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**This novel is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance between scenarios and characters of this novel to the real world is purely coincidental and not meant to upset anyone.**
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WARNING!! : Explicit content. Contains strong language and depictions of violence.
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" A war benefits no one", Tsun Tzu said, in the art of war. It only takes and takes and does not give. Yet mankind has never shied away from them. The most adverse effects of war are not seen on the economy or leadership but on the lives of innocents. Yet the greed of humans keeps churning wars over and over. The Syrian civil war that started in 2011 claimed more than half a million lives out of which more than 200,000 were civilian casualties including approximately 35,000 children. More than 200 child soldiers were killed by torture and around 5000 simply disappeared. There is nothing sadder than guns in the hands of children and bloodlust in their eyes. But war forces this reality on them. Fight or die. There is no other rule on a battlefield.
Three kids were leaning against the side of a broken wall and chatting. They were eating bread and dates and throwing the seeds in a nearby well. After they finished eating, they picked up their bags and rifles and headed toward the nearby tents. They didn't seem to mind the shelling and gunfire in the distance as they kept talking. The rotting smell around didn't faze them as they walked past piles of corpses. After all, these things were a part of their daily lives now. Children? No!...Little men. Little men living in a world that humanity had turned their eyes from.
Oye Hamza, did you see the car that came in today?
Oh yes. What a beauty it was. I have never seen one that beautiful in my entire life. Did you like it, Aman?
Yeah.
Was your car as good as that?
It was better.
When the war is over let's go to India and drive in Aman's car. What do you say Hamza?
Sure and I want to watch a movie as well and eat that...that...Oi Aman, what was the round thing you told us you used to eat back home?
Pizza.
Ah yes, Pijja!
How many times do I have to tell you it's not Pijja you idiot, It's PIZZA (they all laughed)
They kept giggling as they reached the entrance of their tent. Aman had finally started to accept his reality little by little. Just 6 months ago he was living a life of absolute bliss. He had loving parents, a beautiful house, and every luxury one can dream of. But all of that disappeared in the blink of an eye.
His parents were renowned doctors and worked for one of the best private hospital groups in all of New Delhi, The New life group of hospitals and research centers. They came to Syria a year before the civil war started with a group of volunteers as a part of a UN medical team to collect samples and develop vaccines for a new type of flu sweeping the western part of the country. After their work had been completed they were supposed to fly to France to enjoy a vacation.
Aman studied at St. Michaels high school in New Delhi. He was top of his class and wanted to become a doctor just like his parents. His days were spent between going to school, playing football, studying, and guitar lessons. He loved to help his mom cook and play chess with his dad on weekends. When his parents first told him that they were going to Syria for a year or so, he was so excited that he even started learning some Arabic. They had a fruitful year. His parents made some good progress in their work and Aman enjoyed studying and learning about the culture of this place. He made some friends in school and even promised to send them letters from India.
By the end of the year, protests had already begun in various cities but there had been no armed conflicts so far. Aman's parents were not worried and he didn't really care. After all, they were hours away from boarding a flight to Paris...but fate had different plans.
Oye Aman, Hamza, and Arif ( a voice from behind interrupted their conversation.)
Yes Imam bhaiya (the three of them said in unison)
Gather all the kids and head to the central yard in 15 minutes. Captain has called a gathering.
The captain was standing on the bed of a pickup truck with the rebel flag in his hand. Standing behind him was a blonde guy in a sharp-looking suit. Despite the rasping voice of the captain announcing an attack on the enemy with the new guns they had just been supplied and the roaring cheers of his fellow soldiers, he didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on the screen of his cellphone.
After the Captain's address was over, the soldiers were sent to different tents according to their platoons. All the children were assigned to the same platoon called 'Jru' meaning puppy in Arabic. The captain had been collecting children and training them as soldiers for a special mission. The time to start the final preparations had come. They were given instructions regarding their new training schedule and dismissed for the day.
Over the next couple of months, the kids were separated from the rest of the camp and taught the values of jihad and the glory of self-sacrifice. Hamza and Arif were completely enamored by these teachings. Aman was sharp and did not buy into what was being taught at all. One day when their trainer wasn't around, he approached his buddies and tried to convince them otherwise but what he did not expect was how deep they had fallen into the pit. They complained to one of the group leaders. Aman was beaten half to death and starved for 2 days.
He had considered them his friends and it never even crossed his mind that they could do this. But the brainwashing was so strong that they even became hostile towards him and labeled him as a coward. After that, he never tried to convince them again and accepted the fact that they were as good as dead. He was scared to try again. Still, he continued to talk and eat with them as those were the only times he even felt remotely human. But, little by little, their friendship and sense of camaraderie faded away.
After their training ended, they got a day off before the start of the mission. They were given lamb soup and bread for lunch and dinner. Even though the soup barely had any spices and salt, to these children, it felt like a dish from an expensive restaurant. Aman barely talked throughout the entire day and replied only in words or brief sentences.
The reality of tomorrow weighed heavily on his mind. He wanted to talk to someone but there was no one to listen to him. He wanted to run away but that wasn't possible either. He was hungry and yet he didn't want to eat. He felt sick but he could not rest. Even though he was just nine years old, he realized that his time in this life had come to an end. His mind wandered off into old happy memories but he forced them out because they made him cry uncontrollably.
He will never be able to go back to India. Never again will he be able to attend school or watch television or play football or eat pizza or drive in a car, because come tomorrow, he was going to die. A meaningless and lonely death fighting in somebody else's war.
The next day, the Jru's were woken up at 3 in the morning. They gathered in the middle of the camp and the captain gave them a speech about the glory of self-sacrifice. After the meeting ended, Aman heard a familiar voice calling him from behind. He turned around and saw Mehwish Aapa. She was the daughter of the captain. A real kind soul. She always looked out for the kids giving them food and taking care of their wounds. She was one of the few people in the camp that Aman liked and trusted. She had been punished several times by her father for associating with the children but she continued to do so. She used to give them food items and bandages before they went out on missions. This time around she gave a packet to Aman and told him they were strawberries and chocolates that the American had brought for their family. She told him to share them with his friends and stay safe and quickly ran away.
If she had given these to any of the other kids they would have lit up like firecrackers but not Aman. This little package of happiness was not enough to take his mind off of what was to come today. He grabbed his backpack and his gun. The backpacks of all the children had been filled with explosives and the chain had been locked. They were taught what was to be done with it. Their mission was to use some old underground drainage pipes to sneak up behind enemy lines and kill as many enemies as possible by sacrificing themselves. They were promised a place in 'Jannat' and riches beyond their beliefs in their afterlife.
He tried to think of methods to run away but couldn't come up with any because the children had been taught to shoot any deserters. After what Arif and Hamza did to him when he tried to help them during the camp, he knew he had no allies. Also, they were to be accompanied by soldiers to the entrance of the pipe and the drains themselves had no other intermediate exit points. His only option was to hope he would not get shot as soon as he came out of the other end. If he could somehow sneak out of there he had the strawberries and chocolates to survive for a few days.
His heart sank even further as he looked into the darkness inside the pipes. The pipes were old, smelly, dark, and crawling with vermin. Back in training camp, the soldiers had dug tunnels replicating these pipes, and the children practiced in them three times a day with blindfolds on. They were made to completely memorize the paths they were supposed to take. They were even thrown into boxes full of rats and insects to prepare them for what was to come in the tunnels. During the first few days, the children cried and begged but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Soon they understood that crying was not going to help them and somehow developed the resolve to push through. Some of the children even died during this training. It started with 29 children. By the end of it, only 18 remained.
There were six groups of three children each. Arif, Hamza, and Aman were supposed to infiltrate the deepest and take out the mortar line of the enemy. Aman was made to enter first because the instructors were wary that he might try to run or remain in the pipes. Arif and Hamza were given strict instructions to keep an eye on Aman and shoot if he tried to run. They huddled together to say a prayer before entering the pipes. The other two had fear and excitement in their eyes but Aman's eyes were completely dead. He knew the fight of his life was right ahead for him.
He hadn't spelt a wink. All night he kept thinking of the various possibilities that lay ahead of him. His heart sank just a little bit deeper as he kept on hitting dead ends. By the time the soldiers came to wake them up he felt feverish from all the thinking he had been doing. He hadn't really come up with a plan but he had managed to steel his resolve. He was determind to live. He wasnt ready to give up without a fight.
The soldier accompanying them saw Aman's eyes and felt a chill down his spine. He decided not to think much of it and quickly ushered the children into the pipe. The lid closed behind them and on they went into complete and utter darkness.