His Son

He looked at his son, tousled his hair. The child smiled. And he hugged him tight. Tears forming in his eyes and love threatening to make his heart explode. The two countries were at war. He did not want his son to grow up in a world like this. He wondered what would happen to the valley. His wife did not think his concerns were valid. His best friend did not think his concerns were valid. But he knew the history of man. And man is doomed to repeat his mistakes. Especially when politicians follow the braying of the loudest, not the voices of the many.

They were at their small, round, wooden dinner table. His wife brought the food in. She saw the look on his face and understood. She hugged him. He hugged his son. He felt better.

Outside, a thorny storm began to stir. Loud rumblings in the sky. People began to shutter their houses. Ahmed turned off the television. His wife brought in a candle. His son brought in the board game. He smiled at both of them, tears welling up in his heart from the joy. He had always been sensitive, even as a boy.

The candle flickered as thunder outside began to strike down in flashes of white and dark. The smell of the burning wax was strong. They had turned off the lights. His son loved playing this game by the candlelight. He was going to grow up to be a good man. He felt it in his heart. His mind knew he could not make assumptions just like that. But a father knows. A father always knows. The boy giggled as he took away the pieces of his parents. He had won. Ahmed clapped his son on the back. The boy got a treat for winning. His wife made him and herself some chai and they sat down on the carpeted couch and talked about their day and how they felt and what they had learnt. Outside, the thunder grumbled as it began to die down and a pattering began as water began to drop from the sky. Faster and faster. Hitting the steel thatches of their roof, going past the pipe he had installed one summer, clanging as it made its way off the pipe and onto the ground. The ground took it all, thirsty as it was.

He could only picture how beautiful the valley would look tomorrow. It had not rained in a while. This rain would clear up the dust and clear up the sky. And it would be like the Kashmir of his youth. Beautiful. Clean. Clear. Colorful.

He would take his son out tomorrow. The boy loved cycling. He would take his child out on a cycle ride tomorrow and they would see the places. He would go visit his father tomorrow. A tear dropped off his cheeks. He had always been soft. Unlike some of the others here. But that was his strength. His ability to feel and to share.