Thirst for safety

I met Irina Koval (not her real name) at an International Nature Summit 2016 in Notre Dame College, Dhaka. She was one of the representatives from an Ukranian school. She fled the war in Donbass in the Donetsk region and moved to Karkhiv. We became good friends as we prepared our presentation. Here is her story:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ayushee Nawar Choudhuri

I was shaking beneath my blanket as the day broke with a fresh burst of sunlight. I sat up and watched the window. My heart sank. It was a feeble hope that there would be light in this darkness. A fine sheen of cruel frost covered the window pane. My nose went dead and it actually hurt to breathe in. I looked at my sister Katerina curled up beside me. Her eyes were wide open and mouth stretched into a silent scream. Horrified, I curled my arms around her and tried to infuse my warmth into her. I whispered soft words of comfort and coaxed her back to reality. When she calmed down, I took the ointment from my bedside table and turned her. Vicious, angry red scars crisscrossed her pale back. She was the prettiest of the four of us and it reminded me of a fallen angel’s back after her wings were severed.
When I crept downstairs, I saw my mother and Yulia sitting on the table by the fireside. Both were in thick outfits. Anastasia was sleeping on the couch since we only had one room upstairs and just a bed beside the fire. My mother pushed a plate of bread and coffee towards me. I gulped down my pitiful breakfast. No one talked. The light filled the house with a green hue. There was a heavy silence on the outside, with the occasional sound of metals creaking or the faint throbbing of twigs and branches. The kitchen was slightly clouded with steam billowing from the kettles and pots. Gas and water were the only things supplied now.
My mother’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. Eyes that yearned to see her son, Mikhael and my father who perished in the war. My brother was a soldier, while my father was a doctor. Both were at an army camp when it was bombed. We never found their bodies.
Yulia and I put on our pairs of gloves and set out to search for food and explore the silent beauty of winter. It was a world of glass, sparkling and motionless. Vapour had condensed over a blackened building transforming into little confections of snow. There were no people, no bodies in our path, but occasionally crying from the houses pierced the silence. Everything was lifeless, rigid and steady. We didn’t know if they will attack or when they will attack. We breathed in but it hurt like needles in our nostrils. We found a charred car and looked inside. Luckily we found burned packs of food and a lady’s handbag as well. We walked back to our house, crossing paths with various forms of destruction. Collapsed buildings, torched vehicles and blood. We stopped to rest near a frozen spring that looked like a swollen flower. The trees were camouflaged in their white mask and a quiet sheep poked the spiky grass with its parched tongue. I gave it a piece of fruit. Yulia was quiet, looking around apprehensively. We would never forget the day when Katerina and Anastasia were kidnapped. After forty days they were dumped near the graveyard in our town. To this day both of them were too traumatised to speak of the horrors inflicted on them.
The dilapidated church clock had stopped and the weather cock was frozen; so time and wind hung in space. We made our way back which was so desolate, it felt as though God had cursed us for a terrible sin. I rummaged around the handbag for money and I found something. It was in a small pouch: four train tickets to Kharkiv. God had blessed us after all. It was scheduled for noon tomorrow. Heart hammering, I showed them to Yulia with a squeak and her eyes lit up. Yet, I was worried. There were four tickets, we were five _ one of us would have to stay back. No. That was unthinkable, we would find a way. We passed a cow shed where we heard a cow’s deep sigh, stumbling hooves and a steady munching sound_ signs of life!
We showed our mother what we found. She was overjoyed, life came back to her unfocused eyes. We could finally leave it all behind: war, destruction. Everything will be memories, not daily occurrences. I tucked myself into bed with extra quilts, hoping beyond hope that it would be my last night in Donetsk.
The next morning, we arrived at the railway station and somehow convinced the conductor to let in an extra person. Anastasia and I were only 16 and 15 and the conductor took pity on us. The train was not fully occupied anyway. I sat down in a dreamlike state, head dizzy with happiness. I looked at my mother and sisters, their eyes shone with  radiant light.
We made it to the city of Kharkiv on December 12, 2014. I breathed in the city’s air and savoured the fragrance of freedom. The city welcomed us with open arms. I looked up at the sky, watching the clouds float by like paper boats: silently thanking God for His blessing.  (In Kharkiv, Yulia, the eldest took a job as a waitress and got married earlier in 2016. Katerina became a nurse and Anastasia and Irina finished high school. Their mother went back to teaching.)

 

 

Thirst for safety

I met Irina Koval (not her real name) at an International Nature Summit 2016 in Notre Dame College, Dhaka. She was one of the representatives from an Ukranian school. She fled the war in Donbass in the Donetsk region and moved to Karkhiv. We became good friends as we prepared our presentation. Here is her story: Ayushee Nawar Choudhuri I was shaking beneath my blanket as the day broke with a fresh burst of sunlight. I sat up and watched the window. My heart sank. It was a feeble hope that there would be light in this darkness. A fine sheen of cruel frost covered the window pane. My nose went dead and it actually hurt to breathe in. I looked at my sister Katerina curled up beside me. Her eyes were wide open and mouth stretched into a silent scream. Horrified, I curled my arms around her and tried to infuse my warmth into her. I whispered soft words of comfort and coaxed her back to reality. When she calmed down, I took the ointment from my bedside table and turned her. Vicious, angry red scars crisscrossed her pale back. She was the prettiest of the four of us and it reminded me of a fallen angels back after her wings were severed. When I crept downstairs, I saw my mother and Yulia sitting on the table by the fireside. Both were in thick outfits. Anastasia was sleeping on the couch since we only had one room upstairs and just a bed beside the fire. My mother pushed a plate of bread and coffee towards me. I gulped down my pitiful breakfast. No one talked. The light filled the house with a green hue. There was a heavy silence on the outside, with the occasional sound of metals creaking or the faint throbbing of twigs and branches. The kitchen was slightly clouded with steam billowing from the kettles and pots. Gas and water were the only things supplied now. My mothers eyes were glassy and unfocused. Eyes that yearned to see her son, Mikhael and my father who perished in the war. My brother was a soldier, while my father was a doctor. Both were at an army camp when it was bombed. We never found their bodies. Yulia and I put on our pairs of gloves and set out to search for food and explore the silent beauty of winter. It was a world of glass, sparkling and motionless. Vapour had condensed over a blackened building transforming into little confections of snow. There were no people, no bodies in our path, but occasionally crying from the houses pierced the silence. Everything was lifeless, rigid and steady. We didnt know if they will attack or when they will attack. We breathed in but it hurt like needles in our nostrils. We found a charred car and looked inside. Luckily we found burned packs of food and a ladys handbag as well. We walked back to our house, crossing paths with various forms of destruction. Collapsed buildings, torched vehicles and blood. We stopped to rest near a frozen spring that looked like a swollen flower. The trees were camouflaged in their white mask and a quiet sheep poked the spiky grass with its parched tongue. I gave it a piece of fruit. Yulia was quiet, looking around apprehensively. We would never forget the day when Katerina and Anastasia were kidnapped. After forty days they were dumped near the graveyard in our town. To this day both of them were too traumatised to speak of the horrors inflicted on them. The dilapidated church clock had stopped and the weather cock was frozen; so time and wind hung in space. We made our way back which was so desolate, it felt as though God had cursed us for a terrible sin. I rummaged around the handbag for money and I found something. It was in a small pouch: four train tickets to Kharkiv. God had blessed us after all. It was scheduled for noon tomorrow. Heart hammering, I showed them to Yulia with a squeak and her eyes lit up. Yet, I was worried. There were four tickets, we were five _ one of us would have to stay back. No. That was unthinkable, we would find a way. We passed a cow shed where we heard a cows deep sigh, stumbling hooves and a steady munching sound_ signs of life! We showed our mother what we found. She was overjoyed, life came back to her unfocused eyes. We could finally leave it all behind: war, destruction. Everything will be memories, not daily occurrences. I tucked myself into bed with extra quilts, hoping beyond hope that it would be my last night in Donetsk. The next morning, we arrived at the railway station and somehow convinced the conductor to let in an extra person. Anastasia and I were only 16 and 15 and the conductor took pity on us. The train was not fully occupied anyway. I sat down in a dreamlike state, head dizzy with happiness. I looked at my mother and sisters, their eyes shone with radiant light. We made it to the city of Kharkiv on December 12, 2014. I breathed in the citys air and savoured the fragrance of freedom. The city welcomed us with open arms. I looked up at the sky, watching the clouds float by like paper boats: silently thanking God for His blessing. (In Kharkiv, Yulia, the eldest took a job as a waitress and got married earlier in 2016. Katerina became a nurse and Anastasia and Irina finished high school. Their mother went back to teaching.)