On any other day, this would have been the expanse of the white carpet of smooth fabric laid down by nature, the daunting white cap adorning the unscaled peaks, the white that is pristine, the white that is tranquil. But on that day, the white was stained by rivulets of red. Nothingness was dotted by the bodies of bright young men, men abandoned by their compatriots in the face of imminent defeat. Most of them did not breathe anymore. For the rest, each breath was more agonizing than the previous. But on all the faces, contentment was written large, the contentment of dying for a noble cause.
Little did they realise that no cause can be noble if it warrants killing of innocent men, no cause can be noble if it means kids for whom daddy will never be back home again, no cause can be noble if it means that the old will have the hope of their lives shot down by bullets that don’t have names of their target written on them. Little did they realise that there can be no noble cause based on the premise of ‘your god against my god’.
