He tried to move but his body was tired, that is all that was left of it. So he just lay there thinking and contemplating, "they must think i am dead, that all that will be left of me is cindered ashes. But here i am, tired, broken and in pain, waiting for the inevitable. But even if they never come back to look for me, i can take solace in the fact that i have done my job, i have played my part. I have finally accomplished what i had trained for. The battle during the day had been tough, men had fallen by the dozens to the volleys of gunfire and the ground had shook with the rumble of artillery shells pounding down. It seemed that the clouds had decided to rain molten metal, and it was no light drizzle either, it was a torrential downpour. I was assigned an evacuation mission for some of our men who had gotten injured. I completed it successfully but on the way back our convoy was hit, the force of the explosion had catapulted me far into the bushes, the jeep was in flames and then it exploded. I could see it all happen, i shouted for help but my voice was lost in the storm of noise that accompanied the downpour of metal and fire. I could see that the convoy stopped for sometime but then they moved on thinking that no one could have survived what they had witnessed. I shouted, and when i tried to move the pain made me scream. I could not feel my legs later i realized, all that was left were shattered bones and smell of burnt flesh. Though i felt a but disappointed that they did not search for me but i know i would have done the same and with that thought some of the pain hurting my soul eased.
I had always regarded war a necessary evil, I am a soldier and by that some may conclude that war was my primary profession but being a soldier is one thing, loving war is another. Like the dweller of a barren desert can appreciate water and greenery more than others, a soldier, a true soldier can appreciate the moments of peace more than others. A soldier usually doesn't start wars, he merely fights them until his decisive blow can stop it or unless those who started it grow weary and bored of this necessary evil and think about giving peace a chance once more. At the end of the war a soldier may be glorified for his actions in it, blamed for heinous crimes but the fact remains a soldier does not start a war, he merely finds himself inside one and fighting, till the fight or the soldier meet their end. A soldier is not inhumane, a warrior cannot lack compassion and longing for peace. Those who use war as a means to a livelihood are not soldiers but mercenaries, blood hungry monsters. A soldier is brave, caring and compassionate, he is one of you, he is you. A soldier is one they pin medals on when war results in victory and the one to be blamed when defeat arrives. I can think no more and the pain is numbing my thoughts. You will want to know me but i am just a soldier fighting a war, i am nameless and unknown and now that the purpose that was required of me has been fulfilled, i can move on, i can close my eyes, i can finally rest. And if you ever want to understand me, come to place which Rumi described as,
Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’
doesn’t make sense any more.”
The next day when the dust settled and smoke cleared some people saw a corpse, they buried him and walked on. A little boy asked who was he? a soldier killed in battle, came the reply
