Only Royals Bleed Blue

We were to Reach our Goal in steps and stages,

Every single bungle Counts in Roars and Rages.

 All the galore, and the inestimable frenzy,

Now Feels like a lover's nipped off  Daisy.

The obnoxious retorts seem to be wheezing out,

When the Men In Blue kneeled down in a defamed bout.

With those bucket-load of money, one needs to Pay a Heavy Prize,

Lady Luck isn't always sweet as honey - Yells the world to Sympathize.

I am Proud of my team and a teary-eyed captain who is Indomitable,

The  tooth and nail combat could Never Denounce the Glory Unforgettable.

I am Proud of that Magical blow of a Batsman who Declares it loud and clear,

Blanched, mourning and quiet - Where goes in waste  his brazen cheer?

  

I am Proud of my Patriots who bit the dust in Blue Blood

Prejudices and Incrimination always Symphonizes with the stick-in-the-mud.

Our Crying Shame is a Spurious Media that Trends Mortification,

In Gluttony of Succession, Couldn't We Spare Inflaming the Abrasion? 

Competitor Swoops in to Overpower,

Reprisal is inbred in Us - Soon a Voice Will Raise Without a Quiver.

Athlete's  praxis still Jingles 'We Won't Give It Back',

The Trophy of Triumph Will be Reinstated with a Kick Smack.

Voice Of A Dauntless Daughter

Acknowledgement

Can we wake up to a wonderful day when we recall and acknowledge the capabilities of our fellow human beings?? Can we make it a Better, Safer and Holier place for our Mothers, Daughters and Sisters to walk around without the fear of Abuse and Homicide in broad day light?? If standing up for a doormat, a victim of sexual assault and a prostitute criticizes and penalizes the sentiments of a Dormant Feminist dwelling in a society beaten down by Male Supremacists, we should perhaps STOP celebrating International Women's Day. One must NOT forget - many strong women have left behind the exemplar of their COURAGE to accept the EMOTIONAL and PHYSICAL war that they had to undergo. They have been ennobled by the SCARS they ENDURED, the Barbaric extents of torments that they have been through. I have penned my thoughts in dedication to all those beautiful faces lost in the oblivion of Ugly Sexism and Unmitigated Ignominy. On this day, every day and forever - remember them, for the share of Honor and the Glory that they have fetched the race for a development unprecedented in history, for the given length of time. Do not recollect their Sacrifice in a paroxysm of Disgrace and Sympathy. Every twenty minutes when a rape occurs in our country, it is not a Shame for our Nation's Daughters. It's a Defeat for the whole Mankind.

 

I need to feel Safe, I need to be Alright.

From Womb to Earth, I Battle my Plight.

My Mother has seen the worst of days Securing her amniotic satchel,

Conception of a Girl Child is the reason why society Chooses to Grumble.

I am Nirbhaya, and I Need to feel Safe.

As I Bring my tiny feet forward,

Beckons a New Challenge - an Unpleasant voyage an Unknown hazard.

On my path to Literacy and Education,

 I face Despondency from a neighborhood devoid of Emancipation.

I am the Nation's Daughter and I Need to be alright.

My bosoms Dilate and those frilly frocks Refuse to fit anymore...

When my Chastity Spews cardinal, it Traverses through the cradle and floor.

They term it as familiarization to 'Womanhood',

Thus my Degradation turns Torturous and Crude.

I Utter not a word in Retaliation,

Soon Gender Inequality Oppresses me in Deepest Trepidation.

 I Need to feel safe, and I truly Need to be alright.

One fine day, they Bargain over my Existence in a haste,

And I am asked to Leave my childhood nest.

But it's the Onerous Dowry,

That puts my Conjugal future to Untold Misery.

 I am Elated that I'm Free to pick up a jeans and a tee;

Until the sermons betoken Fallacious Domination,

The world Lights candles, Mobs and Prays;  but Crippled and Powerless I Weep in Eternal Damnation.

I Hope against Hopes in my Unconsciousness - That I'll be alright.

A Sea full of Predators Lecture on what my Sisters Must NOT wear ,

Only to Disrobe their Dignity and a Gift of Luxuriance to Smear.

Now that my Body and Soul is Abused to the Zenith of Brutality;

The State Puts a BAN on Gruesome Reality.

A Victim should NEITHER Fight back NOR Exercise Self-Defense!

Explains an Imperious Perpetrator Justifying his Offense.

I Plead him every day to Spare me the Agony so that I can be alright.

We are Raised in a community that is Selective of Consuming animal flesh,

What about those Beasts who Wolf the Weak Raw with Merciless Thresh??

We Live in an age Tarnished with Misogyny, Stigma and Submission;

A Lost Trust in Humanity is our Universal  Shame and Malediction.

 I am a Woman, and this is my Pledge to a Despairing Patriarchy  -

Shield Me with the Oath of Honor and Liberty if not a Reversal to Matriarchy.

 I am Nirbhaya, and I Need to feel safe. I Need to be alright!

Life On A Colorful Canvas - Part Three

Yeh Dill Hai Mere Yaar, Bas Ishq Mohabbat Pyar

Months passed. It was time for the annual leaves after the semesters. With new hopes in the eyes, Abhirati started planning for her India trip. All this while she found her parents pretty enthusiastic about Pumeet whom they contemplated as a possible alliance for their marriageable daughter. Abhirati was soon on the verge of completing her doctorial research in History from the University of Sydney. She could clearly visualize what she had been nurturing was about to  materialize and her affaire de coeur with Prof. Pumeet couldn't have been anything other than destiny's call, she was convinced. Pumeet was virtually accepted by Abhirati's family and became a spot of utmost reliability who had been taking care of their daughter's emotional needs besides guiding her growth and development in the academic sphere. 

Abhirati was blooming into a stunning wad of knowledge and intellect who was just a few yards away from being molded into a semblance of something that she bore in her mind since she was a kid. She perpetually followed Pumeet's footsteps and waited for the day when she could be into his shoes and stand equal shrugging shoulders with him in his effectuality, wisdom, elegance and modus operandi in keeping people in sheer awe of him. She couldn't wait for the day when her parents and grandmother would bloat in extreme pride and content as their little girl would add feathers to her cap. 'Oh when will that graduation day come? I just can't hold my horses to tell them how I wish Pumeet comes into my life permanently'!

Pumeet was picky in selecting what to share and what not with his parents when he was away from home - his roots went back to Jalandhar in Punjab - where his father started off with a small business of merchandising. He never wanted his first class first degree holder son from Delhi University to waste himself in anything lesser than what he deserved. Pumeet had a younger sister, Prerna, who was married much earlier and well settled in London. Pumeet's parents lived in Amar Colony of Lajpat Nagar in new Delhi and their morning fasts broke with aloo ke paranthe dipped in desi ghee while the whole house chanted the holy hymns of 'Wahe Guru wahe Jio'.

 The Grovers were all up for fixing a perfect match for their highly qualified, well-to-do and handsome son. Mr. Grover was a living example of composure, humility and kindness while his wife's mindless chatters about how fondly she loved jewellery (which were absolutely within her rights, according to her) and those loud remarks on the increasing price of fuel, fruits and vegetable in the market made Mrs. Grover appear funny and a butt of criticism in the town.

Be it at various parties, the Satsangs or at the Hanuman mandir - Her determination left no stone unturned to hunt for a soni kudi from a respectable wealthy Punjabi gharana.

 She could go to any extent of ducking down her dignity to defend and also impose the Punjabi culture on all uniformly, as well as the 'shubh-ashubh' essentials. Any inkling of intolerance of Punjabism made her go hysterical, scapegoating her meek husband. Thereafter it was only and only Pumeet who could pacify, and bring his mother back to the daily rounds. And the son inviting a non-Punjabi heina in the hope of a lifelong partnership! Ahh...Need I say more? Could that be anything less than a night terror torrmenting our Mrs. Grover to death???

 Well no...Pumeet had been preparing himself for all sorts of firefighting procedures, that this looming ordeal held in itself.

 It was time for both Abhirati and Pumeet to fly down to the country and Abhirati started observing a strange pensiveness in her beau's deportment throughout their journey.

 Once he could set his foot on Indian soil, Pumeet was supposedly going to speak to his parents regarding a family meet so that things could roll from thereon. That was the deal. Nevertheless, the primary impression of his mother's shocking reaction was presented to Rati (That's how short and simple Pumeet kept it) in a twisted manner to save her from further disquietude in respect to her relationship, which she held immensely dear to her heart.

 Another chapter began with the wheels touching down the national capital. New Delhi. A new story.

Abhirati's itinerary was to kick off with a week's visit to her nani's place in Janak Puri and nothing like some positive vibes brewing over picnate chhole bature and piping hot kadi pakore at the Grover household. As the two lovers made their ways to two different paths, future held much ambiguity for next few days. On reaching home, Pumeet almost terminated all contacts with Abhirati and it became next to impossible for her to track what was going on.

Abhirati had a promise to her fragile grandmother, and her parents who were awaiting to move ahead with their daughter's betrothal. Unlike Abhirati's mother, her dad took everything with an iota of (benefit of) doubt and always advised his daughter to be ready for the worst. Not being able to accept refusal, disillusionment, heart break and deception is the sign of the weak and vulnerable, he believed.

 Hence until he met Pumeet and would hear it from the horse's mouth, he couldn't hinge on this hope and prospect. He had his own reasons to be judgmental and tread carefully with his little angel's hand held tight in his.

 On the other hand Mrs. Bhargava, with her dyed-in-the-wool optimism, had her own pace of taking this commitment to the next level. She even tried establishing an over the phone affinity with the Grover mom and make things easy but all the effort put in by Mrs. Bhargava didn't seem worthwhile - not very little we know of Pumeet's mother's reservations, whims and a windbag. A skeptical husband, and a now restrained daughter raised thousand questions on her mind amplifying her dismay concurrently.

'I am sorry for being unable to keep in touch with you. It's intermittent. I know. But I can't promise anything right now. I need some time. You take care. I will get back to you.'

The content of Pumeet's text pierced through Abhirati's heart like an arrow - She could very well sense, something wasn't right.

 'Pumeet, I need to talk. Call me. Please. It's killing me.' - To which, Pumeet didn't revert.

A week followed. It was time for Abhirati to head for her hometown. A busy Thursday and Abhirati's train was to depart at 14:30 hours from Delhi Hazrat Nizamuddin. Abhirati had to catch an auto amidst seven to ten jostling vehicles and the hustle bustle of the lanes as cars switched from left to right erratically with a loud 'hoooooooonk' rather than an indicator.

As taligating comes as a standard, and favorite practice in a populous Dilli, not much to her surprise, Abhirati's driver was more interested in simultaneously chatting with her instead of concentrating on the movement of the morning traffic. Abhirati had to, obviously, dislike fully travel by public transport that day as her nani had to sanction the personal driver a leave for a week owing to his pilgrimage at Vaishno Devi. This, goes without saying was agreed upon unwillingly from the old widow's end - which consequently, restricted her movements within the local vegetable markets and the bank. Left with very little choice, Abhirati decided to stop over and catch up with her maternal cousin brother at Connaught Place who would have taken care of her till she boarded the train to Kolhapur. 

'Bhai, tu kitne baje CP pahunch raha hai? Yaha bahut jam lagi hui hai. Lagta hai office hours ki wajah se. Auto wala bhi kafi dheeth (Stubborn) hai.'........Abhirati's slender fingers worked their way through the keys as she typed for her brother....And a quick glance through her inbox where there was just ONE message received from Pummet. With a heavy heart her eyes wandered across the busy streets of Delhi. The well-known phenomenon in the city - The dense fog on a nippy January morning - with its far-reaching effect disrupted every vehicle's visibility and motion.

 Kahan se ho Madame ji? Dilli ke to lagte nahi ho. Aapki boli alag si hai'...smoking, talking on his mobile and fiddling with the radio than driving - It was hopelessly, indescribably irksome to have him in the same conveyance. Thoughts of Pumeet and those Sydney campus memories started falling apart like shooting starts on a doomed night. The hurt, the disappointment seesawed in the tide of Abhirati's unconstrained tears like a scarred New Moon floating in the thick of a muddled sky.

Here came a potholed break soon to rise and shine from the blissful reveries of a peaceful small town where she was raised only to make her wonder how claustrophobic and overbearing it must feel to even walk down the streets of a city mobbed with 15 million people. Abhirati was quick and prone to nausea and the  pungent stench of sewage, rotting fruit through the mandi (market) and the shocking landscape of a never-ending sea of litter athwart the chowks (junction) only induced it doubly. India’s capital city, to our female protagonist, seemed like a supplementary depressing assault on her subsequent bruised senses.

 Oh how powerless and lost she must have found herself - as she attempted to dial those digits for the last time that could reach her to hear his voice. As Pumeet's phone went unanswered, she wiped her tears, muffled herself in a shawl incongruously - exactly how the irony of their deserted bond permanently girdled her sensitivity and faith in unspoken delirium.

 And.....there was a -  ffffffffffffffffwwwwwweeeeeewwwwww BOOOM!!!
It felt as if a sudden massive gun firing like 100 or 155 mm tore a piece of cotton in to two parts right inside her ears. And someone booted right through her chest in an extensive white magnesium flash in front. 

The surrounding completely enveloped in flames, Abhirati felt terribly hot and could not breathe well at all. After a while, a whirlpool of fire approached from the south following several more explosions. It was like a big tornado of flame and a series of grenades spreading over the full width of the street.

  As terror struck the national capital region again, history repeated itself with the extremist groups planting bombs at numerous places including India Gate, Connaught Place, Greater Kailash and Karol Bagh. Yes, Karol Bagh in itself saw the death of thirty lives leaving one hundred and thirty people bleeding profusely and crying in excruciating pain.

 In a semi-conscious state, as Abhirati looked around, she found herself lying on the ground in the middle of a wreckage and a puddle of blood. Children shrieking in search of their mothers, families estranged and howling in agony.

Abhirati had burned her left hand, her kameez was torn, her black kashmiri shawl thrown away into a fierce, torrid bath of fire that reminded her of her nani who quickly wrapped it around a quivering Abhirati in a frigid Delhi winter morning before leaving her Janak Puri home. In and around almost everything up to about one and a half mile was destroyed and burnt to death, except for a small number of heavily reinforced concrete buildings, most of which were not collapsed by the blast, but the stalls and small nearby kothis (mansions) had their interiors completely gutted, all windows, doors, sashes and frames ripped out splashed with blood stains. Struggling to crawl from one place to another, in fear of catching further fire she stumbled upon a corpse strewn alley.

Her knee ground to a halt plowing into a heap of shambles where a certain sight appalled her through and through. Her prostration knew no bounds as she found Pumeet lying. Dead, gory, contorted.  

 

A Brave Heart's Valentine Tale

Acknowledgement

My dearest dad and husband,

I wrote this story for you both. One of you came upon me by the virtue of my birth leaving space for the other to join years later and carve some kind of little figure out of wood in my mind whom I have admired as a fearless soldier for life. When I sketched my male protagonist of 'A Brave Heart's Valentine Tale', I had no distant friend, relative or acquaintance serving in the US Army. When I penned this tale, I had made no deliberate choice of a setting that revolved around the Armed Forces. Yet the images of fiery battlefield and their aftermaths kept haunting me for several nights until I could weave Ammy and Josh Morgan's lovelorn account into the real life story of a couple cut off from each other in a long distance relationship. In my endeavor to create Josh as a heroic figure, I wish to dedicate this to every ounce of commitment, chivalry, valor and persistence that I have witnessed in some of the most important people in my life. I would also like to bring this reading experience as an eye opener for those who find themselves at a monotonous juncture of their love life. The hurdles, the differences, the insecurities - I say - stand nowhere close to the delights at the same time dangers of an adventurous yet nomadic Military life. It takes an ocean of  dexterity and a lion-heart to build that conviction - That one can very well share his love and devotion between his professional and personal life in equal measure. This one is just for you my darling hubby : As I wander far from view, read, and bring me near to you. Having known how it feels like being away from YOU on a 'Kiss Day', prior to OUR first Valentine's date as Mr. & Mrs. Vasu Mallik - you probably know how much I am missing you now. Here's to all the wonderful people who believe in celebrating their faith in love throughout the year -  A very happy Valentine's week!

'Counting down the days till he comes. In spirits. The closer they get, the more impatient I become.'  Murmured a seventy something Ammy Morgan to Anna Hartmann, the biographer from Warren Morris of Wyoming, who was covering her life story. 

'Behind every soldier, sailor, marine, airman, coast guard is someone who supports them with their whole heart. This is the story of Sergeant Major Josh Morgan, my husband - a US Army soldier.'  Ammy took a deep breath. 'I wore no Navy Blues or Whites. I had no ranks upon my shoulders. I wasn't in the chain of command, nor was I the one to put my life on the line, but my job has been the toughest of all as I'm the one left behind.' Having said that, she tapped on the love pendant that dangled down her neck in the shape of a half heart with 'Josh' embossed on it. 'The other half bore my name. And followed him into the coffin.'

'Josh was 23. A true patriot, a brave man. As a run in the family, his father, and his grandfather before him had trailed their service through the US Army. Josh had the same burning desire to serve his country and followed his forebearer's footsteps. It was during his tenure at the Pentagon for a year, we met. Josh first saw me in High School, but we hardly interacted.'

Afloat downstream in her erstwhile memory bank, Anna could hardly notice Ammy blinking for a split of a second. As she continued with her narration, Anna's pen ran through the pages of her notebook.....

'Svelte, pretty and bubbling with life - As Josh used to put it - I was decent with my occupation of a coiffeur. My grandparents had all served; my grandmother was even a real life “Rosie the Riveter” in World War II. Hence I was pretty much familiar with the dynamics of a serving devotee to the nation. Both of our families connected well on patriotic grounds and we were bound to find our soulmates in each other sooner or later. We discussed Politics, Religion, Treachery and Drugs - We spent hours learning music together till his comrades sneaked into our class, whistled out to turn me pink and we drove off many such evenings to the best  pubs of Houston. Josh often took me for scuba diving and our getaways to Argentina for his Polo matches. I never knew watching my man play a royal game on horseback and cheering him on could bring me immeasurable joy.

Love started growing by leaps and bounds yet remained unvoiced for some time. The articulation was missed by a whisker. Perhaps the time wasn't ripe enough, and the National Guard moved Josh all over the globe for training. We stood by each other through thick and thin and it helped Josh deal with the stress and intensity of an archetypal military duty regime, especially upon deployment to Afghanistan. A bumpy ride as it might have been, and a matter of time too, nevertheless, like so many families of the military affiliated couples, our parents were ready to let the Morgan love birds go on from dating to get hitched in three months.

As love blossomed into a lifetime commitment, we continued to steadfast much, as many of you do for the sake of your love - without pausing to contemplate, analyze and complicate the circumstances, instead, hold on to each other to keep the solidarity in place and the spark alive. Nevertheless, in separation, the worry of war, the quandary of possible infidelity and the visions of a future though not fleshed out haunted me on and off.'

'Was it a lost trust'? - Anna's curiosity stirred up over gulping a glass of spring water while Ammy pulled out an English handy mirror from her vanity bag and looked in.

Her smile went almost adrift, and those crow's feet were remarkably visible - 'My wrinkles of a long long wait'. The scarping of Anna's scrawl stopped at the bottom of the page. Putting down her pen at the edge of her last doodle she looked up - 'You are beautiful Ammy ma'am. I would love to have those double chins and laughter lines only if they made the placidity of my countenance speak volumes like yours.' Ammy wasn't used to such compliments for quite a while. She kinda secretly enjoyed that long lost sycophancy quintessential to her existence and position in a military wife's world. She kept pushing her salt and pepper ringlet behind the ears involuntarily, that brushed away her finely painted crimson lips in the velocity of a cold November wind. 'Nay. I didn't wish to lose resolution. The distance grew and it left me cold cutting through the soul. I wish there was a phone installed in Heaven and I could make him hear the grandchildren babble through a Sunday luncheon.' Uttered Ammy in an undertone as Anna waited for her response. Anna's phone beeped in an otherwise undisturbed living space at the Morgan residence. The grandkids were kept at bay as they tripped to Orlando-Walt-Disney World with their parents. With our biographer's phone ringing, the screen flashed a thumbnail that apparently resembled a handsome young wingman in uniform.

Ammy Morgan muttered in a long exhalation of nostalgia - 'You just reminded me of those days when one satellite phone provided to him was the only means for calling home. Three o’clock in the afternoon in Texas meant 11 o’clock at night in Iraq, and every time the connection was lost, he had to painstakingly dial the long list of digits again. His only wedding gift was that he didn’t have to go on a mission that night, just had to be there with the phone, calling his girl. The call to serve his country, not all understood. But we knew freedom didn't come free. And all I needed was to hear the 'I dos'. The fate of it and that eternal vow.'  A tear droplet rolled down her cheek onto Josh's handwritten diary lying on the table. 

 'You got married?' Enquired young Anna. 'Yes we did.' Reply came. 'I and Josh wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but due to a paperwork error on our application for the marriage license, Josh had to be in Iraq for months. By the time the bureaucratic hurdles were over, Josh was struggling for his leaves. The event hence got shelved for an uncertain period. However, we couldn't accept our fate to be deterred by a mare deployment. We decided not to wait until Josh returned.' 'Then'.....??? Anna couldn't hold her horses for the upcoming ramification. After all she knew the price one has to pay for romancing a soldier. Her fiancé was deployed in Frankfurt. 

'Ah, well...We decided to lead to altar virtually. It was a cold yet clear February morning when the spouses of my husband's subordinates and superiors assembled at my parental place. 

 I toppled in my bridal gown as Mrs. Brunswick fixed my bow and gave that final touch.

 As I was on tenterhooks waiting for Josh to get through a steady, uninterrupted network, the ladies giggled and it was louder than the mockingbirds chirping and the carpenter hammering on the Chapel door. He had to stop soon enough, and the neighborhood was shut tight in silence sleeping away a lazy Sunday. As Saint Valentine quietly took resort behind the shadow of the cross, I and the spouses walked our way through a deserted, desolate, empty street heading towards a courtroom packed with people. 

 The wonderful spouses had become an integral part of my world. A world that had to survive without Josh's physical presence. Nobody would have witnessed such a legendary wedding in a decade and the Rear D Commander made all communications that synchronized the ceremony with the soldier’s chain of command in Iraq. An army wife stood as the soldier’s proxy and passed the temperamental phone between me and the preacher. As the children hushed in amazement into each other's ears, their mothers listened to me attentively exchanging vows with a husky voice over the telephone. Words as they were, it meant world to me winding out an awesome life. With an unsaid “You may now kiss the bride” in progression, my eyes started perilously looking for the man in uniform. I wished he was there to hold my hand. I wished he froze that moment of adulation and applaud with a kiss of a lifetime. Josh didn't have to reiterate how much he loved me, but parted with the promise to connect once the gathering would come to a close. I was brimming with happiness, as if I had had the biggest, grandest Valentine wedding that Texas could ever offer. In Josh's absence was OUR momentous day present, significantly marking the beginning of a new journey. Life at last, united me with my man. I loved him to death..  

The echelon spouses clapped their hands and hugged me welcoming warmly to the club. As I thanked them in gratitude for being there, I knew, I could, at any given point in time depend on my fellow Army spouses of the 146,000 service members deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as the families of the thousands of other servicemen in the barracks safeguarding us right through the break of the dawn till the rest of the world slept in the comfort of a secure shelter. The wives in their mid forties couldn't express their bewilderment enough at a twenty year old's stamina to find her destination and dreams across a galaxy that held the two palpable hearts captive. They knew what it took to brace themselves back within the husbandless homes until the answer to a terrible 'Where's dad' was found. My body and soul heard them say loud enough to let each other know that they all sailed in the same boat. That gave me strength and the belief that I wasn't alone. I felt myself emotionally and in flesh and blood stationed right there 7,000 miles away in my husband's headquarters. The border forces delineated human territories, but love could still find its way. I had nothing to fear in flame and incendiary. But the thought of my wedding night without Josh shuddered me in isolation and incompleteness. Once back home, I needed Josh like never before. My heavily beaded wedding gown pierced on the skin and I wanted to liberate myself in Josh's arms like a new born with hopes and desires so pristine. Josh was with me that night, in spirits. We gazed at an astral sky hand in hand, and all the remoteness seemed to be shrinking in an intensely ardent delirium.' 

A wide-eyed Anna popped up asking - 'Did you two make love'?...........'It's time for my Atrovent. Please excuse me for a minute.' Having said so, Ammy cleared her throat. ' 'Sure ma'am.' It sidetracked Anna when Ammy had to take a break to fight the evil using her inhaler. 'Josh is the breath of my life. I let him be my savior. And I be his. Mere devices like this has been of great help to us at the times of ghastly convulsions. Physical, outlandish. Both.' 'Ohh....I see'...Murmured Anna. 

'I need to tell you how Josh surprised me the day before we completed our first wedding anniversary.' Ammy twinkled at Anna's growing interest and offered her a plate full of homemade peanut butter Chocolate chip cookies and a cafe latte freshly brewed from the coffee pot. As Anna took a tiny piping hot mouthful, Ammy pointed at the medals of honor showcased within the credenza of the guest lounge of Morgan residence. And she went on - 'They weren't made of gold. I never saw him agog on receiving them. They just encompassed his sweat, determination, and a hard-to-find alloy called courage. 

Three Sixty Five days hadn't been easy. I waited round the clock. Looking at his pictures didn't last for too long, letters got blood-soaked minutes before they reached him, and a web cam to watch him throbbing with life in the combat zone was a far cry. As an army spouse who had sent her soldier off for three yearlong deployments to Afghanistan and Iraq, I managed to survive through many sleepless nights, with repetitive and unexpected moments of tenacity and hope in those times of war.

 By then I had befriended a military community that came together when the soldiers were deployed. I saw how the spouses rallied around the birth of a baby, took turns bringing meals to the new mother’s house each night, and left plenty of baby blankets, diapers and teddy bears at her door. How these strangers turned into a big family of jovial members frolicking on the silver jubilee of our Captain's parents, on the other hand filling a memorial service to standing-room-only after a tragedy had struck overseas - packing the rows behind the new widow with their presence, helping her to remain upright like that embattled flag - moved me profoundly. What was common amongst us all was - We all had Almighty shielding our husbands in a foreign land when duty called in.'

'Things have changed now for better. Communiqué, official or personal, is much facile. As they say - When the going gets tough, tough gets going - It was time for me to encounter something incredible. Something that was imperceptible for the mind to grasp. As a Saturday sport, I used to take Nancy, Josh's niece for scuba diving. That Saturday was no exception. As we played underwater, who knew it would be such a special moment for a U.S. soldier, who had been serving in Afghanistan for more than last one year, abandoning a wheelchair bound retired armed officer for his father back at home, and the least certainty of when he could make it to take his virtual wife's face into his palms and realize that he was alive for a secondary cause other than his country. U.S. Air Force Captain Peter Jonathan was a part of this wonderful surprise and knew that we would be there to bask in the sun. Captain Peter all of a sudden with a huge splash emerged from under the water. He wore his scuba equipment, and I couldn't have a hunch in my wildest of imaginations what was he up to. I still endear him for such a gesture and for bringing the two of us close in an emotional reunion. Appearing from under the water, he said - "Mrs. Morgan, your husband is here, reporting for duty.'' I stood motionless and mute till Josh came into view from the limpid water. Nancy swashed in ecstasy while we kissed and remained locked in each other's embrace till twilight simmered the ripples down.

That one week was the best times of my entire life. Having him with me, with all that he was, ushered my hope to a point where I learned and relearned a seraphic faith that he belonged to me. And I belonged to him. In body, mind and spirit he had put all my insecurities to rest till eternity guzzled the trepidation of death, decay and separation like a morsel.'

 Ammy walked up to the pianoforte, her withered fingertips fondled on the ivories. 'According to my recollection, I played him some portions of our wedding cantata the night before he left.

'Another week followed the anniversary night. It was time for Josh to get back to the field. I started behaving like an ordinary grouchy wife unable to handle what had always been inculcated into my system. As he wore the stars on his broad and masculine shoulders, I rebelled - ''Whether it is giving the people of Iraq electricity, ensuring the gasoline is being provided, or fighting the enemies, each and every day brings me an indefinable trauma. I can't take this anymore Josh. I am tired of my full time job to carry on these agonizing values and goals. I can't keep going without you. I need you, your heart, your body to instruct our children in the same manner.'' 'The excruciating pain of seeing him say good bye was killing me - For a short stint I had forgotten what it took to be a soldier's wife . Josh's rational retort shook me off my selfishness. I can't forget those sparkle in his eyes as he justified his creed as a soldier - ''I see not only myself but my men tested through fire. It's difficult to watch and endure my soldiers getting injured. Several of my soldiers are shot, several of them are burnt to death by explosives.”

He left me crippled to choose words. Being his wife, I knew, wasn't just a status, but a duty that I was still trying to comprehend, training myself to discharge and principally swear by. Being human became an inhumanly trial for me. Josh left. With no promise to return anytime soon. 

It was a full circle of a month and a half since we unified cheek by jowl. I was far from discerning that the renewal of life was incubating within me. I had no clue of what preciousness Josh had left behind in my custody'. Ammy tussled within herself to come to a halt. As her breath faltered and she tottered and grabbed the loveseat next to the piano, tears cascaded down her face.

 Anna gathered the wisdom and empathy to push herself near graying Ammy. Holding her feeble hands in hers she requested her to sip on some water. 'Ammy ma'am, you take your time. I will visit you when you feel better.' Water wasn't what Ammy wanted. But a sensitive soul to lend an ear in a span of last fifty years. Anna's affectionate touch felt like that of a doting mother comforting her lovelorn child. Ammy momentarily recovered and resumed narration.

' I got a phone call around 3:30 or 4:00 on a Sunday morning. It was Captain Peter. He fumbled in his speech after greeting me. After a long silence he informed - ''Mrs. Morgan, Sergeant Josh has been hurt. He’s been hurt really bad.'' My world turned Black. There was another call that I received from the doctor in Balad, and he said, ''We amputed both his legs, and I’m really sorry to inform that he is in a vegetative state now. We have very little time in hand and would like to wait up till you are here to help us finish the formalities. We can't decide on removing the life support system without the family consenting to it.'' And that was the most crushing piece of news I could have received.'

'What happened?'  A teary eyed Anna wanted to know. 'Those night-long laments for my hero were coming to an end and my sacred oath undertaken to use every means I had to encourage my husband to be the best soldier that he could be was on the verge of reaching its finality. Prior to that terrifying moment, the Morgan story would sound heroic to you. And like a dream - Raised in a loving Christian home and chauvinism flowing into his genes, Josh couldn't envisage anything beyond a devoted family and a bright career ahead.

 According to the Rhode Island National Guard and the U.S. Army, Josh was in a convoy a week ago with his unit in Helmand Province, in Afghanistan. On receiving intelligence, that there were Afghani militants who sought refuge as human bombs plotting to blow themselves up, they were ready to face the worst. Some children were seen on the road in front of the convoy, and Josh along with other troops got out to move them out of the way. As the majority of the little ones were rescued, one young boy went back looking for his mother who was still inside one of the cars activated for blitz. As witnessed by Captain Peter, the Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected vehicle was moving towards the boy and he ran near the vehicle in an expeditious search for his mother. Josh saw the massive truck bearing down on the boy's way and grabbed him hard to hurl into Peter's and his unit's tutelage. The boy was fine but in the process, the armored truck ran over Josh. As he lay bruised, unconscious and blood splattered all over, Peter yelled his heart out at Josh to guard himself against the militants who were knocking off our officers like a herd of cattle butchered unsparingly. Josh's unit started firing back and my hero just raised his one hand up to Peter and looked at him like everything was under control. Shrapnel had by then pierced through Sergeant Josh Morgan's right leg leaving the other subjected to reiterative bullet shots from the zealots. With a series of giant blasts, metallic bits penetrated his skull and shredded his right optic nerve. In an instant, destiny turned my sweetheart to a corner that he would have never chosen for himself. Left gory, immobilized and helpless amidst the wreckage - the only solace might have been that he knew his men were safe and capable of warding the terrorists off. Peter and the unit shot several rounds slaying the enemies with equal vengeance. The massacre continued for next two days as our US Army answered with machine guns, mortars and Javelin Missiles, and by calling in artillery and airstrikes. As the Taliban fire would have put the helicopters at risk, coalition troops also encountered heavy resistance and had to clear several compounds in close-quarter combat. An estimated 100 Taliban and at least ten civilians were killed. Eight more American soldiers gave their lives away to resist further devastation that the Taliban could inflict upon, but nothing brought Josh back to life.

 Doctors operated on Josh and sent him back to the US.  Nothing could have been more remorseful for Josh than learning to live as an incapacitated man. It was a hard time. I was definitely sinking in the bottom of my life to see him gradually slipping into a permanent slumber. I didn’t want to believe my eyes, I didn’t know how to pray, I didn’t know if God was even alive, or even touched upon my life in the good old times! That was the grimmest prank life had ever played on us. I’d wake up in the morning and say to myself - I just need the love of my life to get me through today,  just help me get through tomorrow, give me the grace to be a good wife of a true hero.

There were definitely days where it was just me and the Lord ...and this was the first time that I was praying for tremendous resilience to enable me to withstand his speedy detioriation. I can not forgive myself till date for proceeding to sign on those papers so that the doctors could free Josh of all shackles of suffering. I couldn't afford to torture him more than what he could take. Perhaps I deliberately killed the last ray of hope that could keep him artificially alive. Josh wasn’t talking to me anymore. Reading the Bible to him or asking Nancy to quote the scriptures was of no use.' Plucking out one of the pages from the faded diary, she handed it over to Anna.

It read :

''Standing into that crystalline water with Ammy was an exhilarating feeling. Watching the sunset with her, stealing away a handful of galaxy from a moon lit night was magnificent. Being with her, loving her and doing everything like giving her a surprise that makes her smile, I continually discover and rediscover myself. Her unadulterated faith in me is my greatest strength, assuring over and over again that God is still with me and that He can still allow me to do things that I am born to perform. Ammy is the most amazing person that I could ever imagine God blessing my life with. Her compassion, her generosity, her perseverance, her determination to not only help me, help our bond strengthen manifolds has been the sheer presence of Almighty in our lives. I don’t know if I can explain how much I love her and how much she means to me. At first it bothered me more than it does now. We went through our struggles and challenged destiny, we started to walk back on our path with the Lord together, He kind of just covered and healed all of that to what I owe our relationship the most. I am probably stronger and better as a human being now than what I would have been like without a country to protect and my angel to hold my heart in her hands. I simply adore it when she keeps the most sensuous outfit selective for a date with me on my home visit. Ammy, I can never articulate to you in words - how much I cherish to run my fingers through your rain bathed hair.”

 And Ammy broke into a hysterical wail.....

 ''A lot of people look at the events in my husband's life as a huge tragedy, but I don’t, necessarily. I think God has given me the ability to understand Him more and to understand His purpose through  my loss. I'm proud of my husband, my country and its flag. No matter what situation I'm in, I would do anything to keep alive the principles of liberty for which my nation stands. Our motherland without her Soldiers would be like God without His angels. And to my grave I will carry the remembrance of  my hero's crowning glory. His martyrdom to defend my freedom, the freedom of all American citizens is elevated on the holy cross and each drop of his blood affirms the seed of the church. I'm the wife of a brave heart - an American soldier. In God we trust. AMEN.'

 Ammy rested her head on the recliner, closing her eyes in immense peace she whispered - 'It's your story nowon my dear. I have done my job. Let me pave my way through Heaven's Garden now. May the first person I’m going to see be Jesus Christ reaching down to me and I just hope that He rewards me with a first class certificate of a faithful servant.' 'And the second face you are going to see?'Anna queried vehemently - 'Oh my dashing Sergeant Josh!' A pair of gelid limbs crouched at Heaven's door, and the quivering voice thinned in oblivion.

Anna's book was published exactly a year later Ammy Morgan united with Josh Morgan eternally. It was their Golden jubilee, a Valentine's Day. Mrs. Morgan was surrounded by family and loved ones including Anna Hartmann at Littleton & Rue Funeral Home & Cremation, in Springfield, Ohio, on commencement of her voyage to meet her husband.