The War Comes

THE WAR COMES
(A short story translated from the original in Oriya)

Father left home in the evening. Ranju’s father and Mantu’s brother also left with him. Perhaps father is a little cowardly. Mother too, or else why should they cry? I was furious at this. Only the other day my teacher said those who died in fighting went to heaven. (How great it will be for father to go to heaven!) When Sachi Bhai died in fighting, the Prime Minister herself gave a prize to Nayi Maa. Who will take the prize when father dies?

I did not cry even one bit even if I could see those blasted enemies. Could they be very fierce to look at? Why did God create them in the first instance? And now, only if they all died in any way, from infants right up to the old! A fierce flood might catch up with them, one and all. But why a flood? It could be a big fire spread all over the enemy’s country. How painful it would all be, as painful a death as that of the worm which was the other day burnt to death by Didi. But if that happened father would not have got a chance to go to the front. There would have been no public reception to garland him. What a beautiful garland it was!

That tall man (perhaps he was a Minister), when he garlanded father, Ranju’s father and Mantu’s brother–how deafening was the clapping? I, Ranju and Mantu sat in the very front row. I had a strange trembling, the head was hot, and I felt like shouting. Then the Minister rose and said many things–I couldn’t even make out what. Others also spoke–“A barbaric enemy has committed naked aggression on our country. He has to be forced out of our sacred land. His high-handedness has to be given a fitting reply...”

What is barbaric? Are we not all barbaric? When I asked this, mother pulled my ears. Aggression is attacking somebody with sword and gun. But what is “naked” aggression? Naked means nude. Oh, how uncultured! The enemy perhaps fights naked. But it is not for us cultured people to say such vulgar things. Those who uttered these vulgar words were certainly uncultured people. Then why these vulgar words?

The newspapers published reports of the meeting. Father was reading it and mother, sister, brother all stood around him. There was a picture of the father. He looked strange in it. I was afraid to go to him. (Perhaps father too has committed a similar “naked” aggression.)

I was a little away when father was reading the newspaper report aloud. The report talked of father and of Ranju’s father and Mantu’s brother. To put an end to the enemy’s barbarism all of us will have to forget everything about relation’s, friends, home and town and keep the country’s cause uppermost in mind. All this father read and explained.

Sachi Bhai killed 17 enemy men before dying. Do they cry while dying? However much they cry, will they be admitted to heaven? Only grandmother can tell this.

They are our “enemies.” But what are we to them? I asked my teacher about this and he shouted at me so loudly that Tapu, Ranju and Mantu all broke into laughter.

Why are they so keen to grab a piece of our land? Didi says they are greedy; they don’t have enough to eat, nor place to live in. This is why they have attacked us.

Suppose we invade their country! But father says our policy is different. What is policy? Who made it? A good policy does not pain anybody. Sachi Bhai too could not have pain while dying.

Ranju’s brother has joined the College NCC. He has organised his own private army consisting of Ranju, Herika, etc., and teaches them marching. With a small gun he teaches how to fire. The other day he shot a blue bird by chance. It fell flat on its . I cried and ran home. Ranju’s brother mocked at me and called me a coward. I was shamefaced and am no longer a coward.

The aborigine living in our neighbourhood, uses bow and arrow to hunt swan. He has promised me to show to do so. Swan’s meat is tasteful–the other day he gave me a few pieces. Blood was oozing from it drop by drop...drip...drip...drip. Such meat is very tasteful.

But mother was furious. Why? She called me a monster, a blot on the family and what not and started crying. The bird Ranju’s brother had shot was meanwhile struggling for life. Mother asked Vishi to pour into its throat a few drops of water, but it died. I felt like poking it with a stick to see what happened. But Vishi buried it–and mother got this done in her own presence.

Do the enemies also struggle for life like this? Their body must, of course, be dripping with plenty of blood–enough to make the whole area red, red like the silk saree of Didi. Do they also stare piteously as mother says? Do they too remember their homes?

(Could father be thinking of us? Why should he? He has gone to fight for the country and for the country one has to forget one’s home and people.)

When Sachi Bhai died Nai Maa got a letter from the big Commander of the war. It had black borders on all sides. How he had praised Sachi Bhai! Nai Maa is a fool to cry. Sachi Bhai has in fact gone to heaven. Only the other day, a mohalla meeting prayed for his soul. Everybody said he was a martyr.

(What is a martyr? Will father become one? Of course no question of the enemy becoming a martyr.)

What happens when one is martyred? Does he become very big and tall? Brother had a book entitled “Martyr.” I didn’t understand what it was about. Now I do. Only if father were to become a martyr and we became big men! We would then live like lords.

We have wrested two valleys from the enemy. (What is a valley? Is it the same thing that I passed by when I went with uncle to Ramrangpur?) This was announced by the radio yesterday. We also captured a lot of ammunition. Also food supplies. Good. Let them die of hunger.

Father had told me once: “When you grow up you will go to the front and wrest all the things to eat from the enemy. They will starve and won’t get even water. All the barbarians will die of hunger.”

But why did mother spank me the other day? Dada had sent a huge fish, and it was late at night. When morning came we found that the cat had eaten half of it. Half the night mother had spent to cook it, and now it was gone. I was very angry, tied a piece of rope to the cat’s throat and hung it by a rope to a tree. The cat struggled, shot out its tongue, and died.

This was followed by the spanking. I was shut up in a room and denied food and beaten with a stick. Grandmother, of course, did not eat anything. It is a sin to kill a cat. But this cat had caused us such a great loss. After some time, when mother has cooled down, I shall ask her why she beat me.

There is no letter from father. Perhaps he is fighting in some valley. Perhaps he will now be martyred.

Vishi has entered my class suddenly. He is talking to my teacher in whispers. Then he tells me: “Chhote Sarkar, mother wants you home.”

“Why? I won’t go.”

He does not heed me, says it is very urgent. His face has a strange look. On the way I asked him repeatedly, and he breaks into a loud sob. I can’t understand it, and he starts explaining “Bare Saheb......”

“What happened? Has father come?

“Bare Saheb is no more.”

Oh, he can’t even talk clearly.

“Where has he gone?”

“He has died in fighting.”
I break loose from his grip and run home. “Mother, mother,” I shout, breathless. “I will go to receive the Asoka Pillar for father. Keep the table ready with a glass top. Like Nai Maa we too will keep the Asoka Pillar on a glass table and garland it. And when I get the present from the Prime Minister will I also be photographed?”

Oh, how still mother is lying? Why is Didi sprinkling water on her face? I find a piece of paper in the verandah, then ask Didi, “Didi, where will we hold the meeting to pray for father’s soul? I will sit right in the front row, just like Sachi Bhai’s son did.”