A loud explosion. I sit upright in my bed, wondering where the sound came from. It is dark outside.
Now all I can hear is its echo. I wipe my eyes to make sure I am awake, then listen closely for other sounds.
I hear Grandfather coughing in the next room. Our rooms are separated by a thin wall of plywood.
“Pu, Pu. Are you awake?”
“Yes, my lad. You heard that sound?” he asks.
“Yes. What was that?” I can hear his bed creaking as he moves, and then the sound of him pushing away his blanket.
Before he can answer, another explosion happens. This is louder than the previous one.
There is a woman screaming, probably one of the neighbours. Sweat begins to cover my forehead. I can hear Nu Thangi’s pigs snorting loudly and agitatedly.
I get up and rush to Grandfather’s room. Father comes in from his room as well and peeks through the curtains.
“I can’t see any sign of explosion or smoke nearby. It’s probably coming from Khatla or somewhere far,” he says, trying to sound calm.
I can hear noises from the neighbouring houses – they are up as well.
“That’s a gelatin bomb,” Grandfather says slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I can tell from the sound,” he replies.
An announcement blares from the information mic, piercing through the night air.
“Surrender yourself right now. You are surrounded on all sides. We have blocked your food supplies and we are now destroying your main water source,” says the voice on the microphone.
This announcement is repeated three times. Grandfather and I look at each other in silence.
“That’s from Tuikhuahtlang lnformation mic,” says Father, still peeping through the window. “I think they’re trying to blow up the water tanks and pipelines in Tuikhuahtlang. That’s where the Assam Rifles get their main water supply.”
“Yes, and they’re probably using gelatin to blow up the pipelines,” says Grandfather.
“So, they’re trying to starve them, huh?” I ask.
“Yes, unless and until they surrender,” says Father.
“I hope Zuala’s family will be all right,” I say, twisting my knuckles nervously. I know he would be awake. I know that Zuala, being the ever-daring lad, would probably go outside to check what was going on.
“They’ll be fine. Don’t worry. These are MNF soldiers. They won’t harm their own people,” Father says. “Now, go back to sleep. I don’t think there’s anything to be afraid of.”
Grandfather lies down on his bed, and covers himself with his old brown blanket.
I walk back to my room. Sleep does not come.
I lie flat on my bed, staring at the tin ceiling, with the sound of explosions and firing continuously in the background. I patiently wait for the sun to come up and the birds to play near my window.
I do not know when the sound died down but when I get up to take a leak, it is gone. Then comes the sound of the birds chirping near my window and I can see the sun slowly pulling itself up in the horizon. What a relief!
I open my window to see the tiny blackbirds freely moving about against the purple sky.
I walk out of my room and peek into Grandfather’s room. I am glad to see him sleeping peacefully.
Father is brewing tea in the kitchen.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
“Just for a few minutes. What about you?”
I put two empty cups on the table. “Yes, just for a while,” I lie.
“Like I’ve said, there’s nothing dangerous for us. I’m not taking sides but the Mizo soldiers are winning, as of now. There’s nothing better than being cautious, though,” he says briskly as he pours steaming red tea into the cups.
The aroma of tea leaves quickly fills our small kitchen. We both sit down at the dinner table, sipping our tea.
“I wish we could go to school. I miss school so much,” I say with a heavy sigh.
“Well, it’s always good to cherish the things we have while we can have them. Once they’re out of our reach, we crave them,” he says, blowing off the steam from his teacup.
“Pa, when do you think this will be over?”
“I’m not really sure, son. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning,” he says and he empties his cup with a loud gulp.
I get up and look at myself in the small mirror near the kitchen sink. My eyes look dull and heavy, probably because of lack of sleep. I look terrible, and my head feels drowsy.
A few hours later, Grandfather wakes up and we have a silent meal. The men from our neighbourhood walk in and out, discussing the state of events with Father and Grandfather. I barely listen to their talk.
Pu Hrila, the church chowkidar, talks passionately about the end of the world and how the current situation is the beginning of it. He even offers to sell his land because he won’t need it anymore since “Jesus is coming”. Father kindly rejects the offer.
I am getting tired of staying at home and I am dying to get out of doors. After we have our morning meal, I sit near the door with a big sulky look on my face. I miss hanging out with Zuala. I miss digging the army hideouts for leftover bullets.
There was this one time when we both decided to skip school to take a peek at the Assam Rifles camp. Zuala’s uncle had told us about the guns and weapons that the Indian army had in store in their camp. But he would always end his talk with, “But you know, it’s not about weapons when it comes to real war. It’s the cause and the will to win that drives you to victory.” I see this as a sincere attempt to convince us that he was fighting for the winning side.
Excerpted with permission from When Blackbirds Fly, Hannah Lalhlanpuii, Duckbill.
