Srebrenica

Bosnia in the early 90s was a deadly place to be born in. Erstwhile Yugoslavia had disintegrated, Tito had died in the early 80s and subsequently, the country had disintegrated into civil war.

Mihael had been born at that time and had no memory of his early childhood. The earliest memory he had was of the bitter cold as his mother carried him and a small bag with her possessions to Graz, in neighboring Austria. He had been crying most of the while: some from hunger, some from cold and mostly from the fear that communicated itself from his mother to him.

That fear had stayed with Mihael all his life. Even now at the age of 40, he disliked going out in the dark, in the cold and most of all, to places where there were large groups of people. In his mind, he felt exposed, as if such a place would result in extreme danger to his identity or to him.

It was with some trepidation that he had agreed to go back to the town of his birth. His mother had passed away long back and he wanted to see the place again. The tour guide had been professional, polite but obviously did not know all the sensitivities. So, they left as a tour group. And finally, reached the hospital.

Desolate, destroyed. The cots still lay the way they had been when the militia had come. The screams still echoed off the walls. The gunshots resounded in his ears.

Quiet descended over him, and the evening lengthened. He looked around and saw his mother in a corner.

Mihael, babushka! She said, and he finally saw a smile on her face. You have come home.

After several years of sorrow, stress, and silence, he heard the sparrows chirping and the river gurgling. He smiled.

The screams had ceased. He could, finally, look to the future.