The Salt and the Soul

The Salt and the Soul

O Bapu, you saw her,

the woman hidden behind silence,

her eyes full of questions,

her hands heavy with labor.

You lifted her veil,

not to expose, but to honor.

You gave her the right to speak,

the courage to stand,

the freedom to dream.

In villages, where shadows ruled,

you walked beside her.

You showed that strength is not only in fists,

but in knowledge,

in patience,

in the quiet fire of the heart.

You taught that freedom is incomplete

if half the world is shackled.

That a nation can rise

only when every girl can rise.

You spun her cloth,

not for decoration, but for dignity.

Every thread you touched

wove a promise:

to educate, to empower,

to uplift.

She learned to read,

she learned to weave,

she learned to speak.

And in learning, she became free.

You saw not weakness,

but the untested strength of her soul.

You gave her hope,

and she became a beacon

for generations to come.

In your ashram, women sat

with courage in their eyes.

They fasted, they marched,

they prayed —

and you honored their resolve.

You said, “The world is held together

by the hands of women.”

And you showed that respect

is the first step of revolution.

The poor woman who fetches water

found dignity in your vision.

The widow who bends under grief

stood taller because of your love.

You fought not with armies,

but with principles.

You broke chains without breaking hearts.

You taught men to listen,

to bow,

to honor.

You made her a partner

in building the nation.

You made her a voice

in shaping destiny.

Even in exile, even in prison,

you remembered her.

Even when the world mocked you,

you lifted her higher.

O Bapu, today we wear laws,

but forget justice.

We build schools,

but forget respect.

We speak of equality,

yet ignore her strength.

Teach us again

to honor her labor,

to praise her courage,

to educate her mind,

to cherish her freedom.

For every girl you uplifted

was a seed of change.

And in her life,

your vision grows.

The nation owes you more

than songs and statues.

It owes you a future

where she walks free,

where her hands are not tied,

where her heart can soar.

O Bapu, your work is not done

as long as she is bound.

The salt of her sweat

and the soul of her courage

must shine,

must lead,

must guide.

Even now, in quiet fields,

you walk beside her.

In every stitch of cloth,

in every book opened,

in every hand raised,

your spirit whispers:

“Respect her. Teach her. Trust her.

She is half the sky,

yet she carries the whole earth.”

And when she stands tall,

the nation rises tall.

And in that rising,

your dream is fulfilled —

a land of justice,

a land of love,

a land where the soul of every woman

is free.