A fallen hero....

~A short story by Dilan Dhananjaya Samathilake~

The golden rays of the sun, so as they purified the plain gloom in everyday’s dawn, were invading the darkness inside his old smoggy room by a step at a time. It was bit too early to embrace the glamour of the green, the sparkle of the sky or even the sounds of the earth; since the silence of pale white mist was standing against. He wiped the cob webs off the window above his shoulder which was built overnight, as he rested his arms on the dust filled window ledger. It was remarkable to notice, how these annoying creatures create intricacy inside an unique craft of art. Yes, It sounded ‘life’ to his ears and the visionary oversight.

He drank the last few drops of water that was left in his mug after gaggling. A firm grip over the clutches gave him the confidence to battle another day, to walk another crooked mile and to stand straight on this rope of sorrow. He wondered why ‘Kanthie’ gets late to take him to his daily shower at seven. Could be that she’s busy packing breakfast for kids, as ‘Ruwan’ the eldest sleeps till late almost every day, such a rebel he is.

Though it exists, the pride gained through the ultimate victory over the wasted 3 decades of blood stained war that had being happening, the sacrifices were made now have forgotten by the majority of this so called public. The memories of the fallen hero’s will remain unknown on those mountain high war memorials and in their loved ones hearts only. His dreams, hopes along with the future were scattered on the day that he became a victim of a deadly claymore attack in elephant pass, by putting an end to the great service he offered as a private. He was that fortunate to live to see the light of the sun of another day at least with an eye. Though the scars on the face, wounds on the upper limb what was left and the lost index figure of the right hand healed, the scars of the mind remained the same. The desperation was all over the place, even on those million odd cigarette butts that were lying down in the ash tray. Then another cigarette started to burn.

The pictures in his head were linked together; the whispers of tears were what was missing. Every picture said a story, literally they anxiously screamed. He struggled in his memories to find a day where he smiled for real, hoped for the best or at least a day that he made his beloved wife satisfied. The giggles, pleasure, lust and sex were long gone, he was not that strong to trace back at those with its own risk. He has witnessed through pass 3 years how ‘Kanthie’became the ultimate woman, out of her chrysalis of her own childishness, immaturity and dependency. Even she took the motherhood by surprise, and now he couldn't believe how she handles being the ultimate father and mother at the same time. The sexual pleasure is what she has given up already, or at least his conscious doesn’t want to believe that she’s cheating on him.The compassion has become a trauma and the remedy is unknown. It’s not the same, the way his 7 year old used to smile with him. There’s disgust buried in her gestures as he has noticed. could be the scars on the limp made him a villain whom she has seen in those Cinderella stories,just evenly evil and ugly. Not that he is strong to avoid tears but as Kanthie said shes way too small to understand the reality and the sacrifices made for an entire nations’ tomorrow.

As he was looking at the morning sun he wondered about the lives which sleep peacefully at night, the relaxed minds of the people who ran from errands due to the prank calls even about fake bomb blasts and the happiness of the people who have mourned for their lost. After all, his sacrifice made that all happen, though he was left as a disabled, or as a differently able. He butt his half burnt cigarette on the tray and took the book on the chest of drawers to the hand, and started reading it. As chapters change so as the life, he felt.