She lay on the ground struggling to shield her ears with numb hands, futilely making an attempt to shut out the sounds all around. Ironic, because she had always loved sound in all its manifestations since she was a baby. All kinds of them be it soulful music, the clinking of bracelets, the swish of the skirt on the grass, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the pitter patter of tiny feet, the sigh of her mother or the booming laughter of her father. Mama, Papa..She thought with a sob, dead, her entire family obliterated instantaneously. Despair crashed onto her like a tidal wave and she fervently prayed that she lost her ability to hear. Maybe then she would not have to listen to this resonance of inhuman pain. At this precise moment she was willing even eager to sell her soul to the devil if that would end the unbearable screams of the mutilated, the heart wrenching cries of toddlers , the animalistic whimpers of infants, the silky moans of the dying and the eerie silence of the dead.
It had been snowing unremittingly and though she was clad only in a sheer cotton dress, she felt nothing. The anguish in her heart had somehow cushioned her against callous veracity. Everything was so surreal that for one blissful moment she coerced herself to believe that it was only a nightmare. Oh but the shrieks, the inhuman screeches dragged her back brutally and compelled her to confront the truth. She glanced around her making an effort trying to haul herself up, summoning her strength but could only lift her head. It was virginal white and pristine all around as if mocking the war everywhere. Snow had smothered each peak and valley, every roof top and pathway was painted with it. It was heaven on earth...no it was just a cruel trickery. For when she looked intimately she could see shallow rivers of blood surging towards her. It seemed that the pure virgin had been debauchered viciously.
The heaven had been usurped by demons and his disciples and the screams were witness that Satan himself was ripping off the wings of angels. One bloody slash at a time savoring the pain he bequeathed upon them and inhaling the delicious aroma of grief. Oh how she yearned to crawl back into safety but the gates of hell had been unbolted and she couldn’t crawl back to the one place she would have been protected, her mother’s womb . Dead she thought desperately, the mother she had rebelled against, fought with, the mother who had sung her lullabies at night and known her deepest uncertainties and potent aspirations. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the images and miraculously and mercifully fell asleep.
He found her curled into herself like fetus and his heart lurched at the thought of another dead child. He started to turn away; he had observed enough death and was unsure if he could see more and not snap and fall across the edge of insanity where he had been teetering for days. As he moved he heard something, thought his mind was playing pranks on him but no, again there was that ….sob? He swiftly crossed the boulder to reach the child and he bent and gently brushed aside the hair masking the face. He realized with a startle that it was a woman, albeit a very young one. But in times like this, innocence and childhood is a luxury no one can afford. As he moved his fingers to feel the pulse her eyes opened. Their gazes locked and the earth stilted, time stilled and his heart stopped.
She should be terrified, the thought floated somewhere deep in the caverns of her mind but she was not. Why? There wasn’t any overt evidence of anything soft and kind about him but yet she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She stared at him drinking his sight as if painting his face on her mind will erase all her agony and heal her broken spirit. His eyes were a midnight black as was his hair, with a face that seemed to be carved in granite. He couldn’t have been labeled handsome even remotely but his harsh features and razor sharp angles made her feel as if he was a Greek God at least to her eyes. For a moment he speculated whether he had finally lost his mind, what was this angel doing in hell. But no she was there. He caressed her cheek to reassure himself of her ethereal presence and she trembled. He snatched his hand thinking he had terrorized her even more but she clutched his hand and their hands were locked as their gazes.
If felt as if a hundred lifetimes had raced by but only a few minutes later there was sound of gunfire shattering their fantasy . He pushed her further under the rocks and made his body her armor. Pressed to his back which was as unyielding as the rock, she belatedly wondered who he was and reality burst on her like a cracked dam. She stared at his clothes and only one word reverberated in her mind ….enemy. He was the foe who had wrecked havoc on her world. But why was he jeopardizing his life for her? Was it a maneuver to lull her into a false sense of security, did he some clandestine agenda? He felt her body stiffen and whirled back and noticed the wariness and dread in her eyes. He uttered a simple cluster of words that irrevocably altered her life forever.
“Do not fear me angel, I will protect thee with my life”
Till this day she is uncertain as to why she had trusted him that dawn, but trust him she did, with her life, with her freedom and ultimately but inevitably her heart. He had whisked her into the safety of his arms and had given her refuge in a haven she didn’t even know existed. While he was carrying her to his unit, she had wondered with trepidation and horror that her foot soldier will surely be executed for being her savior. But to her absolute astonishment, he was no mere foot soldier but the Captain of his unit. A battle scarred warrior trapped in a war he didn’t desire, combating with an enemy against whom he had no vengeance and seeking to massacre a conscience he wasn’t aware ,was still breathing. That day when she had lost her conviction in humanity she realized that these soldiers were not the adversary. They were just mere pawns in a colossal game of chess that leaders entrusted with power engaged in to quench their bloodlust. When war becomes a hobby for leaders, the rest are only victims.
She reminisces about the days that had come after, how the warrior had soothingly tended her wounds and in restoring her body, had mended her heart. How he hadn’t uttered a single word in his defense when she had hurled venomous accusations at him. Even today she vividly recollects her shock when she had learned how these enemies had tried to save some of her own people and the heart aching revelation that her family had breathed their last by the hands of their own combatants. The demarcation between friends and foes are often smeared by blood.
"She reflects on these memoirs as she watches her warrior, no her husband, sleep with a hand stroking her belly where their child is nestled and is secure.Life may not shape into our preconceived moulds but sometimes one is gifted with blessings in a very unexpected package"
