From the diary of a fugitive (short story).

“Don’t look back”. I kept telling myself, as I left the house where I had spent my childhood and early youth. Well, I am just a young lad after all. There was this great urge to run back into the house, and fall into the loving arms of mother. With sadness that almost threatened to tear me apart, I pulled myself away from the gateway, and ran into the darkness.

Life was never so dark, as far as I remember it. All I did was made this decision, this choice to serve my homeland. Isn’t that patriotic? I thought so too, and even though some of my friends suggested that the way of life I was going to lead was not a good idea, I still went ahead. “I’ll be a martyr”, I thought and ran away from home. My family was worried, and when all searches turned no evidence after days, I was assumed dead.

My patriotism spirit, however, began questioning when there were actions that I could not comprehend, going on within our ‘brotherhood’. I was told not to question, but only to act, as there were just too many confidential matters. Bloodshed was never the deal when I first thought of joining the brotherhood. Many of my colleagues and friends went missing, and I was surprised as this did not make a difference to the brotherhood, who had sworn loyalty to one another. Slowly, I realized that the brotherhood had nothing to do with patriotism, it was far from being humane.

Then came the final blow. Risa got married. My girlfriend for four years got married to someone else. My blood boiled with rage, and I was almost on the verge of taking my gun to go and kill the man who married her. I reached under the bed, and her picture flew out from under the pillow. As always, there she was, beautiful and smiling. One look at her and knew I was wrong, and that she was right. She did not deserve me, the kind of life I had to offer her. How will she live a life full of fears, of being widowed, being killed, and infamy? I realized I had had enough and it was time to bid farewell to this horrible life. By this time, it had sunk in that I was on a one way track and that there was no turning back.

Secretly, one night I went to visit my mother. She thought she was hallucinating, but it was a joyful reunion. My nocturnal visits became often, and the neighbors got wind of it. The police came to question my family, and I had to stop my visits. My seniors in the brotherhood somehow got a whiff of my activities and that I was planning to leave them. They told me they were going to send me abroad on an international mission, so I needed to go and tell my family. I realized their plan.

They would do their last bit of ensuring that my family saw me for the last time. Then they would torture me and eventually kill me. They would throw my dead body by some highway and name it “police encounter”. Then they would pay some amount of cash to my family to compensate for losing me or even stage a protest march against my death. The hypocrites!!

My dreams of patriotism suddenly seemed so empty. All that was left, was the need to survive. The brotherhood was looking out for me as I was a traitor for them, and the homeland for whom I was willing to die had branded me a criminal.

So, I went home, told them I am going abroad and that they may never see me again. “Don’t look back”. I kept telling myself that as I slowly left the house where I had spent my childhood and early youth. Well, I am just a young lad after all. There was this urge to run back into the house, and fall into the loving arms of mother. With sadness that almost threatened to tear me apart, I pulled myself away from the gateway, and ran into the darkness. I still run and will always run… a fugitive.