Innocent Blood Spilt
Innocent Blood Spilt
I was divided into two halves, marking all my children into two categories. My spine tensed in fear as I gazed down below, worry taking the best of me. Since the historic announcement of partition lives have changed drastically. Riots have broken out, covering every inch of my surface with crimson streaks of dried up blood of innocent citizens, while salty tears belonging to terrified children and horror-struck mothers attempt to wash them away.
15 August 1947 was a day of great pride and joy, I was no longer bound in chains, my children could be independent and walk around across their mother with proud smiles, but this happiness was drowned with gut-wrenching sadness of the partition. Before that day I never knew it is possible to feel jubilant and mournful at the same time. Now its 26 September 1947, one month since I was freed from chains, yet my mind is not at ease.
I took deep breaths attempting to calm myself as strong winds blew fluttering my children’s hair and tried to focus and gazed down below, trying to focus at one scene — a station milling with people wanting to reach their destined destination as a result of the wrath of partition which they hopefully will.
The loud, blaring horns of the train caught everyone’s attention as the crowd moved in quick paces wanting to secure a seat in the uncomfortable train ride. It screeched on the rusty rails before finally coming to halt, the door immediately being barricaded by thousands of people. Despite the number of people, the station was surprisingly quiet. They expected to lead better lives after independence but their homes were taken away instead. Betrayal was etched upon each and every soul. The tension within the train was clearly felt and all that was required to ignite another manslaughter mission was a spark. A spark to end the lives of every soul on this train.
One knife, one trail of crimson blood and one innocent life, taken away. The spark has been ignited. Soon enough the eerily quiet train was filled with shouts, screams, sobs and the gory sound of the knife being slashed in and out of my creations, my children. Tears welled in my eyes and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from sobbing. A struggle has started all over again, but this time the greatest man slaughterer will be victorious — will emerge alive.
My lip trembled as I looked at the little ones all huddled together in a corner under the berth, their eyes glossy as they waited for horrors they will have to face. Slowly the door open and another of my big, responsible children emerged, bloody knife in hand, ready to kill his younger siblings. His eyes travelled under the berth and he grabbed all the little ones by their necks ready to kill. I shut my eyes not wanting to see this gory massacre but I could not help but let out an agonizing scream which thundered in the grey clouds below, as the warm, red blood of 6-year-old children who had just begun life sizzled, leaving a permanent mark upon me which no tears will ever be able to wash away. My own children are killing each other and I have no power to stop it.
Now, I made no attempts to control my sobbing and let it all out and slowly the clouds relaxed upon my order and it started raining, getting harder with each passing second. The train slowly came to a slow halt at the station, but little does anyone know that only lifeless bodies will emerge out of it.