Philosophy of “The Last Bullet”

Philosophy of “The Last Bullet”

Ehsan Baloch

Amidst the black (beautiful) mountains of Bolan in a clash with the enemy forces, Baloch Sarmachars (Freedom Fighters) get into a nail-bait fight. After fighting for consecutive days untiringly, they kill the enemy personnel in numbers and are still energetic. Then helicopters turn around coming from all the way long. Sarmachars feel they are to leave the spot immediately and shift to a safer location but they cannot leave the sangar (front) empty. They are to leave one to two to fight the enemy forces so that the rest move safely. They all know and are conscious that the one who would stay might not return safely with chances of his martyrdom in defense. Without wasting a second, they make it to a decision and one stays and rest leave. I echo, without wasting a second, one among them makes a decision to face the enemies and rest leave without resisting his decision – another decision in succession.

He fights and fights and fights. He kills as many as he can with the bullets he is left with leaving one bullet – the last bullet. And he smiles, kissing his mother earth and then embraces martyrdom with pride and loud slogans of “Azaad Balochistan, Zinda Baad”.

Balochistan is full of stories of martyrs who have always seen and kept Balochistan above everything they had. Their wishes, their families, their lives – nothing meant above their earth and the liberation movement they were part of. One among them was Raskoh Baloch, a Baloch Sarmachar who took the decision to stay on front to combat the Pakistani soldiers so that his comrades get en route to safety. After continuous hours of clashes with the enemy forces, he was surrounded with helicopters all around. His bullets were finished besides the last one. He remembers Ustad Aslam Baloch’s quote: “In any war or clash with the scavengers (Pakistani forces), keep a bullet safe for yourself.” He recalls everything Ustad had taught them, smiles and kills himself without a second thought – whether of surrendering or trying to escape the location.

“I joined the movement not to stay alive all the way through, but play my part and contribute to all the bits I could. And today, it is my turn. But it is my faith, as I leave, my companions will replace me with another ‘Raskoh’. It is not a matter of recognition or individuality, but a collective interest for which thousands of Baloch sons are ready to sacrifice their lives.” The last words he wrote before his soul distorted his body and flew.

When the other freedom fighters reached at their base camp, they received the harsh news of Raskoh’s martyrdom. Upon the news, they were sad at first and then looked upon the sky, saluted the bravery of their comrade and said, “We shall meet soon someday, comrade.”

I imagine, how beautiful a death as such be that Raskoh endorses it immediately without begging for his life, and his comrades are sure they will meet him soon. When Raskoh had the last bullet, did not he think of surrendering? Wasn’t he afraid he would not return? Or perhaps he had merged himself thoroughly with his land? Is death this easy or Raskoh made it be as such? In whatever means, I don’t think death is as easy a decision as Raskoh made it, but what led him do so at such a young age?

Raskoh was 24 years-old. He wanted to become a space scientist but the brutal chains of slavery and the tears of his mothers and sisters brought him on the fronts of Balochistan to defend his motherland from the besiege of the foreign exploiters. Enforced disappearances, dishonoring Baloch mothers and sisters on roads, violence on his people and witnessing an unholy army on his land led him to a decision-making stance of joining the armed resistance along with the Baloch Sarmachars. He was so close with everyone in the mountains who always asked the regional commander to let him join the fight against the coward army. His commander denied saying that he had to be trained well – ideologically, consciously and militarily – before he is tasked to fight the forces.

He was famous with the name of “Little Comrade” because he used to call everyone comrade there. He was very loving and was always learning from everyone on the mountains. Sometimes of the taste of fight, sometimes of war tactics, sometimes of ideology, sometimes of Baloch, and other times on everything on other liberation movements. He was always reading books, articles and other materials on revolution, movements, ideologies, history, war and everything that reflected a war for dignity, a war for liberation and a war for motherland. He had studied Sun Tso’s “Art of War” several times in English and Urdu to understand well the war tactics. He was loved by everyone. Because in each of his discussions, his comrades found Balochistan in him. He was also nicknamed, besides little comrade, ‘Balochistan-E-Rang’. He was very innocent, but the hard traps of slavery bestowed him with the strong sense of identity crisis and of resisting the foreign aggression.

“Did not Raskoh ask for an option?” asked the regional commander to his comrades on front who had safely returned. “When did he?” one of his comrades replied. “When we were discussing who to stay,” he continued, “just before the discussions began, he had made his decision. And you know, when it comes to debate, who can win him?” he said looking a star falling from the sky. “Commander, our star has shined. Our little comrade is very happy today.” With the given words, his eyes were weary and teary but then he smiled, “Our little comrade made our heads eye with pride today, chief.”

The soil had inhaled one of its resemblances that day. The sky rained unceasingly. And yet again, the flower of martyrdom fathomed. The philosophy of martyrdom is so beautiful, he often said. It was this philosophy that thousands of Baloch freedom fighters – on and off the ground – were ready to leave behind any asset for a brighter future of the nation to rejoice. It was for the liberation of the revered land against the profane vultures. And then he was one among those souls with the philosophy of the last bullet.

Each time I try to escape Raskoh’s thoughts, I come up with this: Is making such a decision in a quick move this easy?

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