He lifted his already packed backpack onto his broad shoulders and started off. He was a military man. He had served his country nobly for the past 25 years. And in this past 25 years he had seen his wife only on three occasions. Twice when the battalion returned from war and every soldier was given a day off to see their families and once when she came over and stayed there. Never after that, did he see her again. That was 15 years ago. Not a call or a message from his beloved, for the past 15 years, for he was on the border protecting his country. He didn’t even know if she was alive. But he had hope and faith, that she was alive and happy.
His bus came to a halt in the dusty village centre. His house was a couple of kilometres from there and he had no other option but walk. But this wasn’t difficult as he already had walked kilometres with the body of his best friend on his back. He started his homeward journey with full zeal and memories of his beautiful wife.
He thought about the love they shared and the caring they had for each other. He thought about the strength and will power she had, when he told her that he will be joining the army. He admired her determination to go on with life after all that had happened to her. It was cruel, really spiteful what they did to her. But still she had the courage to go on. He wondered whether she was still the same after the mishap.