At War

||32. The Thirty-Second||

Saturday, XXXX

Remember how I told you, so many letters ago, that I soldier only has two options – to follow through or abort the mission? Never did I think I would have the guts to be the latter. To be court- martialled, likely prosecuted, and bring shame and sorrow to my family? That was not for me. But you know what? I think I had vastly overestimated myself. I am above nothing, and I mean that. When they told us to stop the master from teaching, I expected to find an angry crowd raging at us. I thought maybe they will rebel against us and we will be told to put the village down. It would be terrible, of course, but it would be necessary. We are puppets, and we must dance to the tunes of our masters, for such is the way of the world. Now I think I only wished for it so that we would have some defence. It is easy to be angry with someone, to hurt someone who has clearly tried to hurt you. It is easy to rage at someone who throws bricks at you. It is easier to shoot at a mob that bays for your blood. These people, they did not. In all my admittedly limited life, I will never know why. They outnumbered us three to one, and we ate food from their hands. They could have killed us or poisoned us anytime they wished to. Why did they not? Instead, they kept feeding us and clothing us and behaving cordially, as if we were not the harbingers of misery. In the face of such kindness, such compassion, everything falls short. We could not do it, dear one, and I at least, am not ashamed of it. I love my country. I love the motherland. I love her snowy mounts and her verdant hills, the ripple of sweet waters on her silken lakes, the hollow of her sequestered vales, and her people, united even in their differences. I love her people, and I love her. I need you to know that. I did not mean to abandon her. But the motherland I know will never allow this. I trust her that much. She would have never wanted her children to act like monsters, hell spawns seeking vengeance from people who have done no wrong, and I believe, had she been here, she would have forgiven me.

My act has changed little. Tomorrow, more troops will land. We are no longer to be trusted. We are now traitors. Funny, isn't it? No one acknowledged our existence when we were dying on the frontlines, when we marched in cadence to the cricket's song, when we danced in the shower of bullets. No, that was our duty, to die for our mother. Would she want that? Would my Ma want me to be dead under any circumstance? What of my country people? Should my country be captured by someperson else, would I not dare to hope that they spare the children, the old and the weak? Is that too much to ask?

In this single act of defiance, I have sealed the fates of all those who accompany me, and it would be kindness if our bodies were sent home afterwards, and not dumped in a ditch. Or perhaps that is where we should lie, beside our fallen brothers and sisters. I remind myself of Lucifer – fallen angel, and Icarus – the one who flew too high. But none of my men complain. They all tell me they wanted this. I live among noble ones. How lucky I am! What had I done in my past life to earn such joy? Why have the spirits been so kind?

Around the fire, I see the faces of all my compatriots, who stand by me even in death. Taki – smiling even now, Rosha – brooding forever, Lucian – still nicking others' smokes and drinks, and so, so many more. And Unni, sweet Unni, dear Unni, whom I fear I love. He sits there and gives me an encouraging smile, eyes alight in the glow of the fire, little pinpricks burning him, and I think I could jump across seas and climb to the sky, if for one more day with him. One more day, watching him breathe and hearing him laugh. One more day, before I deprive the world of him. In all honesty, the world does not deserve him.

I miss you too, dear one, and among all that I can say, I promise I forgive you. I forgive you for enlisting and putting your life in danger – although I know why you did it, and I forgive you for marrying whom you did – although it is your life and there is nothing for me to forgive. I hope you will forgive me too, for all the times I promised we would be happy one day, for the times that I failed to pay the bills and landed you in debt, for all the times I could not be by your side, for all the sickly nights you spent coughing alone, and for all the bleak promises I made that I could not keep.

Tell my Ma I am sorry too. Tell her, I am sorry for promising I will be back, for promising to take care of my sisters' tuitions, for promising to help her bake and cook, and for giving her hope that I will now inevitably squash, tell her, I am sorry for disgracing her, for disgracing my dead father and grandfather and all those ancestors who are suffering in afterlife this very moment. Tell her not to miss me. She called me her little star. Tell her, I will come every night, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends, sometimes bare and sometimes wrapped in a blanket. But tell her, I will come. And when my sisters or she will think they are alone in this world, tell them, I will live beside them, as a shadow or a memory, walking by their side. They will never be alone.

Tell Mrs. O'Neil down the street, and Mr. Kamenashi from the docks, that I leave their service reluctantly, that I am grateful for their kindness, and that if it were up to me, I would never leave them without a hand.

Tell them all dear one, tell them. I hate to ask this of you, hate that I should leave this responsibility upon your shoulders. It is not that I think you are weak, or incapable, it is just that I am ashamed to pass off my duty to someone else. But, please, sweet, sweet one, look after yourself, and look after my Ma and sisters. I have no right to ask it of you, and lesser still to ask you to do it, but I would say it is for old times sake. Please, sweet one, dear one, stay by them. Let them be graced with your presence, and they joy it brings. Ask after them, compassionate one, and tell them, that they are not, and will never be alone. I do not know why that is important, it just is, and although I will be of little use to them dead, I will be there. Tell her, my mother, that I will remember her till my last breath, her in that pretty pinafore dress she wore, forever smiling, kind, maternal. I love her, and I love my sisters, and I love Unni and I love you, and I do not wish to die. I want to live, dear one, I want to live. I want to live another day, and another night, see another winter and another spring. I want to see the flowers blossom again, I want to feel the rain on my face. I don't want to die.

Dear one, I want to go home.

In utter desperation,

The Soldier.