It was a beautiful dawn that lovely morning. The sun bore down harshly upon him and his men. He woke up to the sound of sirens wailing in futility. Men in armor stumbled out of their tents in a drowsy haze. The sound of gunshots fast approaching was unforgiving. Especially because women and children lay frightened behind the sheets. He grabbed a gun, and a pocket knife for safe measure and joined the rest of men as they ran to the border. Beads of perspiration raced down his jaw. He sprinted across the field raising sand into the air with every step. The sun shone on harsher and more determined than ever to wear them out. There they were, hundred men, who only a few hours ago were resting in the comfort of their beds and the tenderness of their wives, oblivious to the fight that awaited them come sunrise. The land was barren and infertile for as far as the naked eye could see. The wind was kicking up a dust storm, bound to thwart their only attempt at a defense. He ran as fast as he could through the paths, through the smell of morning chicken broth now tainted by the smell of fear, through the butt-naked children scrambling towards their homes, through the frightened glares thrown towards him from behind closed doors. He reached the wall, and stood there clenching every muscle in his body. His blood boiled at the sight of the enemy contingent only a few miles away. Beads of perspiration had now soaked the back of his uniform. He clenched his jaw ton reveal a strong jaunt jawline, hiding teeth inside that are waiting to bit flesh off the opponent’s body. All in line, assessing the strength of the enemy army. Too many, way too many he thought. A quick mental calculation gave him a number. 15. The number of people each individual would have to kill in order to win this. 15 at least, he worriedly added. For one split second, his fingers slipped from his gun, his resolve faltered. But then he saw his men all around him, all standing strong and tall, protecting their loved ones. They were a human shield for their families. A fence lined with sweaty thirsty men who wouldn’t stop till the last ounce of blood had been drained from their bodies. He heard the sergeant’s command as clear as the sound of his baby’s first cry. ‘raise your weapons’ came the sharp order, followed almost immediately by ‘FIRE’. He was to give his family the biggest gift he could afford. His body as their shield and his blood as a price for their freedom. And just as his fingers found their way around the trigger, his eyes locked sharply at the enemy line, he startled back into reality by the sound of a frying pan hitting the cold marble floor. His wife, now old and wrinkled, looked at him with an apologetic smile. It was a beautiful dawn that lovely morning.
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Sanjukta Krishnagopal
This is where I put random musings created on cold rainy nights whilst typing away furiously on my laptop. I have been published in the 'creative writing' category' at the Unknown Pen, Youth Ki Awaaz, Terribly Tiny Tales, and Berlin Unspoken. I was also Chief Writer of the Department of Journalism and Media at BITS Goa. I also treat this space as a personal travel blog with practical information. If you are interested in talking about writing, I'd love to hear from you! Archives
September 2022
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