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Kamala Sarup: Child Soldier Kishor

Child Soldier Kishor

By Kamala Sarup

Kishor was playing but he stopped his play all of a sudden and shouting and ran into my house. He looked frightened at that time and understood easily that any time a strange thing was going to happen. Although his children's mind didn't draw any definite conclusions and yet he was the only reality he had comprehended.

The condition made Kishor extremely scared. He asks me," Kam, are they going to start a war like they did a few days ago again?"

No sooner had Kishor expressed this than I felt as if I was dying. I began to look for my fourteen years old sister. My sister hasn't come back from school yet. A chill runs down my spine, "She could be abducted and mistreated and there is a strong rumor that these days that abductors take girls beyond the border to sell them to brothels."

All kinds of apprehensions crowd the mind of me. I really dislikes the war, terrorism, violence, conflict and noise. Kishor by now is warming himself by the fire near the kitchen.

"Kishor! From now on, never talk of such conflict and war. You talk only about your studies." I overwhelmed with grief.

Last year one of my elder friend while taking part in the war had lost his life and become a martyr together with his friends. All the days after that were almost vacant for me. Then on, my face used to be distorted even by some small incidents.

But there were problems in front of me. On the one side was a terrible war and on the other hand I had for the future to live. This thought that I had to live forced me to compromise with time. The feeling after Kishor had coming from the town had told me about the sad incident and the feeling after I heard just now a war what Kishor said actually turned me blunt and harsh.

In the mean time the commotion outside was suddenly quiet but still I was painful at heart as my sister hadn't yet returned home. What a deplorable day! Everywhere these human settlements were embraced by the naked hot sun. I took in long breaths and waited for my sister's arrival. I remained quite disturbed. The time was ticking away and the darkness had enveloped everywhere.

I saw that Kishor was studying as if he had now no concern about this war outside as he was concentrating to his studies for the examination the next day. I sat down by him.

The news broadcast was going on in the radio," The most serious problem of Nepal today is the abduction of the children from the rural areas, and the incidents are increasing everyday. It has been extremely difficult to nab the criminals. Some criminals have accepted that this has become a regular profession.

I understand the traditional follies of war. For a long time, I felt I could be happy. Even if I wish to blow away the pieces by cannon and bombs, I thought of flowers only. I didn't know of the fact that our own hearts were defiled by repulsiveness, selfishness, blood and bombs.

It was true, my Uncle's house had been broken to pieces at the impact of a terrible battle and as my heart was filled with waste. Although I wanted to speak, there was no one to hear. I, on my part, couldn't run away from my soil.

How am I write my days after the war. I could tell to Kishor, that my tales of blood I fought for self defense from gun powder. Yes, I do not like horror.

From the roof of my home the room of the Kishor can be seen. From his room where a dim lamp is burning, a continuous tune of music is heard too. I came to know that the Kishor sang also and I don't know why my mind tempts me to listen to his songs. And really, Kishor sang songs which sounded very sweet, indeed. When I listened to his songs, I felt like submitting myself to the songs all through the night just sitting down right there.

One night last March, my sister told me about Kishor. "Do you know Kamala, Kishor was abducted by a group of rebels (Maoists). We have to pressure them to release him, otherwise he will be killed." My sister told me.

I felt like running far away from the house and reject this situation. I started to cry and say, "Sister, I don't want him to be killed. Please do something." My sister tries to pacify me, "Kam, you are a woman! Look, you don't have to be afraid of anything. And besides, these days it is extremely difficult to find a good situation. We will find him."

There was a storm blowing inside my mind as well and there was a flash of lightning within me and the heart was shrieking with a terrible situation. What should I or shouldn't I do?

I do not like the situation but it has not been easy for me to run away from this situation either. It's because to escape from the house means to possess a stony heart, I mean the heart which defines the life's relativity. As far as I am concerned, I had felt crazy about my heart inside me.

When the people talked about violence, terrorism, war and ran in confusion to this direction. I don't know where Kishor is. If he's alive? If he was killed by a war groups.

Certainly, it is peace that has presented a big question in front of me on our human values. The battle I am talking about is the sacrifice, cooperation and the great dedication required for strengthening human affection and love.


Nepali Journalist and Story Writer Kamala Sarup is an editor of She is specialising in in-depth reporting and writing on Peace, Anti War, Women, Terrorism, Democracy, and Development. Some of her publications are: Women's Empowermentin Nepal (Booklet). Prevention of trafficking in women through media,(Book) Efforts to Prevent Trafficking in for Media Activism (Media research). Two Stories collections. Her interests include international conflict resolution, cross-cultural communication, philosophy, feminism, political, socio-economic and literature. Her current plans are to move on to humanitarian work in conflict areas in the near future. She also is experienced in organizational and community development. A meeting of jury members held on 21 March in Geneva has decided to attribute Kamala Sarup, with a Honurable Mention of International Award for Women Issue.

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