The Sky above, the Sky Below: Story

The Sky above, the Sky Below
By Dibyajyoti Sarma

Wednesday: 4.05 am

He woke up at the impulsive cry of a wild owl. With great effort he opened his eyelids and stretching his hands towards left he tried to understand the place where he was in. The night in jungle was dark. He gazed towards the sky above. Behind the old simalu tree that was the silver moon on its eleventh day. There was still time for dawn.
He was lying above wild grasses with his dress tattered. Now, as he woke up, he tried to get up from his grass bed with a leap. But he failed. A current of pain passed throbbing his body. He felt like crying. But there was no sound. It has been so many years that he had forgotten how to cry. He felt a sudden weight upon his head. He touched his forehead with his left hand. It was bloody, still liquid. And his eyes were burning. He licked his lips. It was dry like leather. He dreamt of something cold, something crystalline… what was it? He tried very hard to remember.

Wednesday: 4.20 a. m.

'Water'—he gave his desires a voice. Lying on the sward, he tried to call someone who could bring some water for him. To keep his pulses running he needed water. But there was no one to answer him. Keeping his hands behind his back as a support, he finally got up and sitting on the ground, he looked around. Where he is going to find some water? Everywhere was solitary music of jungle. In the north, there lay the Bhutan Hills… He pondered over for a moment what to do next. He tried to lift his body only to find the numbness of his legs. With tremendous effort he removed his boots off and tried to move forward. He was searching for some water.

Wednesday: 4.29 a. m.

He went a few steps ahead when his legs suddenly crashed under a heavy object. He stopped for a second and had a glance. It was a human body laying… a man with a green uniform covered with blood. The jawan was already dead. He thought. Instantly, he noticed the dead man's canteen lying near. The found was like a cool breeze after burning heat. He grabbed the water flux and drunk the water to his heart's content. As his need was fulfilled, he felt a sudden sadness enveloping him. His tired legs could no longer support him. He sat down near the dead man.

Wednesday: 4.43 a. m.

In the dim glow of the sunless morning, he was investigating the body of the dead jawan. Poor fellow! He thought. Joining this job for little dough, he had wasted his valuable life for no reason at all. He thought about his family… A stranger, he was a handsome youth… the jawan was lying in a position as if he was sleeping after a terribly hard day. His brother also slept the same way. The iron door locked carefully for so many years was suddenly ajar.
His brother… Bhaity… He murmured. No. He tried to control himself, his disobedient emotions. No. He had forgotten all that… his brother, mother, home, his village… everything. He closed his eyelids and saw a young lad running with his full strength on a railway track and a train chasing him. He could not stop. He had to run till his death. It was his destiny … the young lad was he.

Wednesday: 4.59 a. m.

It was nearly dawn. Birds were awake and the darkness of the jungle was getting clearer. The whole surrounding was ready to welcome a new morning. He should leave the place before it was dawn, he thought. The next army convoy may arrive at any time. With great difficulty he rose. Except for some minor scratches he had not had much injury. He had blood in his face, now creamed in purple. His jeans were torn with blood in it.
As he was prepared to leave the place, he saw the carbine of the dead man lying under his left arm. He should get the carbine along with him, he thought.

Wednesday: 5.11 a. m.

As he tried to pull the carbine lifting the dead man's hand, he felt warmth of the dead hand. The jawan was not dead.


{The story is unfinished and, was written in 1998-1999. I was trying to translate an Asomiya story of mine.}