Mikhail didn’t know for how long he had remained there. Last he remembered was running towards a clump of trees along with his two companions. Then there was a blast.
Picking up remnants of his energy, he tried to stand up. Multiple shrapnels had pierced his body, and blood was oozing out of his wounds. Luckily, he had escaped with minor injuries.
He looked at the blasted oak and saw the mutilated bodies of his companions. Tears trickled down his eyes. He felt utterly helpless.
He knew staying there wouldn’t be wise. He was famished and needed a safe place to hide. Otherwise, he would meet the same fate.
He was one of the conscripts, barely seventeen. Every young boy of his village had forcibly been recruited as a conscript because of the ongoing war.
He remembered tear-stained faces of his mother and sisters. He wished that he were with them.
The sun was about to hide behind the distant trees. Instinctively, he rose. He knew that staying there wasn’t safe.
“Which way to go?” he wondered. He had lost his sense of direction.
He dragged himself out of the woods. His progress was painful and slow, marked with intermittent pauses.
The sun was about to set, and the western sky too seemed drenched in the innocent blood—blood of the young soldiers feeding the ambitions of unscrupulous politicians.
He dragged himself for hours. Just as he was about to collapse, in the fading sunlight, he saw several huts from a distance.
It looked like a deserted village as there was no usual activity. A flag fluttering atop a hut showed that he was in the enemy territory.
But then he saw a frail old woman sitting outside one of the huts.
“Am I dreaming?” he wondered. He tried to aim his gun at her but hesitated.
The woman got up, welcoming him cheerfully. “Ivan, is it you? They had told me you would come when they left me behind.”
Because of her fading eyesight, she mistook him for her grandson.
“Oh, you are bleeding; come in quickly,” she said with great concern. She cleaned his wounds with warm water and applied salve.
“You have changed in two years. I would not have recognized you if it were not for your uniform.”
She took his face in her wrinkled hands and kissed his forehead.
After she fed him, he slept fitfully, fearing to be attacked at any moment.
He got up with the cock crow. The old woman made breakfast for him and kept asking constantly about war.
He felt a deep pity for the woman who had been left behind to die.
“Ivan, mend the chicken coop. The other day, the wolf took away our best hen. By the time your parents return, we may have nothing left.”
Mikhail obeyed her as her grandson would have done.
Feeling secure in his presence, she slept peacefully. He looked at her reverently and left.
