Short-Story- Two Letters

It was the morning after the battle. The silvery rays of dawn fell upon the bodies lying scattered in the aftermath of the fight. The morning papers all around the nation must be declaring that it was a glorious battle, and a great victory.

It is a strange place—“No Man’s land”. With all the arrogance of man who claims to own the earth, here was one strip that had been declared free of that bondage. Yet, scarred by the landmines and splattered with blood, it had been ravaged by both countries it lay between.

As I walked, I saw two soldiers who had apparently stuck each other a mortal blow and died falling upon each other. One arm boldly showing the insignia of Pakistan lay upon a shoulder marked with the crossed swords of an Indian army jawan. The land around them were covered in their blood…neither Indian blood, nor Pakistani…just human blood , draining away the dreams and hopes and love of two lives. As I kneeled beside them, I saw a bluish piece of paper jutting out of the pocket of the Indian jawan. With the characteristic curiosity of a reporter, I gently pulled it out. It was an inland letter, almost torn at the fold at constant reading and re-reading.

“My Dearest son…

May Ishwar keep you safe and well. How are you , my son? It is now three months since you have sent a letter. My old eyes are thirsting for a sight of you.

Your sister’s wedding has been fixed, but she is very stubborn, son. She insists that she will not get married without her Bhaiyya’s blessings. She is waiting to know when you will next come home. I have talked to the boy’s father, and he understands, but how long can we postpone it like that? The boy is very good, he is an Engineer and they have not even mentioned dowry. She is lucky to get such a match. But I feel very sad that my bulbul is going away…

Your son is now almost one year old now. He is walking a little and looks just like you when you were young. Bahu is very loving and takes good care of me and your mother. But she always looks sad and spends hours in the puja room praying. She is very worried at the trouble at the border. But she is always cheerful with your mother and never lets her hear anything about the trouble. You know your mother’s heart is very weak and the doctor has said she must not be anxious. Poor bahu, she never mentions her anxieties to anyone.

Your mother keeps asking about you. I tell her that the army is like that, he would be remembering us, but he will not get time to send a letter. He will probably come home very soon. But beta, do write to us when you can and let us know. Just send us a telegram if you cannot write a letter. When you come, we will have Choti’s wedding also.

I am fine, have some pain in my legs, but bahu has got me some medicines from the town. Otherwise, all is well at home

God bless you, my son.

Your loving Father.”

I was trembling as I finished reading... I carefully folded it and put it back in the soldier’s pocket. As I was about to walk away, I saw that the Pakistani soldier had something clutched tightly in his hand. Shaken though I was, something prompted me to gently disentangle his fingers and look at it. It was also—it appeared—a yellowed piece of paper, muddy and bloodied. I hesitated, but then gently opened it to see the delicate writing in Urdu.

Beloved husband,

Peace and blessing of Allah be upon you!

I have just completed my Namaz, and yet, my heart is heavy. How long it has been since you have come home! And along with that, the news from the border is always of trouble. May Allah keep you safe through it all.

Abbu is very unwell. I think it is because his heart is anxious that he has not heard anything from you. Please send him some message somehow. He is aged and his whole life is centred upon you. But he is very loving towards me and never allows me to do any housework; he always says that I should rest because of the baby. It is only 2 more months now, and the only time I have seen his eyes happy are when he thinks of his grandchild.

Ammi is fine, she prepares all sorts of things for me and says it is good for the baby. But in her eyes , I can see the worry as the news comes from the borders. The other day, Shareef Bhai’s nephew was brought home injured after a battle. His arm has been amputated. Allah! I can still hear the weeping of his mother. Abbu has been anxious since then. He keeps going to the mosque to offer special prayers.

Your brother is also intent upon joining the army. Abbu looks very sad when he says that. But you are his hero, and he keeps telling me, Bhabhijaan, my brother is so brave. Yes, I know, I tell him. But my heart is anxious, and I do the special prayers so that Allah may protect you. Who is there for us but you?

Please do send us a message soon. When will you come home next? God willing, will you come home to see when our baby is born?

Praying for you,

Your Loving Wife.


My eyes glazed as I looked upon the two bodies, lying upon each other.

I am not sure who had won this battle. But standing there, surrounded by the bodies of those past caring about the fortunes of war, it seemed to me too, an immaterial thing who had won. I was thinking about the families and loved ones of the dead, who had definitely lost…