A lean figure sat on the chair opposite my table, with torso leaned over it. Legs dangling above ground, the figure wore torn jootis. The petite outline that emerged right underneath the worn out Phiran, hinted at a feminine figure. With her head down, covered with a thick woolen shawl, I was not sure about her age.
Engrossed in taking mental notes, I failed to register the whispers of sentry who was on my heels.
Turning around, I pulled the chair gently, not wanting to disturb now-sleeping visitor. What might have brought her here, I wondered. Taking seat, I cleared my throat. Startled, she rose her head from slumber-land.
Weary, watery frozen eyes with blue gaze greeted me. Her frosted eyes spoke nothing, nor did her lips as they were sheathed with shawl. A lock, escaping the confines of shawl, framed her fickle face.
“Who are you? What got you here at dawn?”, I questioned, pushing a glass of water towards her.
All my questions froze in the sight that she held before us. Removing her shawl, she flashed a battery of IEDs that was fastened to her chest. A cruel smile sailed in her eyes as she pulled the trigger.
“Human bomb exploded at surveillance post near LOC killing the suicide bomber, martyring Major and Sentry on duty”, flashed the news across the nation.