THE END

The evening was balmy.But ironically, the atmosphere was equally inclement.She was in a state of complete consternation.It was a condition that resembled that of a body which is paralyzed, like of a fish seconds out of water, trying to survive, trying to just elongate the life, the breath.


She brushed aside her whorls which were scattered all over her face.The face which used to blossom at his sight, was looking like a barren land pleading the almighty for the elixir,a solicitation that was futile.The lips which used to be like a bud ready to sprout at the sight of the spring, were puckered, as distraught as it could get.Her eyes, which were equally cryptic like an ancient treasure hitherto unexplored, protected by lids and girded by fine brows which furrowed each time the wind touched her face, brimming with tears.She tried with all her might to control the stream flowing  across her cheeks which he used to caress.That touch would bring a subtle smile to her lips and a shimmer in her eyes.She missed that touch today.


She turned towards him.Her dappled maroon coloured saree fluttering as a strong gush of wind blew across the courtyard.Her visage was again caressed by the wind as she moved towards him like a hypnotized soul.


He lay there wrapped in tricolour with a battery of men in green around him, their magnificent rifles pointing to the azure of the horizon.She bent down to embrace him one last time.She touched him one last time, perhaps knowing that this touch would be the last one.A tear trickled down her face in this process.But, she swabbed it off.
She was a widow of a martyr, a man who had brought unparalleled glory to the motherland.A baronial soldier, who puts all he has at stake to shield his country, to hedge it from all evil.
She should not cry.She must not cry.
But a layer behind that brave woman was a newly- wedded bride.A dainty girl, who had just entered a new world,had novel hopes, fabricated new dreams and aspirations and new apprehensions about her life as a wife.All this had shattered for her.For she was a widow now.
She should cry.She must cry.


The men in green fired their 16 rounds and bend to pick the body.She stared hard to get that one last look.The vermilion on her brow was swiped forever.
She finally let go off the tears she had been holding back.



(written for those thousands of widows of war who inspite of adversity and bereavement stand up, accept the destiny and move on, lets salute their gut, grit and courage)
Jai Hind


Udit Bhatia
Electronics and Communication Engineering
Guru Gobind Singh Indraprastha University, Delhi