Gandhi’s Monkeys Have Fled

By: Nirmal Aso | Independent Writer

India remembers the Father of the Nation only when monkeys jump into the public square. Some leaders, too, rush to defend these monkeys with clever arguments, while the soul of Mahatma Gandhi still weeps in regret for his own assassination. Attempts are constantly made to restrain Gandhi’s spirit, yet in every television debate it ends up being put on trial.

Gandhi’s only true disciples were his three monkeys, who after his death lived in silence—neither speaking evil, nor hearing evil, nor seeing evil. But in today’s India, there are thousands of voices shouting, while barely a single ear is ready to listen. There is much to see, but deliberate blindness blocks the vision. There are millions of ears, but just one tongue allowed to speak. The monkeys, hands over their mouths, ears, and eyes, now wonder: have they grown old, or has the nation grown old?

Even without their hands covering, they find they cannot speak, cannot hear, cannot see. Democracy itself seems to have followed them into silence—unable to hear, see, or speak truth. Once, the monkeys even thought of launching a movement, but they feared their noble lineage would be tainted by the company of wild, mischievous monkeys running loose in the streets of modern India.

Gandhi dreamt of a civil society where citizens could see clearly, listen fairly, and speak truthfully. But those ideals have withered. The monkeys, disillusioned, divided tasks among themselves and tried to adapt.

The first monkey became a politician. He invoked Gandhi’s name, but his words carried hatred, his eyes brimmed with division, and his ears absorbed only abuse. The second monkey became a journalist. Traveling the nation, he spoke only the language of the ruling powers, heard only the voice of the supreme leader, and saw only the glitter of election stages. The third monkey sought refuge in the judiciary. There, he discovered that justice itself was blinded, and his efforts were met with defamation notices. He was warned: if you see too much, hear too much, or speak too much, you will be guilty of contempt—and if you persist, branded a traitor.

Defeated, the three monkeys returned, baffled at how India still continued to function. They were powerless. For the first time, even Gandhi’s monkeys thought of defying him. They joined the unruly street monkeys in an imagined rebellion, hoping they could reform them. But those wild monkeys were now disciples of the people, celebrating freedom as license. They had not stood with Gandhi during the freedom struggle; why would they repent his assassination now?

In the end, Gandhi’s three monkeys unlocked their hands and abandoned his principle of “See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil.” They adopted a darker creed: See nothing, Hear nothing, Say nothing. The unruly monkeys rejoiced—Gandhi’s ideals had been silenced. And the nation, tragically, looked on with approval, while its people’s pain went unheard.

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