The Ugly Truth

It was late afternoon in the outskirts of Kashmir. All is silent but the gentle droplets of rain. The terrorist looked down at the only survivor of their latest slaughter of yet another village. The young boy tried to hide his dampened mud face.

"Poor lonely child, left all alone in this bad, horrible world", sneered the terrorist.

He searched into the boys eyes who stared back emotionless. The terrorist always searched through each of his victims eyes who dared to stare back, who dared to challenge him. It strengthened his resolve to make them suffer so much that they wish to never have been born an Indian.

The boy kept staring back at those cruel black eyes.

The terrorist's lips cracked into a smirk, "So very surprising to see a meager little kid be as defiant even after everything he's encountered, after witnessing his father being shot in the head, his mother being raped till she couldn't breathe, his friends and villagers tortured to death. You, my child, are made of steel. You need to bear in mind that your nationality is the cause of your sorrow. I respect brave men like you. You can survive by throwing away your contemptible identity of an Indian and grow up to be a Pakistani."

The boy's eyes darkened from the reality of his miserable state.

The terrorist knelt down to the boys level and wiped away some of the mud from his cheek like a caring parent would. The boy didn't flinch, only to blink back at the man, his touch felt like no different than the sharp rocks embedded in the mud. "Do you see why I killed them? Why would we want such a vile, disgusting piece of shit race to remain alive when we clearly are the superior race? Think clearly before you answer my question. Your next words will decide what life holds for you. So, do you see yourself among the next Pakistani generation?"

"I'd rather shoot myself." said the boy defiantly.

The words of the boy had no impact on the terrorist. Looking down at the mud, he wiped away from the boys cheek, it felt heavy. He used that same muddy hand to pat the boys curly hair. "Now, wouldn't your parents be proud?"

Moments later, a loud gunshot interrupted the silence.

It began to rain harder.

Mother nature washed away the blood-ridden lands of Kashmir.

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can  apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.