How Blue is My Sapphire

Story:

The sky above was clear and the winds blew much less. The army camps on my side were anxious about the war that was going to take place. It was just daybreak.

The soldiers did go numb for the cold had been agonizing. But their spirits were soaring up high like colorful kites that flew with the gale.

 Even the guns, tanks and missiles seemed to be invigorated with spirit of the combat. Every bit of Earth and every flake of snow looked as if they too wanted to join the fight.

The chiefs were busy pumping up inspiration into their subordinates whose faces looked firm and resolute in spite of the piercing conditions.

“We will not allow them to occupy our motherland.” The general’s voice reverberated across the snow clad mountains.

“We will not give them even an inch of our land. Be ready, my men, to sacrifice your life for our country. There is no greater cause to die than to die for one’s motherland. Be alert, be firm and be courageous. Victory will come our way”. 

The General ended his address with thunderous calls of sloganeering which went all the way to cross the threshold of the hearts of the tens of thousands of soldiers who were prepared for the battle.

I had goose bumps all over my body. Tears of happiness flowed down my rivers. My trees stood erect and green out of pride. My flowers bloomed, filling the ether with the aroma of victory. 

Yes, they were indeed defending me. 

My children…… They were fighting to protect me.  They even said they would sacrifice themselves for me. I couldn’t have asked for more. As a country, I couldn’t have even dreamt for more.

To show that my men are brawny and strapping than hers would be a monumental achievement in my life. I would go into that pantheon of my great counterparts who have successfully waged wars. 

What does she, even expect to make out of this war? To win over my 30,000 men, when she has not more than a few thousand? Is she trying to lampoon herself? This is no child’s play, mate.

This is war! Your men will get killed and you will suffer humiliation. But it’s your fault, entirely. You were too gluttonous as to think that you will be able to build yourself by encroaching me. Nay, you were mistaken. My children would have never allowed you to even touch me, let alone encroach me! 

And there, your children will have to suffer the consequences of your greed.

The cry of the battle resonated across the barren mountains.

The gun shots could be clearly heard in the absence of the wind.

Men were dying on both sides. The stench of blood infiltrated into the icy ranges. Missiles were launched and grenades burst.

 Hours and hours of fighting ……

As the blood of my men painted my soil, my mind turned into a fireball of rage. My heart was infuriated with fury. My entire body craved for revenge. 

To hell with her and her people! Victory for us, invariably!

Around evening …. That was when a man fell down over my body- his handsome visage facing the ground. His slender arms and fingers are bruised all along. There is blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes are half open as if in a slumber. His green clothes have been painted red with blood. Nobody is noticing him. At least, not until now. 

Gazing at his motionless body, I am taken to his family in a small town, miles away from these icy mountains. His entire family would be awaiting his return. But they don’t know yet that they have lost a loving husband, a caring father and a promising son. They don’t know that yet. 

 I was overcome by agony and rage. They have killed a young man who ought to have led a happy life. If the war had not taken his life, he could have gone back to his village to lead the life of any other ordinary man. But, now it’s all over.

He might have had wishes and promises to fulfill; he might have had dreams about himself. All of which have now become futile. A young man in his late twenties, he might not have even tasted life properly. But his valiance made him sacrifice his life for me. 

 I feel guilty for his death. It feels to me that I have killed him. I feel like shedding tears for his death. Wailing out loudly, mourning the loss.

More fighting……Cries of pain can be heard amidst the snow.

“Don’t lose hope. Continue with all your might. Have faith in our victory. We will win, my men. We will win. ” The general’s firm voice could be heard clearly amidst all the fighting.

Don’t lose hope. Don’t lose hope. Those words were echoing back and forth inside my head.

 A few seconds later I could hear the feeble ticking of his heart. He was still alive. My heart leapt in joy. But I still did not know whether he could be revived again.

It felt as if he were my son and I, a helpless mother. I wanted to cry out loud to the men who were nearby, pleading them to nurse him. But I myself have no voice.

But then I could see a few men gathering around his lifeless body. I felt more at comfort. They would carry his body to the nursing chamber at least now. But what happened next punctured my soul. 

They shot him three to four times and kicked him strongly with their boots at which he gave a final tiny squeal of life. 

At that, they took the wind out of my sails and stabbed me too.

He was from the other side, he was her son. He was Pakistan’s son. They killed him because he was her son.

And all this while I thought he was my son. I thought of myself as a helpless mother who was distraught by her son’s death. But I could not spot the difference. 

The warmth of his motionless body resting against mine was no different from any other of my sons. The blood spurting out of his bruised body had that same scent as that of any other. I had feelings for him too. I felt sorry for his young kids. But he is from Pakistan. Would she also be sharing the same feelings for my sons who have fallen? I wondered.

I felt stunned at my thoughts. Stunned at those men who were lying lifeless on the soil. Stunned at this whole business of war. Why did all these men from both sides gather all their energy to defend me and Pakistan? Am I killing them? Am I the cause of the pain of their families? I felt like killing myself.

 What if Pakistan and I were still sisters? Couldn’t we still live like sisters? Could we both have prevented ourselves from killing our children then?

 I had no control over my thoughts. It is past midnight, I am tired and exhausted.

All of us live with our past. All of us allow it to shape our future. But some of us know how to shrug the past. I think that is who I am. I’ve ignored my bygone years. I’ve ignored the shared past that we’ve had. I would blame her too. Those good old days………

 We used to eat and drink from the same plate, she and I. Being born to the same parents, we grew up as sisters sharing a single soul. There was hardly anything that we hid from each other. We played together, ate together, laughed together and slept together. 

There was a time when we hardly had anything to eat at home. Famines were common back then and Amma and Appa would stay hungry to save the food for us. Being much bigger than her, I found it hard to satiate myself with the little food I got. Seeing me behave uneasily, she would offer me a roti from her plate while she remained hungry. She would then smile joyously, seeing me looking happy.

There were times when she would fall down very often while playing, being small compared to the others. Once she nearly fell into the ocean and lost her breath. I hardly knew anything about swimming but I followed my instinct and jumped in one go into the ocean. 

Though I found it hard to catch my breath, I was determined to rescue her. Seeing me jump into the water, some of our friends jumped in as well.

Together, we managed to rescue her somehow. After she was brought to the shore, I embraced her lovingly for a clear five minutes. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

“I nearly thought that I would have lost you”. I whispered into her ears, half sobbing.

She kissed me on my cheeks and whispered back.”I love you, sister”.

When thousands of years before, men came across our land, we gave them shelter together. We shared the grains that grew yielded upon our soils and the trees that flourished. We shared the same rivers and the same soil. 

Our children shared the same cultures too. They spoke the same language and ate the same cuisines. Hundreds of dynasties have walked through our soil, ruling our common land. And when we were colonized, our spirits craved for freedom. When they looted our land, took away our grains and made us poor, we cursed them together. When they killed our children, tortured them and humiliated them, we shed silent tears for each other. Our children fought our mutual enemy collectively. We dreamed of a free nation in concert. We fought tooth and nail together.

But freedom came with a price tag.

 When our children agreed for the amputation, our souls wept mutely. When they asked us not to meet each other, we had to but agree.

I still remember our last moments together on the night of August in 1947. A goodbye kiss, a long hug and watery eyes. That was it. Words did not escape from our tongues. We were muted. Muted forever.

But now we’ve put that out of our minds. We no longer recall those days we spent together. We have now become rivals-don’t ask me how. We hardly like each other now. Our children hardly like their cousins now.

All I want to do when I meet her is to show her that I’m mightier than her. I want to show her that my men are much capable than hers. I want to prove to her that my sapphire is bluer than hers.

At least, that’s what I wanted to do till now.

 But this moment has suddenly robbed me of that impulse.

Seeing the motionless body of a son of hers was much like seeing my own son’s body. I could not find the difference. Besides it feels as if we are killing our own children. How could a sane mother ever do that! But we can’t repeal this horrendous war alone, either.

Our children are resolute about winning each other. That’s our fault again. The two of us ought to have taught them to love each other. But instead we taught them to be competitive. 

We taught them to excel without caring for each other. We were so determined to build a new future, looking right through our past. 

Now there’s no more turning back. Either me or her.  That’s how fate wants it to be.

But my mind says otherwise.

To shake hands again with a sister is not such a herculean task. But what of our children?  Will they be willing to do that too? Will they amend those feelings of enmity that they have planted, watered and cultivated for over many decades? Will they wane the ego that has bred their feelings over the years?

My mind is on a swing that sways from one end to another.

 A string of thoughts dances across my mind. I can’t fix my thoughts upon a point. 

Up above, in the clear firmament, an eagle flies across the mountains. It prepares to fly across the border over to the other side. I am puzzled; confused whether to call it back or not. I gaze at it, silently.  

My mind is trapped in a whirlpool …. Would someone come for my help…?

Are you there….?

...............................................................................