The Hero

This is basically a sequel to "Memories of a Lost Night", but it can also be read as an independent story, so reading the previous post is not necessary but it is helpful.... As always i hope you enjoy the story and do post your valuable comments...

The Hero

My dad used to say that the State needed Heroes, Heroes to guide people, to lead people, to fight in ‘The War’ and to give their lives for the State. Every evening after the visiplate news, father would sit with his friends, smoking his pipe, and they would talk about ‘The War’ and Heroes. After a few hours, they will all be drunk and they will fight till the early hours of morning, when they will disperse, each one swearing that the State needs heroes. My father was no hero though. He was merely a clerk in The War office and he died in a streetfight, while I was 12. The official report was that my father wanted the other person to acknowledge that he was a Hero, but the person stabbed him with a knife and ran off saying that not my father, but he was a Hero. But who can blame him, such are the times that we live in.

It all started 30 years ago. An officer named NAMSSIN222901, Grade 8, tried to bribe the State into giving him a huge sum of money. When the State did not comply, he launched a nuclear missile on State US, thereby triggering ‘The War’. It is said that his intention behind this act was the destruction of the States. But during the early days of the conflict, it was mutually agreed by both sides that nuclear arms would not be used in the war. With the use of nuclears, the States would not have survived even a year of war. But after 30 years of pain and suffering, it now seems it would have been better if the World had ended that day.

30 years of ‘The War’ has changed everything. Not that I know about it, I was born after ‘The War’ started. But old people used to say that there was a time, when there was no war, there was enough food, everyone was happy, and people did not go around killing other people. It must been a good time to live in, with no fear of hunger, death, disease. But I find it hard to imagine such a world, it must have been perfect.

After my father died, I decided that I would become a real Hero, one who fights in ‘The War’, not like my dad who only used to talk about heroes. I grew up in my aunt’s house and by the time I was 16, I was ready to join The Forces. The selection was tough. Everyone wanted to be a Hero, but not everyone was suited for this job. As I saw the dejected looks on the faces of the rejected candidates, I could see my father’s anguish, at not being a hero, in their eyes. I could see their future, they would spend their days in the War office filing reports and their nights, getting drunk and dreaming of being a hero, a dream that they knew will never be fulfilled.

But I was selected. During my days with my aunt, I met a War veteran. He taught me a lot, helped me build my body, hone my fighting skills and develop leadership skills. He was a good teacher, but he never talked about ‘The War’. At the slightest mention of the word, he used to get infuriated and I knew that was the end of that days training. Once, at night he was drunk and I asked him about ‘The War’, he started crying and asked me to not join the Forces. The next morning, when I brought up this subject, he said that he did not remember anything. We resumed the training and I forgot about the incident. So under the able guidance of this man, I was ready for the Forces.


‘The War’ was nearing towards its conclusion. We were making a last stand in Sector 3, the Russia of olden days. That night I called the troops to my office. They could all barely fit into my tiny office. I said, “Tomorrow is going to be the last day of this battle. This is the chance you have been waiting for all your life, this is your chance to be a Hero. We will all be Heroes tomorrow.” “We will all be dead tomorrow.” a voice called out from behind. He came forward and said, “Do you not know about the Juda’s curse?”

Juda’s curse, I knew about that alright. Juda, as NAMSSIN222901, Grade 8, was commonly known, was posted in Sector 3, when he launched that fateful missile. It was widely believed that the villain Juda had cursed this place. We had lost every battle fought in Sector 3 and the soldiers knew that we were going to lose the Final battle too and that will be the End.

I knew it was time to reveal a secret, a secret which I have been hiding since long, a secret which even I was ashamed to admit. I said, “Let me tell you a story.” The soldiers started murmuring, I ignored them and continued, “30 years ago, in 2229 A.D. to be precise, a young officer was enlisted in NAMS. He was the best officer that NAMS had ever seen. But his love for NAMS and the State could not match his love for his family. He was in love with his wife and his unborn child. He longed to see them, but he was a Grade 8 officer, so obviously he was denied permission to visit them. So one night, under the influence of sleep deprivation drug, he did the unthinkable. He launched a nuclear missile and the rest is history.”

The whispers grew louder. “He did not want any money; it was the State’s version. But how do I know all this? Well before dying, he sent a letter to his wife. The letter said that he had committed a grave sin and that he could never forgive himself for this sin. And he made a request in that letter, he asked his unborn child to correct his sins. So, before dying he promised a Hero to the State, a Hero who will lift the Juda’s curse and bring victory to this cursed land. And that Hero is me; I am the Son of Juda and in confrontation with me the Juda’s curse will fail….”

I don’t know how much effect my speech had on the soldiers, but the next day they fought like Heroes. By the evening, we had repelled the last regiment of the alliance of State US and Europe. It would be months before they can raise an army big enough to invade again. We had won the war, for now at least. I was declared a Hero of State along with many of my fellow soldiers.

That night, standing in the battlefield and looking at the chaos, destruction, misery and death around me, I realised that there are no real Heroes here.
I had once read a story about a boxer who threw away his medal, for which he had struggled immensely, because he realised that the values that he had fought for were an illusion. My medal reminded me of that story and I threw away my most prized possession, the medal. Being Hero did not mean anything to me now. I was only a Survivor now.

The ‘Age of the Hero’ was over and sooner the people realize that, the better. As for me, I am just happy that my stepfather died without having to face the harsh truth that there are no Heroes. It is very agonizing to realise that the only hope that keeps you going through life, is an allusion. The ‘Age of the Hero’ was over and The ‘Age of the Survivor’ was beginning…..

The End….

Note by Author:

i have exams coming up so i will not be able to post in the coming weeks.... but you don't have to worry, when a new post comes up... u will be notified...

This is the second story in the series. They say there is a thin line between love and
madness.This story explores the fact.
I hope u enjoy the story and do post your comments....

Memories of a Lost Night

There must have been times in your life when u felt anger, such unreasonable and uncontrollable anger that you wanted to destroy everything around you. I don’t get these kinds of feelings. It was one of the reasons why they selected me. They said I was an emotionally balanced person; not so long ago I used to believe that. Now, before I forget, let me tell you who I am. My name is NAMSSIN222901, Grade 8. I used to have a birth name like everyone else, but it was a long time ago. Now I am only a Grade 8 officer in the “Surveillance and Intelligence Network (SIN)” working with the department of “Nuclear Arms and Missiles Systems”. This is classified information and I am not supposed to tell u this. But it does not matter now, because tomorrow…. there will be no tomorrow.

I had already graduated from the high school, when I saw an ad by the army calling young men and women to join the army and serve the state. By the time, the physical tests in the army camp were over, I had the all too familiar feeling of being left behind. I completed the aptitude test and returned home. I had almost forgotten about this fiasco when I got a letter from the army. It said that I have been selected for the second round and my interview will be held in the NAMS block. I called them up to check if there was some mistake and the officer at the other end rudely replied that army personnel do not make mistakes and hung up. So when I reached this NAMS block, I was surprised to see only 20 people there. They all seemed nervous, so I guessed they must be here for the same interview. Soon we were joined by an officer, who said something about secret agencies, covert operations and spies. I inferred that he was talking about NAMS. By the time it was evening, we had gone through numerous tests. I was hoping that it would all end and I can go home. The officer who had given the introduction in the morning came back and announced that they had selected 4 people out of the 21. The first name that he called out was mine. That was the last time I heard someone call me by my birth name.

The 6 months training period that followed was rigorous. By the end of the term, I was NAMSSIN222901. The first four numbers denote the year of joining, 2229. The next two digits signify that I was ranked no.1 in my batch. At that time I was surprised by the result, but all along, they knew it would happen. Later I was to know that my ES (Emotional Stability) test score during the interview was a all time high in the history of NAMS. As a result, I was posted in Sector 3 of State Asia, which at the turn of the millennium was called Russia. They said it was a difficult job and they wanted the best for the job. I was pleased with my posting. But that was then, things have changed now. The long night is about to end now……

The shrill sound of the siren echoed through the compound. It indicated the start of the night shift. I could see day shift people going out. They waved each other goodbye. Of course, no one waved at me. I was not supposed to have any kind of social contact, they knew that and so they avoided me. These people were going home to sleep, sleep….. now it seems a strange and alien term. During the first week of training, we were given an injection. They told us that it was to help us remain alert at all times. That night I could not sleep, nor could any of my classmates. Later, we realized it was a sleep deprivation drug. Now, we are addicted to it. I already take 2 injections a week and I don’t sleep.

I have dreams though. Not the usual kind of sleeping dreams. I dream with my eyes open. I dream of a day, when I can go back home. But I am not supposed to dream. We were taught that dreams are a sign of emotional instability and we were taught to ignore dreams. They said we are to ignore our emotions; reason should be our only emotion. But I don’t follow reason now. I don’t care now…

As the night progressed, a feeling of uneasiness caught hold of me. They had said that it was 3 times more likely for the enemy to attack at night than at day, so I had long since associated night with danger. I was now staring at the RADAR intensely. Through the corner of my eyes, I could see the Green Button, which I was to use to inform the other stations, in case of an attack. Besides that was the Red Button. In ancient times, red was associated with danger. The tradition had continued to this day. Using the Red Button, I could launch a nuclear missile to anywhere in the world, anywhere….. and this was the Button, which made my job so important, so important that I had to stay here. I could never go home again……

There was another dream about which I did not tell you. It is not exactly a dream; it is more of a wish. Sometimes in the death of night, sitting in front of my computer watching the radar, I have this strong urge to press the Red Button. I know the consequences. Europe, aghast at our action, will join America. Together they will declare war on Asia, ignoring the desperate appeals of Asia that it was the work of one mad man. The State Africa will join us, there was some medieval agreement, which binds Africa to us. There will be major war, something like the World Wars of the medieval times, which was taught to us in schools. Only this times there will be no one left to read about this. The war will lead to the complete destruction of the 4 States. These are not my predictions. Our scientists, using some obscure maths, have come to a conclusion, along the same lines.

So you see, I have the power to destroy the world but I don’t have the power to just go home like the others. Soon it will be time for the night shift people to go home and I will be still here. There is no end to this madness. It goes on and on. People always go home and they are happy about it. And I just sit here, watching them leave. And then they reach home, and I am still here. They eat dinner cooked by the loving hands of their wife, and I am still hungry . They tuck their kids into bed and kiss them goodnight, and I am still lonely. They fall asleep in the arms of their wife, and I am still awake….. and I am still here.

My whole mind was screaming that it was not the right thing to do, but it does not matter, as long as they are asleep and I am awake.
I saw myself pressing the Red Button, sealing the fate of the world. With the sound of the morning siren, the cyanide tablet was starting to take effect and I was falling asleep and I was home….. at last I was home.

The End........

Note By The Author :

i would like to know if you find the stories too lenghty to be written in 1 post. Please include your suggestions regarding whether i should divide the stories into 2 parts on retain the existing format. Your comments will be greatly appreciated.

This is the first in the series of stories about "Lonely People" and probably the best i have ever written. This is dedicated to a special friend of mine, whose birthday is coming up....

The Last Moon

The mail had come early that day. Expecting the usual bills, Aryan picked up the letters, but today there was also something else. It was a card, an invitation card , for the marriage of his friend Neha with Deepak. Of course, Neha had told him about this, but then it seemed like an unknown and uncertain event in the future, but now holding the card in his hand, it suddenly dawned on him that the girl he himself wanted to marry was getting married to someone else.

Aryan and Neha had been friends since childhood. They grew up together, going to the same school, being in the same circle of friends, going to the same parties, and hanging out at the same joints. Their parents were close friends and so they also used to go to family trips together. But curiously their interests were poles apart, one was into rock, the other into folk and country music. While Neha was the social animal, Aryan was the introvert kind. Food, clothes, TV shows, it seemed they could not disagree more. However this seemingly incompatibility, only brought them closer. And somehow, Aryan fell in love with her.

As he put down the card, memories came flooding back to him. How, when they were studying together for boards, she had said, ‘Aryan, you are not concentrating. Is something wrong?’ He should have told her then and there. After Boards, one day when they were sitting on the terrace looking at the moonlight night and she had asked, ‘you are thinking about something?’, he should have told what he was thinking. The farewell party, the day she went away to college, he had his chances, but he didn’t say a word. And they drifted away, in the flood of their respective careers and life.

He reached Neha’s house on the day before the marriage. Having met all the members of household, some of which he never knew existed, he got into a festive mood. After all his best friend was getting married, and he was happy for her. That night feeling sleepless, he went up to the terrace. Neha was standing there, all alone. “ You should be in bed now. You have got a big day tomorrow,” said he. Turning around she said, “I was not getting sleep, how come you are here?” “Same reason as yours, at last we agree on something. I thought I will never see the day,” he said. “Do you remember what you said the day before I was to leave for college?” she asked. He nodded his head. ‘how could he forget’. “I was upset at having to live without you and that day right here you had said that, ‘Neha, we will always be together because wherever we go the same moon will shine on us. So whenever you think of me, just look at the moon and we will feel each other closer.” tears were rolling down her cheeks as she said this. He could not think of anything to say. She continued, “ Do you know how often I looked at the moon…………… Everyday.” He was startled. She said “ you look surprised, I always loved you. But just never had the courage to tell you this, I don’t know why I am telling you all this…” Before she could finish, he rushed downstairs. When she went to his room, he was crying. She could tell he was in deep pain. He was packing. “You are leaving?” she asked. “Yes”. “ So you loved me too”. “ Who told you that?” “But you are crying.” “Well, my aunt had a massive heart attack, so I have to leave immediately. Convey my regards to your family.” He had finished his packing. As he was walking away, she called “ Aryan…….. so you did not love me.” He could not face her, without turning he said “ No.” and walked away.

It was one fine Sunday morning, 25 years after the events described above, that Aryan was telling me all this. “So that’s the reason why you are still a bachelor.” I asked. Aryan was silent, probably still lost in his thoughts. “Don’t you feel lonely?” I could not stop myself asking. “Well, I do feel lonely at times, but then I look up to the sky”, there was a pause, “after all the same moon still shines on both of us”.

The next story in line will be uploaded soon. the previous disclaimer stands.....

Lonely Peoples

Ever since the idea of blogging occured to me, i have been thinking,' why do people blog?'. Now i am sitting here, writing my first blog and i realise that they write because they are lonely. Writing a blog makes them a part of the community, they feel they are not alone.
So to all the lonely peoples(aka the bloggers), here is a song by the Beatles dedicated to you all by me.


Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding
has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by
the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will
hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working. Darning his socks in the night when there's
nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her
name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from
the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

The next blog will be the first in the series of stories about "Lonely People", written by me. It will be uploaded soon.

Disclaimer by the Author

Criticism will gratefully accepted, (but be prepared for some nasty comments on your blog) Suggestions will be thought upon (maybe act upon), Praise will be gleefully accepted (if you are girl, i might take you out.... if you are a guy, forgot it... i don't swing that way)