He couldn't hold back his weeping as tears streamed down his face, like rivers entering an abyss of darkness. His sobs grew louder and louder as he banged his fist against the ground, his heart shattering at how his mother was cheated out of life.
What had his mother done to get such a merciless death? All these years she had selflessly sacrificed her happiness and dreams to see her son out on the field. Did that mean nothing to God? Was that not enough for a peaceful death?
Just six months. All that selflessness got her only six months of life. And he wasn't even there. He wasn't even with his mother to share her pain.
A hand on his shoulder raised his head, and Ishar saw the silhouette of Pratap through his tear filled eyes.
"Ishar, what happened? Are you okay? Everything's going to be okay, just tell me what happened, Ishar."
Ishar grasped his hand and said,
"S-she has cancer, Pratap. My mother, my lovely m-mother , has cancer. They said she has only six months to live. She'll survive, right Pratap? She's a strong woman, she will live, right? She will be okay, won't she? Say something, Pratap. Please, say something, Pratap."
Pratap who had tears in his eyes upon hearing Ishar's words, knelt down beside him and said,
"Yes Ishar. She will live. Do not worry. She's the mother of an Indian soldier- her heart still beats with our furious rebellions.
She will fight this battle, and when she wins… when she stands victorious, we will stand before her with a smile on our faces. With garlands of honor, not death.
But for that moment to come, we need to defend the attacks our enemies have on our country. We need to win this internal battle as well.
Or else, when she stands as a survivor, she'll be gazing at the ruins of her heart, her India. Come on, soldier.
She will conquer her battle, and we will conquer ours."
This was one of the many reasons that Pratap was Ishar's best friend. He had the magical ability to comfort Ishar, in a way that only his lovely mother could.
Ishar finally let a small smile grace his features, trying to ignore the obvious pain in his chest.
"Thank you, Pratap," he said, unable to express just how lucky he was to have Pratap as a friend,
"Thank you for everything."
Wiping his tears, Ishar stood again with a hopeful stance, and the two sat inside the car. Now the battle was thinned out between life and death, a tipped hourglass which could plummet to any side, at any time. The clock was ticking.