Manogat Marathi essay of a martyr | Eka Hutatma Che Manogat Essay In Marathi

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Manogat Marathi essay of a martyr | Eka Hutatma Che Manogat Essay In Marathi

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Manogat Marathi essay of a martyr | Eka Hutatma Che Manogat Essay In Marathi


Manogat Marathi essay of a martyr | Eka Hutatma Che Manogat Essay In Marathi

Hello friends The mind of a martyr today We will look at Marathi essays. You called me the mother of martyrs, I feel good. The mother’s mind rises when she says ‘mother’ first. In it, the mother of martyrs, some call me ‘Veermata’.

But don’t call me ‘Veermata’ Say ‘Dhirmata’. Because I didn’t show any semen-bravery. But he showed patience. I patiently sent my son into the army. You know how tough a soldier’s life can be! The military world is different. There death is the rule and living is the exception.

Despite knowing this, I love my son Sent to the army. As soon as the word ‘Mother of Martyrdom’ is heard, an ocean of feelings like happiness, pride, fulfillment of duty, patriotism, abandonment comes to mind and how blessed it feels. It looks like a sack that encloses with a drawstring.

Like the imaginary trees in heaven It looks like a sack that encloses with a drawstring. But do you know? Many times when rolling on a foam mattress, the tip of the needle feels like a needle in the middle. A grief is piercing.

The cradle of my darling He made sure that his thigh bone was not pierced by Jojavata, bathed him, took care not to touch his fingernails while putting on the beehive, filled the sparrow grass in his mouth very delicately, put the feathers of Maya by rubbing his eyes;

He bled my baby at the end With a body and a wounded mind, it may have fallen somewhere on a pile of rocks, sunburned in some desert in the scorching sun, or frozen somewhere in the snow.

I did not pay his last respects And not even taken. Maybe that vision would have made my eyes water. Dehamana would have become wood. Many times when you are showering praises on me, many wounds come to my mind.

Varapangipana in it is mind blowing Is. As the election draws near, you are filled with the fever of appreciation and sympathy. Unconsciously, you praise us to the brim, but in the afternoon, does it burn on us? Who comes to make such an inquiry? Phatke ka hoinat,

But clothes on our kids Who is there to see it? Who cares if we have a roof over our heads? Announcing donations of lakhs, but whether even five to ten rupees of them have reached us, has anyone investigated? Your sympathy makes my mind dry.

Let go, I make up my mind Puts on I understand that this is called Janariti, this is called the boil of humanity, this is called Dayasagar which is constantly roaring in the minds of the people. But I do not lose consciousness.

I don’t mind. On the contrary, with pride, of accomplishment. Filled to the brim with a sense of contentment. My son was waking up at the border to give you a good night’s sleep. The wounds of the enemy’s weapons were falling on you so that you would not be injured.

My mind is like the sky with this thought Becomes infinite and infinite. It becomes as wide as the ocean. I think I am not the only child, but I am the mother of all those who were injured, those who were martyred. I am not Kansa’s mother, I am Krishnamata. I am Kunti.

Where your child of war Countless mothers wereted no time in returning to the ditch. Sacrificed on the sacred stand. If God ever meets me, I will ask Him for one thing, ‘O Lord, give birth to a son like this in my next life, and let me die like this.

The nutritious Anam Veera from the text, wins Jahla, the end of your life. No one built the pillar there, it didn’t burn. Even if you don’t sing, your success will be successful on Bhat Dafa, this is your sacrifice. The dawn star of victory through darkness Pranam majha pehla tujla, mrtyunjaya veera ||

McCarthy One Day, United Activists of Maharashtra movement had staged a huge protest. The march was stopped at Flora Fountain. Morarji Desai was the Chief Minister of Maharashtra at that time. Police were ordered to open fire.

Police fired indiscriminately. 105 activists were martyred. Flora Fountain is now known as Hutatma Chowk. Addressing one of the martyrs, Vinda Karandikar composed an excellent poem titled ‘All this credit is yours’. Here are some of them:

Like all poetry hard Is. The beginning is – ‘You spit a drop of blood on the soil of Masti and merged into the soil’. The ideas, the metaphors are excellent. ‘Don’t shut his mouth like a bag of money!

‘Don’t break his thigh, because She was stiff to the end, like the sinking of a sinking ship! Enemies of United Maharashtra, without feeling sorry for them; He was a Mavali – what a compliment to him – saying Duvacharya, around the real Vinda – was around. Don’t go near what Vinda wrote to them – they will immediately swear – it’s crazy!

There is a line in it The soil will never forget you! ‘ The line came that Vinda stops reading the poem and says. ‘I have never written a line like this. Did you notice the irony ?. It is believed that the corpse was completely burnt when the skull of the corpse broke.

So the church that came to deliver Wait until the skull ruptures, says Vinda, and don’t wait until the skull ruptures, because it has already ruptured. ‘ Friends, you can also comment on how you felt about this essay. Thanks