Being Human in a War Zone

By Meher Pestonji

"Dariya struggles to save her mother's life. Macy worries about her son's safety. Nabeel looks forward to starting a new life while Romeo simply needs to fill gas in his taxi. However since their countries are in the grip of war-like situations they all face challenges.

One day in the life of an ordinary citizen in cultures as diverse as A

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361726422

Book preview

Being Human in a War Zone

Meher Pestonji

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2023

Content Copyright © Meher Pestonji

ISBN

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

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Thought floats

dives in a head

swims around

drifts away

If it’s worth holding

freeze it on paper

Words

trapped on paper

ignite minds

fuse ideas

into plans

for action

Contents

Curfew

Why Escape?

The Rebel

Mother’s Fears

Heritage

Two Homes, but Homeless

Rivals

What a Day!

Love, Despite All

Children In a War Zone

Living as Exiles

After War

Conscience

Educating Girls

About the Author

Curfew

T

he lone soldier hesitated to enter the empty street. Measured steps took him in, footstep after footstep, eyes darting from road to rooftop and back, gun  pointing this way and that. The eerie silence was broken only by the clomp of his heavy boots. He felt a thousand eyes tearing into his skin from barred windows. Curious, piercing eyes. As afraid as… Soldiers can’t be afraid, he reminded himself. 

Another sound. The creak of a door opening. Instinctively the soldier raised his gun. A man, arms folded over chest, stood rigid against a door, staring. He looked like the soldier’s elder brother. Same height, same broad shoulders, same brown hair.

There’s curfew! Go indoors! shouted the soldier. The man did not move.  I have shoot-at-sight orders! Go back!

No change in the man’s position. The soldier’s lip quivered. He had no desire to shoot. He had never killed anyone. But his command had to be obeyed. Because he had orders to obey.

Last warning! he barked, relieved his voice did not quiver. Get inside at once! No change in the man’s posture. No choice for the soldier A shaky finger pressed a trigger, gun aimed at air. Silence split by a whizzing bullet. Still the man did not move. Was he a devil? Suicidal? How could he remain immobile in the face of danger!

His family is behind the door, thought the soldier. Mother? Wife? Children? His own mother was safely far away. Would he have the guts to protect her as this man was doing? He pushed the thought away. This was no time for weakness. His orders were clear. No one was to break curfew.

He levelled his gun and shot. A red blotch appeared on the man’s shoulder. The door behind him opened and he was pulled in. Within seconds another man took his place, arms folded identically across his chest.

Was he hallucinating? The gun prevented him from rubbing his eyes. The barrel was still warm. Hadn’t he wounded the man? Why would another take his place knowing that he too might be shot? He blinked, then blinked again. The second man was still there.

The second man resembled the first. Only his shirt was black, not blue. He stood in the same defiant position. Silent. Defiance began to unnerve the soldier. His lip trembled as he ordered Go inside! Curfew!

Was the man deaf? Was the whole family deaf? Were they all mad? Did they not realise there was a war? That they could be killed for defying authority!

Authority…? What authority? He was the son of an ordinary farmer. He had joined the army because of his interest in martial arts. Only his uniform gave him authority. The uniform brought respect. The admiration of girls. And authority.  As a representative of the army his was a voice to be obeyed.

He was trained to obey seniors. In three years no thought of defiance entered his head. They were drilled into toning muscles, tackling difficult terrain, drilled to shoot targets on a shooting range. Nothing had trained him to quell defiance, bring rebelling citizens under control? This wasn’t a mob. How was he to deal with a single man standing alone in the street during curfew?

Why was this street so quiet when the whole town was in disarray? The soldier looked around to see if there were more madmen on the street. There were none but the black shirted man, about a hundred meters away, was gesturing him to come forward. Was it a trap to avenge the wounded man?

Fear gripped his throat. Though the man’s bearing was not menacing the soldier could not trust him. But he was curious about this family of lunatics. He took a few cautious steps, then marched towards the man appearing far more confident than he felt. His heart was thumping.

As he drew close the man lowered arms from his chest. The soldier did not lower his gun. A wary appraisal of each other. Then the man turned, reached for a knob and opened the door. A stream of light poured out. The man stepped inside beckoning the soldier to follow.

Fear engulfed him as he struggled against the impulse to run. His training held him back. A soldier does not run away from danger. Raising the gun to his shoulder, finger cocked over trigger, he approached the open door. As he stepped into the room the door shut gently behind him.

The room held three women and half a dozen men. All sitting quietly facing a resplendent Madonna, white veil draped over a blue cape, hand raised in blessing. Three red candles glowed in a makeshift altar at her feet. A musky fragrance hovered in the air.

It was the Madonna of his village church. He had knelt before her a thousand times - when his mother was ill, when his brother lost his job, even before the army entrance tests. He stood paralysed, mouth agape, mind trapped in a whirl of memories.

Ask her to protect you, murmured the man behind him.

The soldiers dropped his gun, kneeling.

Why Escape?

N

abeel had never seen such a large mirror. He could see his whole body in it. From his black hair to his knees and ankles. He was tall, slim and, without the keffiyeh, a curly bunch of tangled locks sprouted over his head. He preened, flexed his arm muscles, stretched, bending forward to examine himself at different angles. He liked what he saw.

The mirror doubled the size of the hotel room. Two beds, a wardrobe, a small table with two chairs. Everything duplicated by the mirror. It felt strange to sit on a chair, even stranger to see himself sitting on a chair. He was used to sitting on the floor. He waved at his reflection; it waved back. He stuck out his tongue, so did the reflection. Nabeel laughed looking up at the rotating fan. It  did not get doubled by the mirror.

A large window could open and shut keeping the room full of light