Heaven and Home (featured)

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❝February 20th, 1973
Citizens Fleeing the Country!

Hemal: As the war goes on, citizens are beginning to flee the country. In a press conference, the President has requested everyone to remain calm and have faith. He promised that the state shall soon free our land of the enemy's soldiers. Despite the President's reassurance, people are getting sacred and restless due the the sudden increase in airstrikes this week. Last night, we have 3 dead and 10 injured from an airstrike in the outskirts a residential area.❞

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"Leave?" He looked at his son in disbelief.

"We have to, Papa," His son ran his fingers through his dark hair in frustration.

"But-"

"Think of the children. It isn't safe here anymore," his daughter-in-law told him. Her eyes held worry. Worry for the safety of her little family.

But to him, this proposition was unthinkable. To him, leaving was equivalent to death. He had given his blood to his land. He had given his whole life to his land. And his wife. He could not just leave his wife. He could not fathom leaving her all alone.

Right then, his life flashed before his eyes.

-

At ten, he contributed in the struggle of freedom. There were riots in the land. People were ready to kill. The Rambitian Empire was not ready to give up control of the country, but the natives had had enough. The people rebelled. The soldiers were deployed on the streets to prevent people from even committing little, almost harmless acts of rebellion. The soldiers did not spare anyone. It did not matter if the person in front of them was old, or pregnant, or sick. To them, the natives were merely low lives who did not get to have a say on who ruled over them.

One day, a group of teenage boys planned to display the flag of the political party that was leading the movement of freedom, on the roof their school building. They took him along, so that he could keep the flag hidden inside his shirt. They were sure the soldiers would not suspect the short, skinny ten year old boy who looked much younger than he was. And so, they set out towards their school. Trying their best to avoid the soldiers, they made it there unnoticed. As fast as they could, they climbed to the top of the building using a ladder they found in the janitor's closet. Taking the long bamboo stick which they had previously placed there, they firmly tied the flag on it. They placed it right in the middle of the roof so it could be seen from afar, and hurried away before anyone could spot them.

Although he had little contribution, he still felt the triumph. And that was how he had played his part in the freedom movement. The flag served as a symbol of resistance, and every native who saw the flag waving on top of the building felt triumph. It was a little victory. Sure, this act alone did not make the Rambition Empire get out of their land. It did not even make them budge. But it was the accumulation of such little acts of resistance, the will of every single native and a lot of bloodshed. By the end of the freedom movement, there was hardly a famly in the country that hadn't lost one of its members during the resistance. The flag was soon taken down by the soldiers, but the task had been accomplished and the boys did not forget to celebrate their win that day.

At fifteen, his father was killed. He had fallen prey to the Rambitian soldiers when he was taking part in a protest against the government. He died because a group of soldiers beat him up until he bled to death on the very streets he grew up on. People were forbidden to come near the bleeding man, because the man was to serve as an example to others who tried to cross the boundaries set by the soldiers. He was among the protestors, and all he could do that day was to helplessly watch his father bleed. His father lay on the street in agony as his blood flowed out of his body till there was no more left.