He was playing. His Ammi was busy preparing the dinner. His Abbu was reading a book. They were engrossed, they were happy; they were momentarily freed from the rapacious clutch of terror which could engulf them any day, any minute, any second. But, They were happy. They were not the family who left. They stayed….counting days, minutes, and moments. Every night his Ammi and Abbu exchanged words “Aaj bach gaye, kal shaayad ( We are saved today, Maybe tomorrow)……”. He observed his abbu’s worried but calm expression. He understood something. He did not contemplate. He slept. He dreamt. That night, they lived.
“Kal shaayad ( Maybe tomorrow) "...
There was a knock at the door.Abbu and Ammi exchanged looks. Abbu opened the door. Two men, armed, veiled--their faces covered in black cloth; appeared. “Accompany us!”, their cold, ruthless voice roared. They did. They had to.
“Yeh hamein kahan le jaa rahein hain, Ammi?”
“Pata nahin beta. Hamein kuch nahin hoga.”
Hope.
They were taken to a camp. People around looked scary. Tall bullies with heavy dark instruments in their hands. He didn't know what they stood for. He kept quiet. He just followed.
Three of them were locked up . They were brutally beaten up; their body parts were sliced off.
His Ammi, shrieked while a few men groped her, tortured her, shred her clothes and...
His Abbu, half-dead.
And he—just observed. After nothing other than life was left in them, they were shot. The lifeless body of his parents lay on the floor. He watched. He shivered. His hands were tied.
His lips were burnt.
His tears were dry.
His limbs were broken.
He was bleeding.
Before the last ray of life extinguished, he only said, “I shall complain to God."
About the author :-
Shayantani Kundu is a high school student from Hem Sheela Model school, Durgapur. She's a travel-head, and a bibliophile who wants to become a journalist.
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