A Stream of Blood and Tears
“ Khamkone is not a naughty boy. There must
have been something else that led to an accident like this", Aunt Thidmy
said with conviction.
“ Yes, I agree with you”, added Aunt
Thidsoy.
“ What accident are you talking about?”
Uncle Thidmy asked.
Aunt Thidmy's face turned pale, as she
didn’t how to answer her husband's sudden question. She paused to think, then
said,
“ Did you see that? He had over 3,000 kips in his hands!"
Many people stared at her as if she were an
alien. She had acted strange many times before. No matter what it was all
about, she always sounded so convincing.
The bomb that detonated two three days ago
stunned people from all walks of life, especially when the victim, a young boy
named Khamkone, was a close relative of Uncle and Aunt Thidmy. These past few
days, Aunt Thidmy had been crying her eyes out. She would have done anything to
try to spare the life of her grandson, because Khamkone was barely five years old.
By comparison, she already considered herself as an old tree standing
precariously by the riverbank, ready to be washed away.
Indeed, some people got lucky and became
rich in business transactions involving unexploded bombs of various sizes. They
made a lot of money, enough to build houses and buy properties during the war.
And the bombs were those very ones that created craters and caused tears.
Although they now have become useless as ordnances, they still were bringing
wealth to some people when others were still living among the scars of war.
Uncle and Aunt Thidmy were patiently
waiting for the return of a married couple that left for Vientiane
What happened to her grandson was not an
isolate incident but still hard to fathom. How could a 5-year old child
detonate a bomb? That wasn't his fault. The blame had to go those irresponsible
adults who dug up the bomb. She sometimes also blamed those who initiated the
war, destroyed the country, and left behind unexploded ordnances that caused
the deplorable cold blood death of innocent people. All she could do was to cry out loud to
relieve herself from distress and sorrow.
Three days later, as she was about to cross
a rivulet, with a digging tool in her hands, on her way to picking some bamboo
shoots, she overheard two men talking about the circumstance surrounding the
bomb blast that hit Khamkone.
"Tomorrow I was going out and dig up
some more bombs near the end of the rice field. Do you want to come
along?" one man asked.
"I'm afraid it would be a repeat of
the previous three days' accident! They will soon find out who did it",
said the other man.
“Why would that matter? That wasn't our
fault. It was the kid's fault"
"How could you say that? We were the
ones that dug up the ordnance"
"We did dug it up, but we didn't tell
the kid to knock it over. He did it by himself"
Upon hearing that conversation, Aunt Thidmy
froze on the spot, unable to move her feet. She really wished she could use a
knife to cut these two men's throats on the spot. Her own legs refused her
order to move.
It took her an eternity to pick what she
needed to cook for lunch. That noon,
despite a menu that included bamboo shoot soup, fried catfish and pickled
vegetable –the best dishes around — Aunt Thidmy had all the trouble in the
world swallowing. Uncle Thidmy had to talk her into eating, pretty much like
what he used to do with a 3-year old child. The picture of Khamkone and his kid
brother lying aground moaning in pain was mind boggling to her.
Two days later, the phone rang as if a
napalm bomb had exploded next to the ears of two elderly folks like Uncle and
Aunt Thidmy, signaling the abrupt end of their hopes and dreams. This was the
ultimate emotional pain, distress, and discouragement for them to realize that
those young and lively creatures they adored would not live on to become good
citizens and create a bright future for their country. All of that quickly
evaporated in the dark clouds.
"Mom, our little guy passed
away", said the voice at the other end of the phone line, amidst cries and
quivering of somebody who was about to expire. Aunt Thidmy wanted to smash
those hypocrites whose only aim was to accumulate wealth without any concern
for other people's lives; she wanted to put them on a butcher's plate and chop
them into small pieces like meat. Even doing all that would not relieve her of
her intense anger.
Today, at the THIDMY’s house, a water
pouring ceremony was held in the memory of the two deceased, Khamkone and his
younger brother. Most people were smiling, and a few were still in deep
sadness.
“ Khamkone, my sweet grandson, may your
spirit reach heaven and come back in your future life as my grand-child
again!" Aunt Thidmy uttered her wishes while pouring water to the bare
ground.
Participants expressed their condolences,
some of them with tears in their eyes, remembering the two cute brothers and
holding grudges against the selfish guys that caused all this trouble.
"Too bad we could catch them in time
before they escaped. They deserve strong punishment for their despicable
acts", said one person.
"I still can't figure out how they
could detonate the bomb?"
"No need to think too hard. When you
did up something and leave it there, kids are bound to play with it. Kids know
nothing. Even when they grow older, some of them still don't know
anything"
"They may run away to the end of the
world, but bad deeds will catch up with them"
When the rite commemorating the death of
Khamkone and his younger brother ended, hosts and guests all went home. The
bright moonlight on that January night covered the whole area, as if it was
trying to quietly penetrate the victims' families mind, without incrimination
but with a tad of sympathy for the common mortals. This stayed in the mind of
the Xiengkhouang people, "Whoever causes pain for the folks of this area
must shed blood and tears". Does Kharma exist, and will it apply to all
people, including those without humanitarian design?"
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