited support of bullet and men. Azad already run out of bullets. He had only one bullet left.
It was to precious to be wasted on the police.
He put the pistol to his head and pulled the trigger to become Azad forever. For him falling in to the police hands was worse than death.
Azad lay dead under the tree. The police kept firing. It had become certain that Azad was dead but the police was still dreading him. They were fearing like hunter’s fear going near a wounded tiger.
Even when the policemen drew near, they stopped a few yards away as if the dead Azad would rise up and tear them apart. The policemen fired at his legs to further make sure that he was dead. So was the awe that Azad evoked in the enemy.
Meanwhile, the news of Azad’s encounter with police had spread around and people could be seen converging on Alfred park. The police had to clear out before the crowds invaded the park. A van was summoned. The policemen loaded Azad’s dead body into it and disappeared.
It was exactly 10.20 a.m. of 27th January 1931 when Azad pulled the trigger with the barrel of his pistol pressed to his head.
The corpse was sent for postmortem. Shortly later the dead body was burnt at a lonely place by the police authorities. The government announcement said—‘Chandra Shekhar Azad was killed today in an encounter with police. His funeral rites was done by the police and the ashes were poured into the holy waters of Triveni.’
The news spread all over the city and the country. Even from noon the people had been coming to Alfred park to see the place where Azad breathed his last. The people were seen putting the holy blood soaked soil of that place respectfully to their foreheads.
Thousands of people gathered at Triveni where the police claimed that ashes of Azad were immersed. To pay tribute to the valiant soldier of the freedom struggle of India.
The tree under which Azad fought his last battle was fast becoming a pilgrim centre. Everyday thousands of people came to offer flowers and to say prayers. It was now a tree of inspiration to battle against the colonial rulers.
It worried the authorities. Hence, the tree was cut down and its roots dug out and burnt. But the seeds of the trees of the desire of freedom that martyrdom of Azad into the hearts of the Indian people could not be uprooted. And the trees bore fruit 17½ years later when on 15th August, 1947 the country gained independence from the British.
The militancy may not have won the freedom for the country on their own but there deeds inspired the Indian youth and put tremendous pressure on the British forcing them to come to compromise with the Congress party. The success of the Congress was to a great extent due to martyrs like Bhagat Singh and Chandra Shekhar Azad.
Ten years after India gained freedom a statue of Chandra Shekhar Azad was installed in the Alfred Park of Allahabad exactly at the place where that tree stood which witnessed the last battle of the great revolutionary son of India against the enemy. The statue depicts Azad twirling his warrior moustache which had become his symbol.
No one grieved more for the death of Azad than Bhagat Singh and his comrades who were themselves waiting for the death that came seven weeks later. For them Azad was a great consolation that their one-man-army was still out there challenging the enemy. The darkness of their cells became darker with the death of Azad. They could no more see moon out of their windows.
