I know you didn’t sign up for this. No one did. It really is unfair to you, and I know it. I know you deserve better. I wish I could take all the loose strands of my life and tie them all together into a merry journey.
I am aware of the pain and disillusionment that you’re going through now; living with knowledge that arrives two weeks too late will always gnaw upon a person. If I were to switch places with you, I don’t know if I could’ve been as dignified and constrained as you, when I wrote to you.
I apologise, Ayesha. I apologise that you have to live with your heartstrings stretched taut and your hopes vacillating between worlds that can mean anything from a mere hello to a harbinger of terrible news. I know these are mere words and they do nothing for you in your hour of need and comfort, but this is all that I can offer from such a distance, Ayesha. I wish I could be the one that you need now.
But, I can’t.
I can’t and it hurts.
I wish there was something that I could tell you to push you into that false sense of hope and ease. I wish I could lie myself out of this uncomfortable life that I have brought upon you and Jr. It takes a lot of false bravado to live up to the demons one can’t see, Ayesha.
Ram’s empty bunker is a constant reminder of the victorious demon. Divya needs a support system. You are it.
You cannot afford to affect the vicarious strength that you provide to them. But, like you said earlier, the small community shares everything from letters to shrouds. I probably sound like an idiot. Back home, I’m sure that the families have come together.
The spirit of the company is down. War derives its cost in human lives and sufferings. The army has its own system to stem the flow of tears and blood. The former, way easier than the latter. Balwinder and Rustam have lost their mate and have since become subdued. Their easy chatter has become rare and even the laughs, as rare as they may be, seem to be forced. Everything will fall in to place after a few days, I’m sure. Providence does possess a morbid humour, Ayesha.
Don’t tell Jr. the truth. He is not ready yet. I would prefer a lie. Tell him his father is away at sea and that there’s a storm and communication is a problem. Lie through your teeth, my dear. At least that’s what I think is right. Maybe I’m wrong. You handle it the way you see fit…
I am writing this to you in bits of time that I can scavenge and I am hoping that the letter doesn’t take an inordinate time to reach you.