As he soared skywards, strains of his mother’s voice surrounded him, her sonorous voice echoed in every unit of his physical being and he for the first time felt safe, safe in the cradle of her voice.
His heart, which had drummed ceaselessly inside him ever since the attack was announced, was allayed now.
His mother was there, with him, right by his side, as he, gripping the throttle, pushed it forward.
As his battle chariot took to the skies, he briefly shut his eyes.
“Ma, shed not your tears? Rejoice, as I shall soon return to you, as the bright rays of the sun that shine on your beautiful face every dawn when you rise, as the young flower that you tend to in the garden, in the sweet waft of your puja incense, I shall visit you as heaven’s drops that sweeten the wet earth, you shall find me in the cool morning air, ma, you shall find me in your arms every time you think of me, crying, bundled in white, you shall find me sitting by your bedside every night as you shut your eyes, you shall, find me in the eyes of my brothers who fly today with me.”
As he fell, fell from an alien sky far away, his mother arose and smelled the morning air as golden rays from the sun washed her beautiful face.