The tunnel

As armies of starved farmers marched on their now barren lands with deadly rifles, vindictive faces adorned by beads of sweat, blood dripping slowly on their foreheads beneath the thunderous night sky; sweet, melodious yet sad voices could be heard in the far distance. These female voices seemed to be praying. Within the same premises, a middle-aged man, short-heighted and lean was staring at a photo, stained with blood. Across the nation sealing fence, another man; of about the same age, tall, heavy built, admired the same photo.

The short-heighted man, Osman Abdullah, perhaps the only man in the village currently within the protected threshold looked teary and stood holding an AK-47 rifle. “Why is it so hard for me to be like the rest? My cousins, my uncle.... They too were born in Morbi; the circumstances forced them to accept Khalifabad as their home, they have done it; it must have been hard for them too, they too had friends there who are now lost, they are doing everything they can to fight for their land, the land that sheltered them when their birth land turned away.... Birth land, how can one betray the soil that brought them into this universe, the people there too were family, neither are they responsible for the fence that separates us now, they too suffered equally, even now they are suffering equally, maybe even more.....” Thinking this, his eyes swelled up, rendered with blood-like tears, a vulture seemed to have torn his chest and heart apart, his passion, love, respect bleeding out like water flowing down a valley.

“Run, run for your life, in god’s name, run faster......”, screamed Vikram. While some were out there fighting for their motherland, a few like Vikram, who believed in peace ran away along with their families. They were not physically weak, Vikram was the reigning wrestling champion of Morbi; they just believed that wars, even in the name of motherland did no good and moreover this was a communal war in the wake of the riots that had erupted in the nearest megapolis; a fact which everyone knew but none wanted to accept. Vikram and a few other peace lovers had managed to find temporary shelter in a dark, stinky tunnel.  They could hear devilish roars of the attackers, gun shots, cries of innocent people. Famished, scared, exhausted, suffocated, injured the people hoped that this dark night would be over soon; in sometime they succumbed to nature’s best and the most paradoxical medicine. However there were two eyes that didn’t close even for a second, as if guarding the tunnel. Through the small hole, Vikram saw many familiar faces; earlier he strived to bring smiles on these faces and wipe their tears but now he saw them with abhorrence, due to what they had done to his motherland and pity, in hope that better sense would prevail.  In all those faces he had hoped to find one face but he didn’t. His vision blurred...

“Yes, we did it, yet again. Osu boy, what a hideout you have discovered; I wonder if even the eldest person in the village knows about it”, Vikram said letting out a small chuckle. Osman beaming with pride at his best friend’s praise bragged, “I know I am good Vik, much better at hiding than you are” referring to the last debacle that had happened thanks to Vikram. Hearing this, Vikram punched him in the stomach and then both the boys had a hearty laugh. They took turns to see what the villagers were doing; “Those hooligans, just to know how to create ruckus. They will come out eventually”, Vikram’s father, the village head and their softest target screamed. They stayed there for a long time. The tunnel had now become their spot, the perfect place for their endless round table conferences. Until.... Religion, society and family are strong factors;  it can make foes friends and friends foes. This is what happened here. A line of religious blood hidden within an iron fence now ran through the village of Morbi, giving birth to Khalifabad and Morbi. Each one ran to be with their own, religion being the sole governing factor. Lives and emotions were lost. Boys were forced to grow up overnight into brave men, innocent girls into strong-willed women and the grown-ups into knights to protect their families. Friendships too were lost..... Vik and Osu were lost.....

With a startle, Vikram was back to reality; it was like a bad dream, only it was true. The long night was finally over, atleast that is what they thought. Carefully, the ten of them went out led by Vikram. They thought the attackers were gone now, as no gunshots had been heard since two hours. What they saw was a complete massacre; dead bodies piled over one another, houses completely broken, some badly injured survivors. They went to their home, slowly. It was exactly what they had expected; scattered wood logs, hay, blood, swords, a few dead bodies. With a heavy heart, Vikram and the other two men cleared the mess and tried to find their way through the logs in hope to find some medicines and food; they found the med kit but no food. The other two men went out with the med kit whereas Vikram to search more. Within seconds, he heard gunshots, nine of them. He ran out, his worst fears had come true; he was now completely alone, or was he not?

All this while, Osman was lying in the comforts of his own bed; his extended family had locked him, they thought of him as a timid foreigner, who had always considered Morbi as his motherland; who came with them in the fear of his dead parents; parents who weep in heaven if they saw their only son being separated from his blood relatives. Well, they were right. Osman had done everything in the fear of his dead parents, he loved them too much, wanted to keep them happy, follow the path they would have, even now when they were long gone; but there was also this big lump in his heart, a mountain of love and concern that he had ignored all these years since the separation. Everyone knew about it; but they taunted him that this had made him a weakling, a bane for their society, just before locking him leaving behind two bouncers to guard him, his eldest cousin mocked him for shaming his parents, family and Allah. “How can Allah, God or even any human be ashamed of a person who’s trying to stop a war?”, he thought. Such a situation would lead anyone on a harsh escape route; well that is what is usually destined. Osman always thought that he was better off staying with Vikram and his family; he wanted education, peace, a progressive world, here he just got the opposite. He now knew what he wanted most. A smart person with the perfect balance of humour and sobriety, although considered by some to be paranoid at times; his cerebral fluids were racing to come up with an ingenious escape plan and finally he did.

He opened the window slowly, the big bouncers, like typical sumo wrestlers instantly came and stood in front of him; he gave his weird smile and then in an instant gave a frightened look and said, “Can one of you please come inside, actually the sound of gunshots, the entire atmosphere is so scary that it is killing me to be alone in a closed room.” The two gave each other a perplexed look and the thinner one went painstakingly inside through the small window. The hiding area was like a lonely city suburb; in other words quite and in this case, safe. As he came inside, a half-filled glass of liquor tempted him; what harm could so little alcohol do, well, Osman knew better than anyone. His mind and heart fought with each other, although this was a weak battle, the stronger won; he took a sip. Within seconds, he was out. Again Osman opened the window and peeked out, “Look, he’s slept.” The second bouncer came in, with even much more difficulty. As he tried to wake his colleague, his eyes fell on the glass; he too hesitantly drank it and was out. In no time, Osman crept out of the window with his backpack. He stuffed himself, took his father’s AK-47, wore heels, a beard and a wig; hoping to deceive the onlookers, if any. Thankfully, his route was clear. He crossed the fence, his heart wrenched at the sight in front of him; but he did not stop. His intuition led him to their favourite hideout, the tunnel and like always his intuition was right. He entered the tunnel and found Vik, his brother, his best friend; he was crying and well dying. Vikram looked up, after fifteen years he finally saw the face he hoped to see everyday, Osu. He said, “Osu, I was always right. You do have the sixth sense of a lady.” They both laughed.

Osman Abdullah and Vikram Mukherjee escaped from Morbi and now live as brothers in a joint family who run a successful business venture in the booming metro, Ahmedabad. They remarried widows and accepted their children as their own having no blood relatives. The villages of Morbi and Khalifabad were totally destroyed in the war, the ones who survived migrated just like those two. The land is now sold to a car company to set up their manufacturing plant. Osman and Vikram still visit their tunnel in the obsolete village every month giving the pretext of a business meeting to their family.     

Reviews

[New Theory]

You are a very interesting story teller and are proving me right and I will be looking on to you for alll your work.

[deepika]

Thanks for liking my story.... Hope you like my other works too...

[Marie]

THis is very sad and intense, and shows the horrors of war.Osman may have lost his birth place, but at least he stayed alive. I like the fact that the tunnel is still there at the end of the story.

[deepika]

thank you mam for reading and reviewing it...