(A humble tribute to Pakistan Armed Forces, who are always defending our borders while we are enjoying a luxurious life)
September the 6th, 1965- It is indeed a beautiful morning in Lahore. I have just offered my prayers and as I am about to put my heavy shoes back on, there is an ear-splitting sound- It's an attack from across the border. Without a second thought, I have swiftly picked my Kalashnikov, reciting kalma-e-shahadat and following the commands of my battalion commander. I am waiting for an order to open the fire. I can see a well-prepared army in front of my eyes who have attacked us at a time when the anticipation of such an action was least and while most of my countrymen are still asleep. Here comes the order 'In the name of Allah' to fight the enemy and protect our motherland. It is true that I have an old mother at home; a two-year old daughter who has seen me just once and a wife whose eyes are stuck at the door all the time, but all these relations have taken a back-seat right now. The only thing of my concern at the moment is to guard the honor of my motherland, and I shall do it till the very end of my life for I am a Son of the Soil- A proud soldier of Pakistan.
As the release of bullets from my Kalashnikov is steadily rising, I can unintentionally see the flashbacks in front of my eyes about some of the vague aspects of my life . When my friends were enjoying their youth in the busy streets of Lahore, I was going through a strict training routine at my Military Academy. When they were busy in flying kites on top of roofs, I was being ordered to perform strenuous physical obligations. And now, when they must be having a tired sleep with their kids alongside them, I am trying my level best to make sure their sleep is not interrupted, for I am a Son of the Soil.
Although I have been hit by a bullet on my right shoulder and left thigh, I am still not eager to see the angel of death as yet. I am holding the gun in my left hand. It is difficult to hold and fire from my weaker upper limb, I am still able to fire the odd shot. I am limping but I am not bothered. I am down but I still have my spirits high. I have been fighting since 4 days now; without sleep and without food. I, along with my battalion, has made sure that the enemy is unable to proceed forward even by a single meter, for I am a Son of the Soil.
Is it due to lack of sleep or is it because of excessive bleeding that I am starting to feel the darkness in front of my eyes? Whatever the reason may be, my left index finger is still up to the task. It is not until the last bullet of my gun that has crossed the border, I am now lying at the ground, unconscious and breathless, nourishing the soil with my patriotic blood; for I am a Son of the Soil.
September the 6th, 1965- It is indeed a beautiful morning in Lahore. I have just offered my prayers and as I am about to put my heavy shoes back on, there is an ear-splitting sound- It's an attack from across the border. Without a second thought, I have swiftly picked my Kalashnikov, reciting kalma-e-shahadat and following the commands of my battalion commander. I am waiting for an order to open the fire. I can see a well-prepared army in front of my eyes who have attacked us at a time when the anticipation of such an action was least and while most of my countrymen are still asleep. Here comes the order 'In the name of Allah' to fight the enemy and protect our motherland. It is true that I have an old mother at home; a two-year old daughter who has seen me just once and a wife whose eyes are stuck at the door all the time, but all these relations have taken a back-seat right now. The only thing of my concern at the moment is to guard the honor of my motherland, and I shall do it till the very end of my life for I am a Son of the Soil- A proud soldier of Pakistan.
As the release of bullets from my Kalashnikov is steadily rising, I can unintentionally see the flashbacks in front of my eyes about some of the vague aspects of my life . When my friends were enjoying their youth in the busy streets of Lahore, I was going through a strict training routine at my Military Academy. When they were busy in flying kites on top of roofs, I was being ordered to perform strenuous physical obligations. And now, when they must be having a tired sleep with their kids alongside them, I am trying my level best to make sure their sleep is not interrupted, for I am a Son of the Soil.
Although I have been hit by a bullet on my right shoulder and left thigh, I am still not eager to see the angel of death as yet. I am holding the gun in my left hand. It is difficult to hold and fire from my weaker upper limb, I am still able to fire the odd shot. I am limping but I am not bothered. I am down but I still have my spirits high. I have been fighting since 4 days now; without sleep and without food. I, along with my battalion, has made sure that the enemy is unable to proceed forward even by a single meter, for I am a Son of the Soil.
Is it due to lack of sleep or is it because of excessive bleeding that I am starting to feel the darkness in front of my eyes? Whatever the reason may be, my left index finger is still up to the task. It is not until the last bullet of my gun that has crossed the border, I am now lying at the ground, unconscious and breathless, nourishing the soil with my patriotic blood; for I am a Son of the Soil.
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