War and loss

They say, “Life is a test. It is harsh but if lived accordingly, it will give you bounties. If lived in the wrong way, it shall punish you so bad; you won’t know who you are.” I say different. I think life isn’t fair. It doesn’t test you it just gives out blessings blindly. Some get ’em and some are left to stare at those who get these blessings.

Six years ago, we were at war. I lost my sisters to it. Three of them. My mother lost her sanity due to the loss. She didn’t know anymore who I was or what was going on. All she did was ask for my sisters. I was the only child left and she didn’t recognize me. Hence, we can safely say, I lost my mother and three sisters to the war. As if it wasn’t enough, a year later they were recruiting a man each from every household to fight in the war. My father was the only man in our house. He had to go.

Now, I was very close to my father. If I knew what was going to happen, I would have willingly and happily joined the war in his place. He was, however, a robust and young and a strong man. What he wasn’t; is immortal.

But he couldn’t just leave me alone with a mother who didn’t know me. But it was solved soon. My grandfather was to participate in the war too. So my grandmother came to live with us. My grandfather was dear to me too. It wasn’t fair, that the two only men I ever loved were going to the war. And it was unknown whether both of them would return. It was I think then the most difficult time of my life. Little did I know that I was wrong.

When the day they both went away, I shut myself in my mother’s room with her. She looked up at me with her hollow and empty eyes that once were full of humor and beauty and good nature. I took in her appearance and painfully remembered those beautiful big brown eyes, olive coloured skin and long black hair. Now it was just a pale, paper like skin, hollow and empty eyes and short white hair with bald patches on her head. I shook my head and listened to what she said. She was again asking for my sisters. I kissed her on her forehead and said for the first time, “They are gone. They are gone! The war took them away! And now father’s followed them. And you know what? YOUR FATHER DECIDED TO FOLLOW THEIR FOOTSTEPS! God knows if they will ever be back-” My voice broke and couldn’t continue. But when she tugged on my sleeve and looked at me with those hollow eyes, it was my breaking point. I shouted at her for the first time in my life. I shouted at her to stop looking at me with that empty stare. I shouted at her to be strong for me. I shouted at her to do her job and be there for me not sit there, insane and asking for my sisters because I missed them just as much as she did. But all she did was stare at me with empty confusion. It kindled anger inside me. I wanted to reach out and shake sanity into her. But instead I ran out of the door and shut myself inside my room with a slam of door. My grandmother was kind enough to leave me alone or I would have lashed out on her.

I just somehow had a feeling that this war, unlike for many, would not do me good. It made me feel impossible. Everything just seemed a blur of grey. I wasn’t sure if the colour would return. There was only one antidote for this grey. Safe return of my father and grandfather.

And then I fell asleep. I dreamt of my father’s funeral and woke with a start. I went out of my room and found my grandmother sitting there, sobbing and holding my grandfather’s picture. I felt angry at her. She was supposed to be strong for me. When I made my presence known, she looked at me and wiped her tears. She opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind. But then again opened her mouth and said, “You have woken up. I was wondering whether you were all right. I was just coming to check on you. You were in your room for two days.”

Two days? Wow, that’s news to me. Speaking of news, I asked her if there was any news about father or granddad. She shook her head and then excused herself to check on my mother. But I knew she needed a moment alone. So I just sat in the living room thinking about father. I thought what would happen if he didn’t return but told myself sternly that he would be back before I knew it.

It was the only thing that kept me going. I was a lot angrier in the days that followed. I just wanted to blast everything away. I had a lot of nightmares these days. The usual. About my father and grandfather. I knew it was selfish of me to think that someone else would die on their place. But wars make us selfish. And I am not talking about the war going outside, no, I am talking about the internal battle going inside me.

The days went with difficulty that I wouldn’t even wish on my enemies. Each day passed as if it would be the last day of my life. I even wished it would be. This was insanity.

And then one day finally news came. It wasn’t very good either but we were contented. It said that grandfather was injured and would no longer participate in the war. However, they couldn’t risk sending him back. So he stayed at the camp of the injured. I just hoped my father would be alright. I prayed for him every day and every night. I missed him a lot.

A few days later, our doorbell rang. I rushed to receive it. However, I regretted it the moment I opened the door. A young boy was standing at the door with a soldier’s uniform which I immediately recognized as father’s. Still I asked him whose this was. I couldn’t admit it myself. But the pang I felt when he said my father’s name, it was indescribable. I felt like falling down. Actually, I did fell down but didn’t faint. I didn’t say anything. The boy getting the message rang the doorbell again and this time my grandmother came. He told her everything. My grandmother shocked and immediately started crying took the uniform and ran in the house to tell my mother. I laughed bitterly. It was really bizarre. I laughed because my father couldn’t die, not yet and all this was a big joke. I laughed because grandmother believed this boy. And I laughed harder when I thought what mother would say when she knew. She would probably repeat my sisters’ name and look at my grandmother with confusion. She wouldn’t know.

I sat there for God knows how many hours, not crying, just staring at my slippers. They were oddly interesting at the moment. I had never noticed they had spirals on them. It was a news to me. But my grandmother thought it was wise to disturb me and brought me inside the house. I went to the only place I could think of. My mother’s room.

I closed the door behind me as I entered my mother’s room. I looked at her and then laughed. I was thinking about the unfairness that my dad was hiding somewhere and we were thinking he was dead. He always had a twisted sense of humor. But then my mother said something. And it was something entirely different from the only thing she kept saying for the past whole year. She actually asked a question, “He dead?” I froze in mid-laugh.

“What?” I asked her.

“He gone? Like them? He went to them? He didn’t take me with him? I will scold him when he returns!” she finished angrily.

And then I said, “He gone.”

It was the air of finality. The pang I felt was even worse than the pang I felt when that boy told me my father was dead. I guess it was the feeling of admission. And all of a sudden I felt exhausted. And then those tears which hadn’t fallen since I knew my father was dead came crumbling down. The dam was broken. So was I.

It’s been five years since he died. My grandfather came back a month later and we held a funeral for my father. My mother was present. I didn’t cry the whole funeral. I had to be strong. Father wouldn’t want me to cry over him because he died an honourable death.

It’s been five years and I still miss him. It’s been five years and I still mourn for him. It’s been five years and I still hope that he would come home and laugh at me for thinking he was dead. It’s been five years and I haven’t cried ever since I cried in my mother’s room because he died an honourable death. A soldier’s death. And there can be no greater honour to die to protect your country. And he died to protect me.