Soup was simmering on the stove just like the last two days. Bread was just out of the oven. The room was filled with their smell. She paced the dinning room with her son's letter in hand. Reading it occasionally and glancing outside through the window. She once again read through the brief letter from her son:
"Dear mother,
Life has been tough. We have badly beaten the Nazi's on this front. I do not know what will happen to Moscow. But mother I have been very brave. I have been just like father. They have granted me a week's leave. I will be coming home to you soon. I might be a little late, but I will come to you I promise.
Your Loving Son,
Yaroslav."
Tears trickled down Milyena's cheeks. How proud her husband would have been. Her son was little late. But he promised he will be home.
Soviet counter-offensive: Winter 1941
Yaroslav watched the panzer tank closely as it approached. This was the 8th one which was coming down straight to his trap. He and his unit was ready with his antitank rifle. Suddenly the panzer stopped. It spotted them. They started firing. But it was too late. He ran towards the panzer with a RPG-43 Grenade. There was a blast and a blackness.
It was a long way home, but just the thought of his mother’s hug made Yaroslav happy. He had survived the ordeal and now he was granted leave.
She was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door. She did not know how long she has been asleep or how late it was. Milyena sprang to her feet and opened the door. There was Yaroslav, her son, with a smiling face. She hugged her and brought him inside. The journey made him pale and cold and it was snowing outside. After he got fresh, she served him dinner and they talked about so many things. War has made her son quieter and his eyes were speaking of pain. She knew that they had just this night because he was already late. With morning sun Yaroslav will be back to the Eastern front. As they went on chatting, it was suddenly dawn and time for him to go. Yaroslav slowly picked and packed up his things and hugged Milyena. She still felt his coldness and tears ran down her cheeks. They did not talk much and neither did say bye. As she watched him go in the snowy morning, his footsteps slowly disappeared in the snow. How well the son has followed his father’s footsteps.
She did not know how long she had been asleep. It was almost afternoon when she was awoken by a car in front of her house. She opened the door. The herald gave the letter to her without any emotion. She opened the letter with trembling hands.
“Dear Madame,
With great regret and sorrow we inform you that your Son, Yaroslav Alexandrov, was martyred three days back, on 15 January 1942, while returning home, on a train raid by German air force. Yaroslav was a gallant soldier and his name will always be mentioned in Russian history in golden words.
Yours Truly,
Joseph Stalin.”
Yaroslav never kept a promise he could not keep.
"Dear mother,
Life has been tough. We have badly beaten the Nazi's on this front. I do not know what will happen to Moscow. But mother I have been very brave. I have been just like father. They have granted me a week's leave. I will be coming home to you soon. I might be a little late, but I will come to you I promise.
Your Loving Son,
Yaroslav."
Tears trickled down Milyena's cheeks. How proud her husband would have been. Her son was little late. But he promised he will be home.
Soviet counter-offensive: Winter 1941
Yaroslav watched the panzer tank closely as it approached. This was the 8th one which was coming down straight to his trap. He and his unit was ready with his antitank rifle. Suddenly the panzer stopped. It spotted them. They started firing. But it was too late. He ran towards the panzer with a RPG-43 Grenade. There was a blast and a blackness.
It was a long way home, but just the thought of his mother’s hug made Yaroslav happy. He had survived the ordeal and now he was granted leave.
She was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door. She did not know how long she has been asleep or how late it was. Milyena sprang to her feet and opened the door. There was Yaroslav, her son, with a smiling face. She hugged her and brought him inside. The journey made him pale and cold and it was snowing outside. After he got fresh, she served him dinner and they talked about so many things. War has made her son quieter and his eyes were speaking of pain. She knew that they had just this night because he was already late. With morning sun Yaroslav will be back to the Eastern front. As they went on chatting, it was suddenly dawn and time for him to go. Yaroslav slowly picked and packed up his things and hugged Milyena. She still felt his coldness and tears ran down her cheeks. They did not talk much and neither did say bye. As she watched him go in the snowy morning, his footsteps slowly disappeared in the snow. How well the son has followed his father’s footsteps.
She did not know how long she had been asleep. It was almost afternoon when she was awoken by a car in front of her house. She opened the door. The herald gave the letter to her without any emotion. She opened the letter with trembling hands.
“Dear Madame,
With great regret and sorrow we inform you that your Son, Yaroslav Alexandrov, was martyred three days back, on 15 January 1942, while returning home, on a train raid by German air force. Yaroslav was a gallant soldier and his name will always be mentioned in Russian history in golden words.
Yours Truly,
Joseph Stalin.”
Yaroslav never kept a promise he could not keep.
2 comments:
Very old subject. Very predictable.
But well written. So I enjoyed reading this one.
Thanks!! :)
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