The Pulwama Letter

“It’s bliss, listening to trains pass-by stations, until the day comes for one's departure sitting inside the one amongst them,” Dinesh, an 18-year-old boy said it to himself with his slightest possible voice which his friend Karthik heard while walking down on the cemented banks of the river Ganga. “Wait, you said something just now, what was that?” Karthik asked immediately. Though Karthik was a very good friend of Dinesh, he never succeeded in sorting out his friend’s additional lines in between their conversations. “What did you just say now, Dinesh?”

“Umm, nothing, it was just something else… Ok, let’s have a cup of tea, shall we? Even today’s cloudy weather is favouring us.” Dinesh looked up, his hands in his pockets and replied, “Come on man, you do this to me every time. Tell me what did you say then?” Karthik stood still, bull-headed. “Ok, my boy, come, let’s talk about it with the taste of the tea.”

Dinesh and Karthik held their cups of tea and sat on the stairs. Dinesh took a sip and said, ”Look at the last stair. See, how the river water touches it gently and goes back; touches it again and goes back. And mixes up finally with the water current and flows somewhere we never seek to know. After a sip, he continued, “See it’s not the same wave again. It’s a different wave. It’s a different volume of water, but still, it’s the river Ganga as a whole. This is how my father was. He never demanded anything rather he flowed gently giving us the essence of his touch and versatility. He served as a CRPF jawan for more than 8 years. Though he is not now amongst us, he will and always be a hero for me, for his sacrifices to his nations while owing nothing but silence.”

Karthik, for the very first time, listened to Dinesh with his full attention and care because he not only spoke those golden words but also it was the first time he spoke about something for so long. He was so immersed in his words that he forgot to have his tea. 

Dinesh paused for a little and took a paper out of his pocket. Meanwhile, Karthik drank his tea in one go and noticed Dinesh taking out that crumpled piece of paper. Unable of what and how to react, he sat still.

Dinesh handed him the piece of paper and asked Karthik to read that is written inside.

~ A letter to my Father ~

To my hero,

It’s been three years, you left me and maa. I think you’re still on duty. I know you can never leave us alone. Because you have never let us feel alone. You have telephoned us, sent letters whenever you got a break for taking a normal breath. The bedroom still holds your fragrance. I can still hear your boots resonating around my room. I know you keep an eye on us silently just like your duty on the borders. I know you still pat on my shoulder and wake me up early morning to the ground. I don’t understand why I can’t see you now? If I can feel your touch if I can hear your hard leather boots, if the bedroom can still preserve your smell and if my mother still assumes and puts the pillow in the place where you slept then why can’t we see you, dad? Where are you? Please dad I want to see you, I want to cry holding you, I want to play with you again.

I haven’t seen you for so many days. I wish miracles happen someday and you come back and again pat me on my shoulder and hug me. The uniform in the wardrobe misses you pa. The batches are constantly searching for your broad chest. And the beret is in search of your very head of leadership. I wish you read it. I love you Dad. Come back soon.

                                                               Your son

Dinesh

Karthik was stunned after reading this letter. He neither moved nor he blinked. Even after finishing the letter he kept looking at the paper and told Karthik, “This nation is alive only because of these warm-blooded brave-hearts like your father. If a battle is won, it is always won with these heavy losses. I pray to God wherever he is now, may his soul rest in peace." Karthik almost whispered for he was not able to control his emotions anymore. Unlike most of the stories, this one did not have a happy ending. It’s different. It’s not sad. It’s the feeling of emptiness that can never be filled.

My soulful prayers to all the martyrs who burnt their midnight oil and guarded and fought selflessly for the nation. My tribute to all the 40 CRPF jawans who sacrificed for our lives on 14th February 2019. Jai Hind Jai Bharat.

Image credit: Google Images