A New India
Chapter 306 - 306: Funeral

Patel's body, clothed in simple khadi and surrounded by garlands of white flowers, lay in a glass coffin.

A sense of quiet reverence pervaded the courtyard of his residence, where senior leaders, diplomats, and dignitaries had gathered to bid farewell.

The gun carriage, draped in the Indian tricolor, stood ready outside, its polished brass gleaming in the morning light.

At precisely 9:00 AM, the ceremonial preparations began.

A contingent of soldiers in crisp white uniforms moved in unison, lifting the coffin gently onto the carriage.

Their movements were deliberate, each step reflecting the gravity of the moment.

The carriage would travel through the heart of New Delhi, giving the people one last chance to pay their respects to the man who had given so much of himself to his nation.

As the soldiers took their positions, the silence was broken only by the soft strains of a military band, playing a somber hymn.

Rohan, the Prime Minister, stood nearby, his face composed but marked with visible grief.

The crowd watched as he walked behind the carriage, flanked by members of Patel's family and the cabinet.

The procession began.

The gun carriage moved methodically through the streets of New Delhi, escorted by an honor guard.

Soldiers marched in formation, their rifles held in the reverse position a traditional mark of respect for the deceased.

The route was carefully planned to pass significant landmarks, allowing the citizens to say their final goodbyes.

Crowds covered every inch of space along the route, spilling onto rooftops and balconies.

Women threw marigold petals onto the carriage as it passed, their hands trembling with emotion.

Men bowed their heads in prayer, and children clutched miniature Indian flags, too young to fully grasp the magnitude of the moment but understanding it was historic.

At Connaught Place, the crowd was so thick that extra soldiers were deployed to maintain order.

An old man, wearing a faded cap, wept openly as the carriage came into view. "I saw him once," he whispered to a reporter nearby.

"He told us to stand together, to never let divisions weaken us. How will we stand now, without him?"

The sound of muffled sobs echoed through the crowd as the procession continued.

The next stop was Raisina Hill, where foreign dignitaries stood alongside India's leaders to pay their respects.

Ambassadors, envoys, and high commissioners from across the world had gathered to honor Patel.

As the gun carriage paused momentarily at the base of Raisina Hill, a 21-gun salute reverberated through the air.

The sound carried across the city.

Soldiers stood at attention, their heads bowed in unison, while the crowd maintained a reverent silence.

By the time the procession reached Rajpath, the crowd had swelled to hundreds of thousands.

The wide avenue was transformed into a sea of humanity, each person eager to catch a final glimpse of the man who had shaped modern India.

The gun carriage came to a halt at a grand platform, erected specifically for the state ceremony.

A guard of honor took position around the carriage, their polished rifles reflecting the midday sun.

The coffin was carefully removed and placed on the platform, where it was surrounded by an intricate arrangement of marigolds and rose petals.

Rohan approached the platform, his steps deliberate.

He stood before the coffin, bowing his head deeply.

The crowd watched in hushed anticipation as he placed a single garland of jasmine over the coffin, a personal tribute to a man he had not only admired but deeply respected.

The state ceremony began with the singing of the national anthem, its solemn notes filling the air.

Priests recited sacred hymns in Sanskrit, their voices steady despite the overwhelming grief surrounding them.

The crowd, though vast, remained silent, their heads bowed in collective mourning.

Rohan stepped forward to deliver the eulogy, his voice firm despite the emotion that overwhelm him.

"Today, we bid farewell to a man who was not just a leader, but the very backbone of our nation," he began.

"Sardar Patel did not seek greatness; he sought unity. He did not ask for power; he asked for service. And in his service, he gave us a united India."

The crowd listened intently, the weight of his words pressing heavily on their hearts. "He showed us that strength is not in domination but in inclusion. He taught us that leadership is not in commanding, but in guiding. And he proved that unity is not just a dream it is a reality we must work for every day."

As Rohan stepped back, a second 21-gun salute shattered the air.

The sound echoed across the vast expanse of Rajpath, a final acknowledgment of Patel's indomitable spirit.

The final leg of the journey took Patel's coffin to Raj Ghat, where a funeral pyre awaited.

This portion of the procession was private, attended only by close family members, cabinet colleagues, and a handful of dignitaries.

The pyre, constructed from sandalwood and surrounded by garlands of flowers, stood amidst a quiet clearing.

As priests chanted Vedic hymns, the coffin was placed carefully atop the pyre.

The atmosphere was full with the scent of incense and marigolds, the only sound the rhythmic intonation of the prayers.

Rohan performed the final rites, his hands steady despite the grief that gripped him.

As he lit the pyre, the flames rose steadily, their light casting flickering shadows on the gathered faces.

As the flames consumed the pyre, the entire nation paused to reflect on Patel's legacy.

In villages across Gujarat, bells tolled in temples, and lamps were lit in his honor.

In cities, factories observed moments of silence, their workers bowing their heads in respect.

Schools held special assemblies where students recited prayers and sang songs of unity, their young voices carrying the lessons Patel had taught the nation.

The radio carried Rohan's eulogy to every corner of the country, his words resonating in the hearts of millions.

"Sardar Patel is no longer with us, but his vision lives on," Rohan said. "He showed us that unity is our greatest strength, and it is a strength we must carry forward not just for ourselves, but for the generations to come."

As night fell, the city remained quiet.

The streets, still strewn with petals from the procession, seemed to hold the memory of the day.

In homes, families sat together, recounting stories of Patel's life and his contributions.

For many, it was not just the passing of a leader, but the end of an era.