TRAUMA

By Sushama Kasbekar

He kept drinking but the voices in his head wouldn’t go. They drowned out the sound of reason from his thinking. He could hear his wife softly entreating him to stop drinking and begin eating. She was patient with him, almost like she was trying to explain to a child that what he was doing to himself wasn’t helping him one bit. He knew that she was right and he was wrong not to listen to her, but he just couldn’t stop.

Jeevan splashed another drink into his glass with shaking hands. Some of the whiskey spilled onto the table and made a damp stain. He could see patterns in the stain which no one else could. The machine guns pointed towards him and the battalion of soldiers fighting beside him was a very real image that flashed through his mind. Acrid smoke filled his lungs and the sound from machine gun fire rent the air resoundingly. He was leading the charge but his men were being killed mercilessly by the enemy. He was at the end of his tether and wits. Suddenly there was a loud roar nearby and mercifully he blacked out.

This kept going round and around in his head. He couldn’t shake off the images. And the coming to was even worse: most of his best men were either dead or maimed when he gained consciousness. Maimed for life, seared broken or shattered they had to limp back to their families and their homes to rebuild the future. And there was no medal for them on their return. Nothing but coping and being thankful that they had survived.

Bad strategy, inadequate arms and misinformation all combined to contribute to their failure. Jeevan felt a huge loss within and he sighed deeply. He found the glass of whiskey empty once more just like the future before him: the trauma was unbearable.