Shot down by an enemy sniper,
Not yet dead nor fully alive,
Not wise to waste a second,
They rushed him to Aizawl, worse off already.
As hope faded; doctors gave up!
To Silchar, they rushed him again,
There, he breathed his last at noon,
On the Ninth of March, Twenty Twenty-four.
Our hearts beat as one;
We all stood together for him.
But, in a nearby corner, I saw his boy,
Weeping bitterly, hiding himself from the crowds.
I could see his knees shaking and weak,
He could no longer stand still.
I held him up, and whispered to him -
"Be strong, your father wouldn't like it any other way…"
As our conscience didn't allow us,
To let him carry his dead father all alone,
On the long, dark journey towards Aizawl,
We, the ten good souls, decided to follow him.
The journey will be remembered forever!
Inside the car, though we were all tired,
When we saw his boy at peace,
We all breathed a sigh of relief!
At daybreak, we finally reached Aizawl,
Welcomed by a huge crowd of folks.
They had awaited us all through the night.
From there, they had to travel home without us.
Before they took off, I whispered to his son -
"Be brave, your father was a brave man,
You lost a father, we lost a brave warrior."
We all waved goodbye through tears.
Thingkho Le Malcha (TLM) is a traditional method of communication used to send out messages across the Kuki hills during the Anglo-Kuki War,1917-1919... more
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