The battlefield was a mere 10miles away. Every evening, the news arrived. Of numbers. And names. Every evening, one or the other hut had the chilling wails of a widow or orphan live the nightmare. She would sometimes walk away from the pain. And sometimes sit in prayers. Every evening, her heart stopped just for a few seconds watching the messenger arrive. As if she were living a nightmare, she prayed to wake up every day. Then one day, the messenger hadn't arrived. Instead, a troop came in. In urgency, they were shifted. Uplifted from their huts with the minimum of belongings and taken deeper into the forest. Her eyes had searched in vain. That night, she did what was perhaps not expected from her. The wife of the bravest feared death. She had cried. And wrote to him.
The next morning, as he assigned his troops, a messenger made him frown worried. The small letter and shaky handwriting. "Waiting for you. Your empty home." It was no miracle that the war was won that day itself. He had the urge to return to her. At last, the days of separation were over. Reality hit her the moment she had touched his feet. A sense of immense happiness gripped her with emotions beyond words. And it was then that, in the privacy of their hut, he hugged her, in peace after his battles.
~ Suranya
