BATTERED and broken,it was lying on its belly,amidst a horde of cheering kids.Soulless,lifeless,missing its front and rear,a picture of shameful defeat.Lonely and bereft on enemy soil!
I felt a thrill of pride when I saw this great memento of war.The broken body of a Pak fighter plane,which adorned the grounds of our army complex! I continued my walk,with pride whooshing around my heart.
I always think while I walk and today,the war memorabilia entered my sub-conscious.I started musing about the battered remains of the plane.
It zoomed into my mental vision,majestic and splendid,proud as it sailed the skies of its home territory,performing enviable feats,swishing away on cool pockets of air,with a young,dashing pilot at the controls.Its performance honed and readied for ultimate perfection by a bevy of diligent ground staff,the plane and pilot were now ready for war.Answering the call of duty,it took off with lan,with wishes for its safe return.
There were sorties into enemy land,successful missions causing much damage.I wished it dead,that which was causing miserable anguish in my land.Then an AD missile caught its tailthe beginning of an end! I felt better.
The deterioration was rapid and the fire spread fast.The dashing hero of the cockpit now struggled to gain control of his airborne beauty as it tumbled towards its abysmal fate.Frantic messages of help and hopeful prayers to God were of no avail.The plane lay prone,hugging the bloodied earth,amidst enemy corpses,in final doom.I felt a pain deep within.Why After all,he was the enemy.But can one ever rejoice in anothers misery
The ghost of the broken plane hadnt left me still.It let me see its final flight to doom and then showed me another apparition.A tear-stained,ethereal face,hazy and unfocused,rose in front of my eyes.The glory I was feeling in the defeat of an enemy was gone;instead a cold hand stilled the beating of my heart.I stopped and turned back for I could walk no more.
It was her sorrow that enveloped the plane.I had felt her presence,felt her youth and her pain of loss.
Questions hounded me.What had actually been the fate of that pilot Had he bailed out in time Had he been captured by our army Or had he met his sad demise,hurtling to the ground,performing his duty He must have thought of her then and remembered her.Her tear-filled eyes were full of anguish;a longing,awaiting her mate! Did he ever return to her I think not,because the pain,the lonely emptiness that I felt for her was so real.I hurried back.
Back home,I asked my husband about the pilot the minute he returned.The operation was a success and the victory grand,he said.Neither he nor any records revealed the fate of the pilot.It did not matter, he said.He looked at me,for tears were rolling down my face.
The plane is no more a victory memento but the death bed of a hero.Does it really matter that he was the enemy Did it make him less human,his sacrifice less heroic or reduce the pain of his loved ones
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