The Elysian fields-IV

Read Parts I, II, III, if you haven't already

Part IV-The end
After 7 months...

Am still looking at that portrait of Jay on the wall. A train of thoughts had taken me 20 years back in time. I realise it was a life in which the unpleasant things weighed a little bit more than the pleasant ones. And the final nail on that was hit today evening when I saw the news on the TV that Sammy had brought in last year. It showed images of the dead bodies of 3 young men covered with a white cloth. I went numb when a photo of the 3rd man was displayed. I was too shocked to scream out. I dont know how long I stood there staring at the screen. I heard the news anchor uttering words like 'educated','terrorist' etc and in between a name called 'Sam' too. Thats when I realised that the word 'service' meant something different to him. I began thinking on where it all went wrong. A little boy who was proud of his father and his country wouldn't get transformed into a cold-blooded criminal overnight. Its not possible to wipe away all that feeling of nationalism in one single moment. I somehow felt that I had failed as a mother and as a citizen of this country.

Having seen many such images in recent times, I was almost sure my son had ended up in a place where he was least expected. Then itself I made the decision to disown him. I didn't want a terrorist's body to be buried in the same land where Jay was laid to rest. I was more angry than sad. If I had one more chance to see Sam, I would've asked him the question, "Why?". At this moment, all my affection for my little Sammy vanished without a trace. I cursed myself for having borne him in my stomach for 9 months and for being his mother for 25 long years. I hanged my head in shame at having played a part in letting down my motherland, for which my beloved Jay had laid down his life. He might be watching from heavens and wondering if he's slipping into illusions even there. Still, even after all this, I would be lying if I said I didn't have even a bit of sadness. Which mother can hate her son with all her heart, whatever be the intensity of the crime he has done?

The next morning, I was startled by the sound of the gate opening. I saw a long line of school kids streaming in, all of them familiar to me from Sam's tuition class. They all had roses in hand. Two of them held a banner which read "We salute you, Sam". I was confused. Why would they hail a terrorist like that or are they just showing their love for their teacher? Thats when I saw the newspaper lying there at my doorstep. The headline read..

"Students storm terrorrist's lair"- '3 art students carried out an attack on a secret camp of terrorists near Anantnag in Kashmir. About 14 terrorists were killed in the attack carried out with grenades and country pistols. In the process, the 3 of them ended up losing their lives. The amateurishness of the attack signifies the fact that this is a sign of common men taking it upon themselves to do a clean up act rather than expect the Government to do something about the growing incidents of terrorism. This incident has struck a chord with lots of youngsters, raising a possibility of more such incidents....."

Before I knew how to react, I saw the kids placing the red rose flowers in front of the tuition room just to the left of our house. I saw tears in some of their eyes and a sense of respect in some others. I cursed myself again for all those thoughts of disowning Sam. How could I, in a fit of confusion and without knowing the facts, brand my Sammy a terrorist? How could I think that of my child who used to say proudly "My father is a soldier. He protects our nation." Why didn't I even give a second thought? As questions started piling up in my mind, a crowd was building up outside our home. As I sat there, I was reminded of that day 20 years back, when we waited for that ambulance. Then, I had little Sammy to fall back on. He was the hope which kept me alive all these years. Now, I have no one to wipe my tears. And I don't have to wipe anyone's tears too. I just have to wipe the dust from two portraits instead of one. They say, 'Every father is a hero to his son'. Jay was more than a hero to his son. When he died, a part of his soul stayed back inside Sam, without leaving earth. Through him, Jay fought on and also kept me company.

I was confused whether my life is a blessing or a curse. A blessing for having a husband and son who sacrificed their lives for the country. A curse for having to live a lonely life after the premature death of my husand and son. But, whatever be the case, I decided then and there to live on rather than to succumb to the lure of a suicide. Jay and Sam will never forgive me if I surrender my life so meekly. I will live on to see more Jays and Sams doing selfless service to their country. I will live on to keep their memories alive. I will live on to tell others "Never quit living". And I'll live on to tell the story of my husband and my son...A father and son who went on to stay alive even in death. As I walk inside, I hear one of those kids asking to his friend "How many enemies did he kill?". Yes, the same question that Sammy asked his Daddy, 20 years back...

PS- So, that was the end of my first story writing endeavour. A big thanks to all those who encouraged me with words of appreciation as well as to those who gave me some constructive criticism. I got the idea of this story after I read the news about a mother in Kerala who said "I don't want his dead body" after her terrorist son was shot dead in Kashmir. I was deeply touched by the courage of that mother who saw the country above her own son. But I didn't want this story to end in such a negative note of a patriotic child turning into a terrorist. So, I built up a fictional story of a father and a son with this plot weaved in between. I dedicate this story to that mother, her courage and her patriotism.

Pic courtesy-granneman.com

your crusader Praveen

The Elysian fields-III

Read Parts I and II, if you haven't

Part III
Though its been many years since Jay's last journey, I can still hear the gunshots after the ceremonial guard of honour reverberating in my ears. Sometimes, I see him sitting beside me and playing with Sam, only to wake up from sleep with a start. Sammy has grown into a handsome young man. He joined college last year. He joined an arts college and is specialising in English literature. The reason for him choosing this course is still unknown to me. After that tragedy, he has always kept to himself. In school, he had very few friends and talked only when it was necessary. Things didn't change much even as he entered college. I never asked him any questions on his behaviour as I thought this will only add fuel to the fire. I decided to play the waiting game and let things happen when they have to. He always spent his time with his books. He talked more to those pages than to me, though I knew I still had a high place in his heart through some of his words. Its just that he chose not to express his affection externally. I am sure that he has some parts of that sweet little Sammy left in him somewhere. I hope one day he lets him out.

Sam funded his college education by taking tuitions at home. I loved it when all those chirpy school kids came to study at his class. I think he was reconnecting with his happy childhood through them. We lived a decent life with the pension amount of Jay's service. Though, I sometimes wonder whether we are receiving the price of his life every month. The nation and all those who came to the funeral that day may have forgotten him. But, for us, who lost something precious that day, there's still not a day which passes without his thoughts. During that time, Sam got some new friends. Some of them used to frequent our house. They kept on talking for hours over the coffee and snacks which I served them from time to time. Because of my not so great educational background, I never understood what they were talking about. All I could grasp was something about an organisation they all were working in, which aims to do some service to the public. A portable computer, which they called the 'laptop' was their constant companion. All day they were drawing plans, studying about certain localities and discussing on various issues related to it. I was happy that at last my son has got into something that seems to capture his whole interest. He has begun talking to me more these days.

Last Sunday, while I was cooking, he came into the kitchen and told me-

"Mamma, atlast I found my destiny. For the first time in my life, I've a feeling that am making good use of my life. Am a lot more happier now that I've found many friends who happens to have identical thoughts as mine. I guess am coming back to life."

Should I say, I was happy to hear this? With a heart filled with joy, after many years, I told him,

"Sammy, This was the moment I waited for all these years, to hear words like this from your side. Your daddy's blessings will be with you all the time. I want that Sammy of old back."

He just smiled and left without saying anything. Only later would I realise that it was the last time I would ever see of him.

Final part coming up morrow...

pic courtesy-pixdaus.com
Read on here

your crusader Praveen

The Elysian fields-II

1st Part here
Part 2
Its been a month since Jay left home after he got an urgent call as usual. Last week, we couldn' talk to him as he was out for some emergency work. Sam has grown increasingly grumpy this week. He always had that strange sulky look on his face these days. He was evidently sad at not having talked to his dad in more than 10 days. Many times, he refused to eat anything. Atlast to make him eat, I had to promise him that I'll let him talk to his daddy for a longer time this week. But, what to say, it didn't happen this week also. He was still held up with some emergency, according to the officer who attended the phone. I had this tinge of uneasiness somewhere inside me but had to project my cheerful self before Sam. But, as if reading my mind, he asked me one day.

'Mamma, Won't daddy ever talk to me again'?

The pain in his voice almost made me burst into tears then. But, I held on with all my strength and told him,

'No sammy, He has gone to the mountains to buy you a gift from a yogi'.

He gave me a deceptive smile, from which I was not sure what to make out.

One more week went by with no news from Jay. The next tuesday morning, a burly gentleman was seen opening our gate and walking in. He had a small cover in his hand with that unmistakable insignia of the Indian army on it. I think Jay has delivered a letter through a messenger as he was not able to contact us for long. My heart leapt with joy. Sam will be back to his happy self today, I hope. Then, for the first time, I looked at the man's face. I could read a sign of discomfort there. He came to the door, held out the letter and uttered those dreadful words-

"I am sorry".

The first thing I saw in my mind then was a disturbing image of those castles that Sammy used to build in sand, crashing down. I slowly opened the cover and straightened the white paper. The words didn't quiet register and I still don't know what I read that day. I only remember that man telling me after sometime-

"The ambulance will be here in half an hour".

Thats when I saw Sam walking in slowly. I guess he saw that teardrop falling from eyes. He suddenly ran to me and asked-

"Mamma, why are you crying? I've never sen you crying. Who is this uncle?"

I heard myself blurting out-
"Sammy, your Daddy won't talk to us again. And he would never come back again. He's gone with the yogi to the heavens."

I was shocked to hear such dispassionate words being spoken by myself. And I wondered why I talked so straight rather than sugar-coating the fact to make it digestable to a 5 year old. Maybe, I didn't want to give him a rude shock when the ambulance came. So, I wanted to steel his heart to take it. To my surprise and dismay, He didn't utter a word after that. He just stood there with tears streaming down endlessly. I pulled him close to me and he came to me as if he were a lifeless being. We stood like that waiting for our long waited guest to come one last time. The man just stood there watching a small bird making its nest in a nearby tree. I knew his eyes were not actually looking at it.

The wait didn't last long. The ambulance came and with it a stream of neighbourhood residents. As the tricolor cladded box was lowered to the ground, I felt sam pushing away from me. He ran along with it as it was carried into our drawing room. The men accompanying it kept it down and neatly folded the tricolour. As I ran towards the box, I could see his face through the glass that covered it. He still had that glow and a proud expression on his face. A part of the letter came to my mind now, "He fought on till his last breath and even carried his superior officer to safety before succumbing to his wounds". The nation must be proud of him. But, I just couldn't play the part of that brave wife whom we see often in stories as the one who never sheds a tear. I wailed uncontrollably. Thats when I thought of dear Sammy. I looked around. There was a huge crowd already, known as well as unknown people, gathered there to pay respect to the nation's latest hero. I saw him standing just behind me with a passive face. I couldn't read even a tinge of expression of any kind in his face. And, I couldn't find a single tear too..

To be Continued..
Read on here

your crusader Praveen

The Elysian fields-I

This is my first attempt at story writing...Read on..

It is a particularly cold evening today. Being alone in a big house in such a weather would've been impossible for me some years back. My amma had a hard time consoling me in those thundery dark nights when I used to howl like a new born. Being alone also means I have nothing much to do. So most of my time is spend in conversing with nature. Looking at the white lillies swaying in the garden and gently reflecting the moonlight filled my heart with some unknown sense of happiness. But that is short lived as my gaze falls on those eyes looking at me from the worn out photograph on the wall. The flower garland on the photograph needs to be changed tomorrow.

My mind races back to the day on which that garland was put on that portrait for the first time, 20 years back. Sam was a cute boy of just 5 years then. Though he clung on to my fingertips all the time, he always used to cry wanting to see his daddy. He was very proud of his daddy. I once overheard him asking his classmate-

"What is your father doing?"
"He's an engineer. He builds our nation. And whats your father doing"
"My father is a soldier. He protects our nation"

I was struck by such high sounding words from my little son and his friend. But, the way he said that showed how much he respected his daddy and his profession. I don't know if am right to call that a profession. Its a life. Me and Sam used to walk 15 minutes to the nearby STD booth once in a week to hear Jay's voice. He used to prepare for this phone call from the morning itself. He could be seen sitting in that swing hanging from the Mahagony tree in the courtyard. But he would be motionless and staring at a distance, probably preparing questions to ask his dad in the
evening. He reserved his best dress for those days, as if his daddy could see it from miles away. It always filled my heart to see my boy smiling to himself all day. Even while walking to the STD booth, the usually chirpy Sam wouldn't utter a word. Once I dialled the number, he would get impatient tugging at my saree to give him the phone. I would barely get 5 minutes to talk to Jay. Then, it would start between father and son..

"Daddy, Is it cold there? Are you doing well"
"Yes. My dear. Your warm voice makes all the cold run away."
"Daddy, Daddy, How many enemies did you kill this week?"
Controlling his laughter, Jay would tell Sam- "10"
The more the number, the more happier Sam was.

Such questions went on for about 10 minutes until I snatched away the phone from him, which used to lead to a lengthy protest from Sam's side. Jay's holidays were a cause of celebration at home. On the morning of his arrival, Sam would get up early and would sit near the door with his eyes firmly set on the big gate. Even if there was some small sound near the gate, he would run towards it expecting his daddy. And, when the big moment arrives, its pure heaven. Sam would run and jump straight to his daddy's hands giving him the world's biggest hug. Jay's first day at home is spent in such expressions of love. The serious talking would start from second day only. The weeks he spent at home usually flew by in a matter of minutes. And most of the times, he would get the call to get back to duty urgently. Then, the blissful holiday has to be cut short. As cliched as it may sound, I have to say, "for a soldier, country comes first".

to be continued..
Read On here

Pic courtesy-http://www.adventuresinparenting.org

your crusader Praveen