After this mammoth piece of writing, I shall not be posting anything for quite some time.
A month ago, on a night like this, they would have had celebrations by the river, singing, dancing, a huge fire and marinated meat sizzling on the skewers. Today, even the moon shied away, not wanting to see what was left of a flourishing city at one time.
They were simple people, most of them farmers by profession, rarely traveling to places far beyond. Democracy was unknown to them, but there were rumors that the ongoing war would topple the government and bring about a whole new dimension to their life. At first, the planes were fascinating; metal birds, but when the bombs reduced their numbers, human error, happens in wars, they were told, they began to dislike the 'ally' as much as they disliked their government. The children hated to stay indoors or in the bunkers, which was most of the time, because of the curfews imposed. Only the one-eyed beggar and his lame dog ventured out, probably because they had nowhere to go to.
That night there were four in the dingy room, lit with a makeshift lantern, the midwife, the mother, him and her.
The father of the child dead, he was out working when the bomb tore his skull apart.
The midwife was busy giving instructions to the mother, while he stood there, detached as always, tall, imposing in a black coat and she, delicate, radiant, a beautiful glow on her face that he had always admired.
"I have come to take the child as we had discussed earlier", he says matter-of-factly
"Wait", she pleads, "I have changed my mind"
A thundering sound and minutes later heart-rending wails. He flinches, "Probably another bomb, I need to go soon, I have duties to attend to"
"I want the child", she says. "I want him to grow up here"
An icy breeze struggled through the shattered glass of the window. The lantern flickered and the shadows on the walls grew longer. She shudders; he wants to offer her the coat, but does not. He hated emotions. They hampered his decisions.
"I do not understand you, we have always concurred on most occasions, then why not this time? I respect you and owe you my job, but I cannot make sense of your request", he questions
"You must leave now before it’s too late", she insists, a whisper.
He laughs, an eerie laugh she has not heard before, "You are wasting my time, and I should leave before the mother sees the child. Do you want this child to grow up in this wasteland", he mocks, "a ravaged country, no food, no water, no future. If I take him away now, with me, he will not feel the pain, the agony, the frustration; he will have no family attachments, nothing at all, nothing"
"I want him here" she pleads, "I want him to feel the pain and the agony, I want him for the sake of his mother who so longs to hold him in her hands, I want him to experience the sorrows so that he will know what joy is, I want him to grow up and fear no one, not even death, I want him to be like his father, strong and brave"
"To the mother, the child represents hope, hope for better things to come, she has no one but him now, he means the world to her, let him be, please, just this once", she begs.
"And what if you regret this decision? What if the boy fails his mother, and you? Then you will want me to take him away and I will not, I warn you, I will not, till I choose", he taunts
"I will sustain him till he is what I wish him to be. He shall have faith in himself. And one day he shall make his family proud”, she says
The light grew stronger and the room echoed with the newborn's tiny cries. A prayer was uttered, the mother wiped her tears, the midwife wrapped the baby in a warm piece of clothing.
He snarled. He hated emotions. He hated her confidence. He was powerless. She made most of the decisions and he hated to obey her.
With his coat swirling behind him, Death stormed out of the room, while Life looked on, with a smile on her lips, the child was hers now.
