Echoes of yore
By a lonely road, where no
vehicle ever runs, stands a bunker. One among the many along the way.
Once under eminent protection, now it stands dejected, with half-empty
sand sacks and a half crumbled roof. Where there used to be much
activity, bustling, action, today the only life form found is an army of
termites.
 Still, inside that lonely bunker lingers the memories of an
unforgettable past. The rotting-away timber still recalls the
happenings; the “once - upon” days.
When the scorching Sun shifts duty with the tranquil Moon, the two
camouflaged youths enter through the wooden door frame; one, a Patriot -
with fierce, determined eyes, prepared to “do one’s duty” for his
motherland; the other, a Feeler - a victim of the circumstances, that
enrolled for this perilous duty to keep his family from starving.
Though at opposite extremities in attitude, like a railway track in
opinions, running parallel, yet never meeting - they had the dreams and
youthful follies as a common factor. And like the harmony between night
and day, that keeps the world turning, the contrasting personalities of
the Patriot and the Feeler kept things comfortably active for the
bunker.
Hanging the oil lamp on the hook, the Feeler asks:
“Do you know what day today is?”
With characteristic cynicism, the Patriot answers;
“Let me see. Doomsday?” a sarcastic smile lingers on his face.
The Feeler shakes his head.
“It’s Avurudu today.”
The sorrow in his voice is almost tangible. “It was two years ago, on
Avurudu day that I proposed to her. We were supposed to get married in
January”. The eyes of the Feeler glisten by the light of the dancing
flame.
“Humph” is all the Patriot says. He is very much used to the
strolling along the memory lane of his companion. The Patriot separates
his mind into two parts. A smaller part, to listen to the woes of his
companion; a larger part to concentrate on any unusual activity.
Surviving this night seems to rest solely on his shoulders. The Feeler
will not notice anything short of a hand grenade attack in this mood.
Oblivious to the look of resignation on the Patriot’s face, the
Feeler continues. “She is such a tender little person. She would be the
perfect wife. So sensitive, but quite strong. Did you know that when I
told her my decision of enrolling, she did not even cry? But those
sparkling eyes of her spoke better than any word. Even when I was coming
away, Amma was in tears.
But she looked into my eyes for a long time and simply said “Take
care of yourself”. Her eyes speak and I miss them.” For the last line,
the Feeler mutters in a low voice, as if speaking to himself.
However, the deep desolation that emits from the Feeler is broken by
a hearty laugh from the Patriot.
“Good thing she can talk without words. I don’t think she’d be able
to speak a word if you ran off like this even with her.”
The Patriot snickers. But the Feeler stubbornly goes on.
“The night always makes me think of her. I can hear her laughter in
the wind; I can feel her touch in the breeze; I can sense her in the
moonlight. I love the night. It makes me feel close to her. I don’t want
the night to end.”
The Patriot stands, his eyes blazing.
“Snap out of it, you fool! This is not some darn storybook! This is
the real world! You love the night?
Guess what, I hate it because it is at night that the enemy lurks so
near, yet you can’t see them. It’s at night that the crickets chirp too
loud, so that you can’t hear the stealthy footsteps. It is the night
that threatens your existence! Get over your romantic crap! Wake up and
smell the air! It doesn’t smell of roses; it stinks of blood! It stinks
of shattered hopes! It stinks of broken dreams! It stinks of death!”
Even the forest seems to hold its breath. The only sound was the
ragged breathing of the Patriot, as he tries to calm himself.
The Feeler speaks in a low voice.
“I just want to go home. You won’t understand.”
“You’re right,” the Patriot answers in a different tone; one of
acceptance. “I don’t understand. I’m here, hoping to do something grand.
My only desire is to die in the battlefield, defending what I believe to
be right. My only dream is to make this land free of this pain. It
doesn’t matter to me if I live to see that day or not.
I only want to get revenge from the pain inflicted upon thousand of
innocent lives. I only want everyone to live together. No religious
barriers; no ethnic barriers. I just want peace.”
 Despite the gravity of the speech, he smiles at the pondering eyes of
the Feeler.
“Maybe, next Avurudu you will celebrate with your sweetheart. Make
sure you remember me when making all those kavili. My favourite is pani
walalu.”
The Feeler returns the smile.
Still smiling, they look over the distant treetops. The sky is a
lighter shade of red. Dawn.
Many days have passed since the bunker was last occupied. It seems
that finally, it is all over. The depleted forest is starting to grow
back. In a few more months, no one would see the bunker anymore.
When the scorching Sun shifts duty with the tranquil Moon, but no
youth enters the crumbling bunker, it likes to think of the days of
past. It does not know what happened to the Patriot and the Feeler. But
it likes to imagine.
The Feeler smiles at the Moon, with a bright-eyed damsel sitting by
his side. They speak of their future; hope.
With a content smile that none can see, the Patriot lies beneath the
soil of his beloved motherland. His headstone gleams in the Moonlight,
and the once despised crickets chirp an Ode to a brave youth for
“Liberty, Humanity, Justice, and Equality”.
- Minoli Wijetunga
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