Eighteen years—a lifetime for some, a fleeting moment for others. Yet, at the tender age of 18, Khudiram Bose, one of India’s youngest and most celebrated revolutionaries, faced the gallows with a smile on his lips and courage in his heart. His name is etched into the history of India’s freedom struggle, remembered for his audacity in standing up to the British colonial regime. But behind the popular image of a fearless young revolutionary lies a deeply human story—a story of three simple, personal wishes that Khudiram carried to his final days.
These were not political demands. They were not grand statements of defiance against an empire. They were small, heartfelt requests—gestures of love, longing, and faith. And yet, more than a century later, they remain unfulfilled.
The Final Days
In 1908, Khudiram was arrested and sentenced to death for his involvement in the Muzaffarpur bomb case. Barely out of his teenage years, he had already committed himself fully to the cause of Indian independence. His capture and trial drew attention from across the country, and the British authorities were determined to make an example of him.
In the days leading up to his execution, Khudiram expressed three final wishes through his brother-in-law, Amritlal Roy:
- To touch the soil of his birthplace in Habibpur, Midnapore, one last time.
- To visit his sister and nephew, offering a final farewell.
- To take prasad (holy offering) from the Siddheshwari Kali Temple near Midnapore.
These wishes reflected his roots, his family bonds, and his faith—elements that defined his identity as much as his revolutionary ideals. But under British custody, none of these were granted.
Why the British Refused
To modern eyes, these requests might seem harmless, even humble. But for the British colonial government, everything about Khudiram was political. They feared that fulfilling such wishes would humanize him further, turning a political execution into a cultural and emotional rallying point.
Allowing him to return to Midnapore, even briefly, could have sparked massive public gatherings, processions, and unrest. Permitting rituals at the temple might have been seen as granting legitimacy to his cause. And enabling him to meet his family before death could have been turned into an inspirational moment for the masses.
To the colonial authorities, even personal grief had the potential to fuel rebellion.
A Sister’s Quiet Journey
Among the most touching parts of Khudiram’s story is the role of his sister, Zubeida Khatoon. After the deaths of his parents, Zubeida, a Muslim woman, had raised Khudiram with love and care. Their bond was deep and unconditional, crossing both familial and social boundaries.
When she learned of his impending execution, Zubeida traveled secretly from Midnapore to Muzaffarpur. This was no small journey for a woman of her time—it meant passing through regions where her presence could have been questioned, all under the watchful eyes of the British.
She arrived at the prison quietly, hoping to grant at least one of her brother’s wishes. There, she shared a meal with him, feeding him with her own hands. They exchanged no public speeches, no dramatic scenes—just the silent intimacy of siblings who knew that their time together was ending.
This moment, though small in the grand narrative of history, was monumental in love. Yet it, too, was conducted under the shadow of restriction. The authorities allowed no public recognition of her visit, erasing her role almost entirely from official accounts.
The Symbolism of Soil and Prasad
Khudiram’s request to touch the soil of Habibpur was more than nostalgia—it was a deep connection to the land that had shaped him. For many, especially in rural India, soil is not just earth; it is identity, memory, and belonging. To hold it in one’s hands before death would have been his way of returning home in spirit, if not in body.
Similarly, his wish to take prasad from the Siddheshwari Kali Temple spoke to his faith. Temples are often more than places of worship; they are cultural anchors, repositories of personal history, and symbols of spiritual refuge. For Khudiram, receiving prasad would have been an act of purification, a way to find peace before facing the gallows.
A Century-Old Void
For decades after his death, these wishes remained in the realm of “what might have been.” Then, in 2018—exactly 110 years after his martyrdom—a historian named Arindam Bhowmik sought to symbolically fulfill them. On the centenary of Khudiram’s execution, Bhowmik collected soil from four important locations:
- Khudiram’s birthplace in Habibpur
- Hamilton School in Tamluk, where he studied
- Midnapore Collegiate School, another of his educational institutions
- The Siddheshwari Kali Temple grounds
He also brought prasad from the temple. These items were then ceremonially placed at sites connected to Khudiram’s life, as if to finally grant him the farewell he had been denied.
While symbolic, this act resonated with people across Bengal and beyond. It became a form of collective remembrance, a way to bridge the gap between historical injustice and modern reverence.
Lessons from His Last Wishes
Khudiram’s unfulfilled requests reveal much about him—not just as a revolutionary, but as a person.
- Roots Matter
His longing to touch his homeland’s soil reminds us that even the most dedicated political fighters are shaped by their beginnings. National struggles are often rooted in the deeply personal love for home. - Family Is Irreplaceable
In wanting to see his sister and nephew, Khudiram acknowledged the human connections that anchor us, even when we are swept up in larger causes. - Faith in the Final Hour
His desire for prasad from the Kali temple reflects the spiritual dimensions of courage. For Khudiram, as for many, faith provided strength in the face of death.
Why This Story Endures
The reason Khudiram’s story still moves people is not only because of his sacrifice for India’s freedom but because it carries universal human emotions—love for one’s land, devotion to family, and a search for peace before the end.
Every year, on August 11, people gather at memorials, in Midnapore, and at Muzaffarpur Jail to honor his memory. Some bring flowers, others carry clay or water from his village. These acts are quiet, but they are powerful—they are the continuation of a conversation that history tried to cut short.
Modern Pilgrimages
Today, visitors to Habibpur often collect small amounts of earth to keep at home or to offer at memorials. Devotees visiting the Siddheshwari Kali Temple sometimes dedicate prasad in his name. These actions, though unofficial, feel like a way to bring his last wishes to life, even if only in spirit.
For many, participating in these rituals is also an act of reclaiming history—acknowledging the parts of Khudiram’s life that official colonial accounts erased or ignored.
Conclusion: Completing the Farewell
Khudiram Bose died on August 11, 1908, smiling as he walked to the gallows. That image of bravery has inspired generations, but it should not overshadow the quieter truths of his humanity. His last three wishes—simple, heartfelt, and denied—remind us that even heroes crave the warmth of home, the embrace of family, and the blessings of faith.
In remembering Khudiram today, we honor not just his role as a revolutionary, but also the young man who wanted, in his final hours, to carry a piece of his home into eternity.
Perhaps the truest tribute we can offer is to carry forward his spirit of love and courage, ensuring that even if history denied him those last moments, our collective memory keeps them alive.
