The Religion of Love
Kamalika Bhattacharya
The sun blazed mercilessly over the ruins of what was once a bustling city. Nine-year-old Asra ran, his legs trembling with exhaustion and fear, while the roar of fighter jets shattered the oppressive silence. Thick columns of smoke coiled into the sky, and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. His world had turned to ashes.
Just hours ago, his father had been in his lab, engrossed in his research. His mother and little sister, Kutty, had been waiting for him to join them in the underground shelter. But the bomb hit before they could reach safety.
“Asra, run!” his father’s voice had echoed, full of urgency.
He had run. He turned back only once, just in time to see their house engulfed in flames, an explosion swallowing everything.
Now, he wandered aimlessly through the desolate streets. The lifeless bodies of his neighbors littered the ground. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and thirst dried his throat. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the occasional distant rumble of collapsing debris.
As he searched for water, his eyes fell on the body of a little girl, no older than himself. She lay motionless, a water bottle hanging from her neck, her small hand still clutching her mother’s. Asra approached cautiously, tears filling his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
He gently unhooked the water bottle and opened her lunchbox. Inside were sandwiches, lovingly packed, perhaps just that morning. He took a hesitant bite, each chew a reminder of the family he had lost.
Days turned into a haze of wandering and searching. One evening, as the sky turned a deep crimson, Asra’s eyes landed on a yellow bicycle, partially buried under rubble. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—it was his bicycle, a birthday gift from his father.
“Kutty? Mummy? Dad?” he called out, his voice breaking.
No answer came, only the heavy silence of the dead city.
🍂
He followed the path to what remained of his home. The walls were charred, the roof gone, but he recognized it. His knees buckled as he entered, and in a corner, he found them. His mother was holding Kutty in her lap, her arms still wrapped protectively around her daughter. His father lay a short distance away, clutching a bundle of papers and a small chip.
Asra dropped to his knees. “Why did you leave me?” he sobbed, his cries echoing through the empty house.
A sudden noise startled him. Vehicles were approaching, their engines breaking the stillness. Soldiers emerged, clearing debris. Asra froze, unsure if they were friend or foe.
One of them spotted him. “There’s a child here!” the soldier shouted.
They rushed to him, offering water and food. Asra accepted mechanically, too numb to react.
“Son, are you alone?” one of the soldiers asked gently.
He nodded, tears streaming down his face.
The soldiers buried his family in a barren patch of earth. There were no flowers, not even a leaf to mark their resting place. Before leaving, Asra carefully took the chip and papers from his father’s hand and hid them under his shirt.
Ten Years Later ...
At nineteen, Asra had become a quiet and determined young man. Living in a distant hostel, he had carried his father’s chip and papers everywhere, treating them like sacred relics.
One evening, the news of another war reached him. The memories of his childhood flooded back, bringing with them a mix of dread and anger. Alone in his room, he opened his suitcase and retrieved the chip and papers.
“What were you trying to show me, Dad?” he murmured, his voice breaking.
He inserted the chip into his laptop. It prompted him for a password. Frustrated, he stared at the screen. Suddenly, a thought struck him. He typed: I love you all.
The screen unlocked. Asra gasped as he saw rows of formulas and notes. His father’s research detailed a method to purify the human mind of hatred, greed, and jealousy using five elemental materials and a specific sound frequency.
“This… this could change everything,” Asra whispered.
Over the next several years, he worked tirelessly, driven by his father’s vision. He experimented, decoded the formulas, and perfected the sound frequency. When he finally succeeded, the sound resonated deeply, capable of calming even the most turbulent minds.
Asra traveled the world, meeting leaders and presenting his invention. He used their greed as leverage.
“This will give you unmatched power,” he told them, knowing it was a necessary deception for the greater good.
The leaders, eager for an advantage, implemented his creation. Slowly but surely, conflicts began to subside. Hatred gave way to understanding, greed to generosity.
One evening, standing on a hill overlooking a peaceful valley, Asra held a copy of his book, The Religion of Love. In it, he had outlined his vision of a world free from suffering, guided by compassion and unity.
He looked up at the stars and whispered, “Dad, I did it. Mummy, your love made this possible. Kutty, your laughter still gives me strength.”
The night sky was silent, but Asra felt a profound sense of peace. From the ashes of his childhood had risen a legacy that would forever change humanity.
The End
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