Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. FICTION & POETRY Gaza’s Street AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Gaza Palestine Tamil Fiction Solidarity Short Story India Genocide Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. DISPATCH Gaza Palestine 24th Jun 2026 The restless Mediterranean water struggles in endless desperation to lift the peace that lies within its ocean depths to meet the shores of Gaza. Humid winds awakened by the waves reach out to the refugee camp residing by its side to wipe away the imprints of tears and blood that weigh on the souls that dwell there. The salted air that once blew through houses undestroyed by bombs, through the babbling smiles of children, through the pranks and joys of its youth, through the resting elders, and through the pleasures of lust between couples now blows through tents filled with withering lives, in search of all that has been lost. Vulnerable to rain, cold, heat, and bombs, the refugee camp consists of hundreds of small tents so closely packed together that even hushed whispers are heard as cataclysmic inconveniences. When rumors of bombings spread, the people of the camp, like anxious flapping birds burrowing within their nests, bury themselves within the smallness of their tents. Through the tent opening, their eyes fearfully watch the skies with intent, as their bodies tremble on the soil. They only come out from hiding, in those fleeting moments when the skies bear no weapons, when only peaceful clouds dwell in the vastness of sunlight. In moments when the fear subsides, the elderly Fatima reminisces about the past. - It was only a few months ago that both her husband Ahmed, who had already lost his left leg, and their son Rashid, were swallowed whole by the bomb’s heat. Afterward, Salma, her young daughter-in-law, and Yasin, her two-year-old grandson, were her only roots of existence. In their small lives within the camp tents, Salma raised her son, shielding him from the memories of his father. Fatima, on the other hand, wanted Salma to be freed from the hauntings of her husband’s death. Yet even when Fatima cared for Salma as a mother, it was difficult for her to unburden the worry that had settled deep within Salma's eyes. “They are giving out relief supplies at the UN office. I will go and get them. Until then, you go speak with folks in the other tents,” Fatima told her daughter-in-law that day. Salma, however, retorted, “You stay at home and take care of Yasin; I will go and get them," and she walked the long journey to get the supplies. The most important reason why Salma went to get the supplies was because it allowed her to walk through the same streets where she had once happily lived with her family. But now, the Israeli army, alleging the presence of “terrorsim” on Gaza’s streets, brought entire roads under their sudden control. In these moments, they prohibited people from traveling that way. Even though the journey was long, Salma knew that to get the relief supplies, this street that they once lived on, was the best shortcut. She knew every nook and cranny of this path. If she travelled through the other streets, it would take her further and longer to reach, and by then the relief supplies would have finished as well. Without walking straight down the road, and using certain alleyways instead, you could reach the relief center easier. It was for this reason, too, that she used this street to travel. Whenever she passed through the alleys, Salma would be consumed by the scent of life that once came from these now desecrated houses. In those moments, blissful memories of her husband spread through her heart. Even when they brought her to tears, she would remember the memories fondly. They made each burdening moment much lighter to endure. Just like her, many people walked barefoot along that narrow, unpaved street. Some even travelled through the alleys, bringing their small children along with them. Yasin would often adamantly grab her scarf, saying, “I’m coming too,” in his babbling innocence, but she would firmly deny him. Salma didn't like the idea of seeing her child among the suffocating crowd, holding up a plate to beg for food. That is why, because she came alone, the three of them shared the relief supplies that were meant for one. - Today, the sun had reached its peak. Even though the scorching heat on the street was taking a toll on her bare feet, she continued walking down the street, bearing the longing that she would soon enter the street where they once lived. Her reminiscing led her mind to what once was. Her husband used to run a small provisions store in front of their house. The residents of the area bought their goods from that shop. They lived a bountiful life, with no shortage of food and necessities. Yet Rashid believed that the happiness of the nation was far greater than the happiness of individual life. He secretly contributed a part of his income to the liberation movement. “I should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that has been made impossible. My son should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that too was made impossible. But my grandson or granddaughter will learn to take their first steps on the soil of a liberated Palestine. Inshallah,” he would ritualistically say to Salma whenever they were alone. “Then why didn't you join the movement?” she once asked. A man drowning in sorrow, he took a deep breath and said, “In my childhood, because a bomb fell on our house, my father lost his left leg. After which my mother started a small shop while also looking after my father and the family. I have no siblings and I am an only child. Hence when I grew up, I had to take on the responsibility of the family. But I will have four or five sons, one for the house and the others for the nation, and for that, I am ready to face any anguish that may come my way.” “You may be ready, but as a mother, how can I sacrifice my children to war?” Salma said, jokingly, yet Rashid's face shrunk at these words. With furrowed skin on his forehead, reddened cheeks, and a depth in his eyes, he spoke. “No, Salma, you have to be prepared for that. Our land, which has lived prosperously for hundreds of years, was taken from us in decades by them. Through the help of imperialist nations, they first took our soil through sorcery. Then they destroyed our state through war. Through this, they reaped our happiness away from us. The soul of our nation now withers as flowers without pollen and as birds without wings. To reclaim the pollen that we have lost, to soar once more with the wings that we have lost, we need war, we need weapons. For that, I am contributing the wage from my labor towards that. War needs men, and for that war I want to raise and give my sons.” “Your wish can only come true if you stop talking,” Salma said with a smile. Rashid's eyes glistened with joy. Freed from the thoughts of the past, she now entered the street where she used to live. The narrow street was lined with collapsed apartments. The buildings that were not yet completely destroyed were wounded with bullet holes—evidence of gunfire between the two sides. Some of the collapsed buildings had been walled up with clothes. Within some of them, families were being raised. These people preferred the solitude of the ruins over living among the crowded camps. Today, unlike most days, the number of armed Israeli soldiers on this street was unusually high, making her feel a peculiar form of anxiety. Salma crossed the street where she had once lived and approached the relief camp. A great crowd was present, with plates in their hands, struggling amongst each other. The aggravating sound of the plates clashing with one another and the raised voices demanding food made Salma feel as if her heart were tearing. “Get it somehow. It seems that even relief supplies won't be coming after this. The Israeli army is blocking even the relief supplies that are coming to us at the border. We don’t know when this problem will be resolved. Until then, only this food will save us. So try to get it quickly somehow,” a middle-aged man told her camp, but Salma didn't have the heart to be among the crowd, begging for food with a plate. Even though she wanted to stay hungry until the problem at the border was over, the faces of Yasin and the elderly Fatima came before her eyes. Because of that, she too stood among the horde, pleading. The more she raised her plate and shouted for food, the more her heart wailed in shame. Usually, she would get wheat, rice, and tahini sauce, but today, she only got one packet of bread. The thought of the very few days three people could survive on the bread haunted her. Her heart yearned for the possibility of someone giving them two more packets of bread. “The kinds of lowly thoughts war subjects a person to. It first seeks to destroy the feelings of self-respect. This is what the Israelis expect from the Palestinians. Even if we die of hunger, it is alright. We should not give in and lose our self-respect,” she decided in her mind. At that moment, she felt as though her husband Rashid was walking by her side. With this thought, she returned to the camp along the street where she had once lived. When Fatima saw Salma's face and the plate she had brought, she said, "This is what they have been longing for for a long time. They may have been annoyed that even when they have taken our lands, homes, and lives, we still have our dignity. So they are trying to starve us to death and bring us to our knees. Ya Allah, is there no end to their brutality?” As she prayed to God, she took a piece of bread from the bag and fed it to Yasin, who was seated next to her. “Salma, you must be hungry too; take some and eat,” Fatima said. “I don’t want it, Ma; you eat it. You haven’t eaten since morning.” “Even if I die without eating, I will be happy. You and Yasin must live on. Our bloodline must not perish but survive for generations.” Her words, again, brought memories of her husband Rashid to her mind. - They survived a week on that bag of bread. Afterward, they wondered how many days can one go on with only water? Fatima's eyesight began to fade. Salma did not even have the strength to walk, so she remained lying down. Suddenly, the sounds of plates began to erupt in the camp. Salma, exhausted from hunger, began to feel a wave of energy spread through her body. On the other end, without any energy at all, Fatima lay on the floor. Salma was terrified that she would die of hunger. Looking at Salma, who had hurriedly come out, the woman in the neighboring tent told her, “Salma, take your pot. They have allowed relief supplies at the border. But the army has closed the street you usually take. They have also put up a warning sign saying, “If you cross, you will be shot.” The relief supplies may run out before you can go around the streets that the army has allowed, so leave immediately.” Salma looked at Fatima's face. Disturbed, Fatima immediately understood the meaning of Salma's gaze. “No… don't go that way!” she said softly but firmly, as hunger laced her voice. But Fatima's life was too important to Salma. She kissed her baby Yasin eagerly on the cheek. In that moment, Yasin felt the scent of motherhood embracing him in his entirety. Considering the need for time and relief, Salma quickly took the plate and left. At the end of the street where she had lived, more than twenty men, women, and children in the camp were hiding behind a wall, watching the army’s movement closely. If they were able to cross onto the lane on the other side of the street, while the army’s watch was relaxed for a few moments, they could reach the relief camp in no time. Their courage to play with death was catalyzed by the truth that in each of their homes, there were people like Fatima, whose lives were being held on by a thread. Salma joined them. Thinking that the army on either end of the street was asleep, they started walking, yet the eyes of one soldier caught them crossing. The alarm that he sounded awakened the other soldiers, and bullets began to rain from their guns. The eyes of the dead that fell remained wide open in thought of the starving. The plates brought to gather relief were splattered with blood. ∎ Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Next Up:

Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. FICTION & POETRY Gaza’s Street Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. Solomon P. The restless Mediterranean water struggles in endless desperation to lift the peace that lies within its ocean depths to meet the shores of Gaza. Humid winds awakened by the waves reach out to the refugee camp residing by its side to wipe away the imprints of tears and blood that weigh on the souls that dwell there. The salted air that once blew through houses undestroyed by bombs, through the babbling smiles of children, through the pranks and joys of its youth, through the resting elders, and through the pleasures of lust between couples now blows through tents filled with withering lives, in search of all that has been lost. Vulnerable to rain, cold, heat, and bombs, the refugee camp consists of hundreds of small tents so closely packed together that even hushed whispers are heard as cataclysmic inconveniences. When rumors of bombings spread, the people of the camp, like anxious flapping birds burrowing within their nests, bury themselves within the smallness of their tents. Through the tent opening, their eyes fearfully watch the skies with intent, as their bodies tremble on the soil. They only come out from hiding, in those fleeting moments when the skies bear no weapons, when only peaceful clouds dwell in the vastness of sunlight. In moments when the fear subsides, the elderly Fatima reminisces about the past. - It was only a few months ago that both her husband Ahmed, who had already lost his left leg, and their son Rashid, were swallowed whole by the bomb’s heat. Afterward, Salma, her young daughter-in-law, and Yasin, her two-year-old grandson, were her only roots of existence. In their small lives within the camp tents, Salma raised her son, shielding him from the memories of his father. Fatima, on the other hand, wanted Salma to be freed from the hauntings of her husband’s death. Yet even when Fatima cared for Salma as a mother, it was difficult for her to unburden the worry that had settled deep within Salma's eyes. “They are giving out relief supplies at the UN office. I will go and get them. Until then, you go speak with folks in the other tents,” Fatima told her daughter-in-law that day. Salma, however, retorted, “You stay at home and take care of Yasin; I will go and get them," and she walked the long journey to get the supplies. The most important reason why Salma went to get the supplies was because it allowed her to walk through the same streets where she had once happily lived with her family. But now, the Israeli army, alleging the presence of “terrorsim” on Gaza’s streets, brought entire roads under their sudden control. In these moments, they prohibited people from traveling that way. Even though the journey was long, Salma knew that to get the relief supplies, this street that they once lived on, was the best shortcut. She knew every nook and cranny of this path. If she travelled through the other streets, it would take her further and longer to reach, and by then the relief supplies would have finished as well. Without walking straight down the road, and using certain alleyways instead, you could reach the relief center easier. It was for this reason, too, that she used this street to travel. Whenever she passed through the alleys, Salma would be consumed by the scent of life that once came from these now desecrated houses. In those moments, blissful memories of her husband spread through her heart. Even when they brought her to tears, she would remember the memories fondly. They made each burdening moment much lighter to endure. Just like her, many people walked barefoot along that narrow, unpaved street. Some even travelled through the alleys, bringing their small children along with them. Yasin would often adamantly grab her scarf, saying, “I’m coming too,” in his babbling innocence, but she would firmly deny him. Salma didn't like the idea of seeing her child among the suffocating crowd, holding up a plate to beg for food. That is why, because she came alone, the three of them shared the relief supplies that were meant for one. - Today, the sun had reached its peak. Even though the scorching heat on the street was taking a toll on her bare feet, she continued walking down the street, bearing the longing that she would soon enter the street where they once lived. Her reminiscing led her mind to what once was. Her husband used to run a small provisions store in front of their house. The residents of the area bought their goods from that shop. They lived a bountiful life, with no shortage of food and necessities. Yet Rashid believed that the happiness of the nation was far greater than the happiness of individual life. He secretly contributed a part of his income to the liberation movement. “I should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that has been made impossible. My son should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that too was made impossible. But my grandson or granddaughter will learn to take their first steps on the soil of a liberated Palestine. Inshallah,” he would ritualistically say to Salma whenever they were alone. “Then why didn't you join the movement?” she once asked. A man drowning in sorrow, he took a deep breath and said, “In my childhood, because a bomb fell on our house, my father lost his left leg. After which my mother started a small shop while also looking after my father and the family. I have no siblings and I am an only child. Hence when I grew up, I had to take on the responsibility of the family. But I will have four or five sons, one for the house and the others for the nation, and for that, I am ready to face any anguish that may come my way.” “You may be ready, but as a mother, how can I sacrifice my children to war?” Salma said, jokingly, yet Rashid's face shrunk at these words. With furrowed skin on his forehead, reddened cheeks, and a depth in his eyes, he spoke. “No, Salma, you have to be prepared for that. Our land, which has lived prosperously for hundreds of years, was taken from us in decades by them. Through the help of imperialist nations, they first took our soil through sorcery. Then they destroyed our state through war. Through this, they reaped our happiness away from us. The soul of our nation now withers as flowers without pollen and as birds without wings. To reclaim the pollen that we have lost, to soar once more with the wings that we have lost, we need war, we need weapons. For that, I am contributing the wage from my labor towards that. War needs men, and for that war I want to raise and give my sons.” “Your wish can only come true if you stop talking,” Salma said with a smile. Rashid's eyes glistened with joy. Freed from the thoughts of the past, she now entered the street where she used to live. The narrow street was lined with collapsed apartments. The buildings that were not yet completely destroyed were wounded with bullet holes—evidence of gunfire between the two sides. Some of the collapsed buildings had been walled up with clothes. Within some of them, families were being raised. These people preferred the solitude of the ruins over living among the crowded camps. Today, unlike most days, the number of armed Israeli soldiers on this street was unusually high, making her feel a peculiar form of anxiety. Salma crossed the street where she had once lived and approached the relief camp. A great crowd was present, with plates in their hands, struggling amongst each other. The aggravating sound of the plates clashing with one another and the raised voices demanding food made Salma feel as if her heart were tearing. “Get it somehow. It seems that even relief supplies won't be coming after this. The Israeli army is blocking even the relief supplies that are coming to us at the border. We don’t know when this problem will be resolved. Until then, only this food will save us. So try to get it quickly somehow,” a middle-aged man told her camp, but Salma didn't have the heart to be among the crowd, begging for food with a plate. Even though she wanted to stay hungry until the problem at the border was over, the faces of Yasin and the elderly Fatima came before her eyes. Because of that, she too stood among the horde, pleading. The more she raised her plate and shouted for food, the more her heart wailed in shame. Usually, she would get wheat, rice, and tahini sauce, but today, she only got one packet of bread. The thought of the very few days three people could survive on the bread haunted her. Her heart yearned for the possibility of someone giving them two more packets of bread. “The kinds of lowly thoughts war subjects a person to. It first seeks to destroy the feelings of self-respect. This is what the Israelis expect from the Palestinians. Even if we die of hunger, it is alright. We should not give in and lose our self-respect,” she decided in her mind. At that moment, she felt as though her husband Rashid was walking by her side. With this thought, she returned to the camp along the street where she had once lived. When Fatima saw Salma's face and the plate she had brought, she said, "This is what they have been longing for for a long time. They may have been annoyed that even when they have taken our lands, homes, and lives, we still have our dignity. So they are trying to starve us to death and bring us to our knees. Ya Allah, is there no end to their brutality?” As she prayed to God, she took a piece of bread from the bag and fed it to Yasin, who was seated next to her. “Salma, you must be hungry too; take some and eat,” Fatima said. “I don’t want it, Ma; you eat it. You haven’t eaten since morning.” “Even if I die without eating, I will be happy. You and Yasin must live on. Our bloodline must not perish but survive for generations.” Her words, again, brought memories of her husband Rashid to her mind. - They survived a week on that bag of bread. Afterward, they wondered how many days can one go on with only water? Fatima's eyesight began to fade. Salma did not even have the strength to walk, so she remained lying down. Suddenly, the sounds of plates began to erupt in the camp. Salma, exhausted from hunger, began to feel a wave of energy spread through her body. On the other end, without any energy at all, Fatima lay on the floor. Salma was terrified that she would die of hunger. Looking at Salma, who had hurriedly come out, the woman in the neighboring tent told her, “Salma, take your pot. They have allowed relief supplies at the border. But the army has closed the street you usually take. They have also put up a warning sign saying, “If you cross, you will be shot.” The relief supplies may run out before you can go around the streets that the army has allowed, so leave immediately.” Salma looked at Fatima's face. Disturbed, Fatima immediately understood the meaning of Salma's gaze. “No… don't go that way!” she said softly but firmly, as hunger laced her voice. But Fatima's life was too important to Salma. She kissed her baby Yasin eagerly on the cheek. In that moment, Yasin felt the scent of motherhood embracing him in his entirety. Considering the need for time and relief, Salma quickly took the plate and left. At the end of the street where she had lived, more than twenty men, women, and children in the camp were hiding behind a wall, watching the army’s movement closely. If they were able to cross onto the lane on the other side of the street, while the army’s watch was relaxed for a few moments, they could reach the relief camp in no time. Their courage to play with death was catalyzed by the truth that in each of their homes, there were people like Fatima, whose lives were being held on by a thread. Salma joined them. Thinking that the army on either end of the street was asleep, they started walking, yet the eyes of one soldier caught them crossing. The alarm that he sounded awakened the other soldiers, and bullets began to rain from their guns. The eyes of the dead that fell remained wide open in thought of the starving. The plates brought to gather relief were splattered with blood. ∎ The restless Mediterranean water struggles in endless desperation to lift the peace that lies within its ocean depths to meet the shores of Gaza. Humid winds awakened by the waves reach out to the refugee camp residing by its side to wipe away the imprints of tears and blood that weigh on the souls that dwell there. The salted air that once blew through houses undestroyed by bombs, through the babbling smiles of children, through the pranks and joys of its youth, through the resting elders, and through the pleasures of lust between couples now blows through tents filled with withering lives, in search of all that has been lost. Vulnerable to rain, cold, heat, and bombs, the refugee camp consists of hundreds of small tents so closely packed together that even hushed whispers are heard as cataclysmic inconveniences. When rumors of bombings spread, the people of the camp, like anxious flapping birds burrowing within their nests, bury themselves within the smallness of their tents. Through the tent opening, their eyes fearfully watch the skies with intent, as their bodies tremble on the soil. They only come out from hiding, in those fleeting moments when the skies bear no weapons, when only peaceful clouds dwell in the vastness of sunlight. In moments when the fear subsides, the elderly Fatima reminisces about the past. - It was only a few months ago that both her husband Ahmed, who had already lost his left leg, and their son Rashid, were swallowed whole by the bomb’s heat. Afterward, Salma, her young daughter-in-law, and Yasin, her two-year-old grandson, were her only roots of existence. In their small lives within the camp tents, Salma raised her son, shielding him from the memories of his father. Fatima, on the other hand, wanted Salma to be freed from the hauntings of her husband’s death. Yet even when Fatima cared for Salma as a mother, it was difficult for her to unburden the worry that had settled deep within Salma's eyes. “They are giving out relief supplies at the UN office. I will go and get them. Until then, you go speak with folks in the other tents,” Fatima told her daughter-in-law that day. Salma, however, retorted, “You stay at home and take care of Yasin; I will go and get them," and she walked the long journey to get the supplies. The most important reason why Salma went to get the supplies was because it allowed her to walk through the same streets where she had once happily lived with her family. But now, the Israeli army, alleging the presence of “terrorsim” on Gaza’s streets, brought entire roads under their sudden control. In these moments, they prohibited people from traveling that way. Even though the journey was long, Salma knew that to get the relief supplies, this street that they once lived on, was the best shortcut. She knew every nook and cranny of this path. If she travelled through the other streets, it would take her further and longer to reach, and by then the relief supplies would have finished as well. Without walking straight down the road, and using certain alleyways instead, you could reach the relief center easier. It was for this reason, too, that she used this street to travel. Whenever she passed through the alleys, Salma would be consumed by the scent of life that once came from these now desecrated houses. In those moments, blissful memories of her husband spread through her heart. Even when they brought her to tears, she would remember the memories fondly. They made each burdening moment much lighter to endure. Just like her, many people walked barefoot along that narrow, unpaved street. Some even travelled through the alleys, bringing their small children along with them. Yasin would often adamantly grab her scarf, saying, “I’m coming too,” in his babbling innocence, but she would firmly deny him. Salma didn't like the idea of seeing her child among the suffocating crowd, holding up a plate to beg for food. That is why, because she came alone, the three of them shared the relief supplies that were meant for one. - Today, the sun had reached its peak. Even though the scorching heat on the street was taking a toll on her bare feet, she continued walking down the street, bearing the longing that she would soon enter the street where they once lived. Her reminiscing led her mind to what once was. Her husband used to run a small provisions store in front of their house. The residents of the area bought their goods from that shop. They lived a bountiful life, with no shortage of food and necessities. Yet Rashid believed that the happiness of the nation was far greater than the happiness of individual life. He secretly contributed a part of his income to the liberation movement. “I should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that has been made impossible. My son should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that too was made impossible. But my grandson or granddaughter will learn to take their first steps on the soil of a liberated Palestine. Inshallah,” he would ritualistically say to Salma whenever they were alone. “Then why didn't you join the movement?” she once asked. A man drowning in sorrow, he took a deep breath and said, “In my childhood, because a bomb fell on our house, my father lost his left leg. After which my mother started a small shop while also looking after my father and the family. I have no siblings and I am an only child. Hence when I grew up, I had to take on the responsibility of the family. But I will have four or five sons, one for the house and the others for the nation, and for that, I am ready to face any anguish that may come my way.” “You may be ready, but as a mother, how can I sacrifice my children to war?” Salma said, jokingly, yet Rashid's face shrunk at these words. With furrowed skin on his forehead, reddened cheeks, and a depth in his eyes, he spoke. “No, Salma, you have to be prepared for that. Our land, which has lived prosperously for hundreds of years, was taken from us in decades by them. Through the help of imperialist nations, they first took our soil through sorcery. Then they destroyed our state through war. Through this, they reaped our happiness away from us. The soul of our nation now withers as flowers without pollen and as birds without wings. To reclaim the pollen that we have lost, to soar once more with the wings that we have lost, we need war, we need weapons. For that, I am contributing the wage from my labor towards that. War needs men, and for that war I want to raise and give my sons.” “Your wish can only come true if you stop talking,” Salma said with a smile. Rashid's eyes glistened with joy. Freed from the thoughts of the past, she now entered the street where she used to live. The narrow street was lined with collapsed apartments. The buildings that were not yet completely destroyed were wounded with bullet holes—evidence of gunfire between the two sides. Some of the collapsed buildings had been walled up with clothes. Within some of them, families were being raised. These people preferred the solitude of the ruins over living among the crowded camps. Today, unlike most days, the number of armed Israeli soldiers on this street was unusually high, making her feel a peculiar form of anxiety. Salma crossed the street where she had once lived and approached the relief camp. A great crowd was present, with plates in their hands, struggling amongst each other. The aggravating sound of the plates clashing with one another and the raised voices demanding food made Salma feel as if her heart were tearing. “Get it somehow. It seems that even relief supplies won't be coming after this. The Israeli army is blocking even the relief supplies that are coming to us at the border. We don’t know when this problem will be resolved. Until then, only this food will save us. So try to get it quickly somehow,” a middle-aged man told her camp, but Salma didn't have the heart to be among the crowd, begging for food with a plate. Even though she wanted to stay hungry until the problem at the border was over, the faces of Yasin and the elderly Fatima came before her eyes. Because of that, she too stood among the horde, pleading. The more she raised her plate and shouted for food, the more her heart wailed in shame. Usually, she would get wheat, rice, and tahini sauce, but today, she only got one packet of bread. The thought of the very few days three people could survive on the bread haunted her. Her heart yearned for the possibility of someone giving them two more packets of bread. “The kinds of lowly thoughts war subjects a person to. It first seeks to destroy the feelings of self-respect. This is what the Israelis expect from the Palestinians. Even if we die of hunger, it is alright. We should not give in and lose our self-respect,” she decided in her mind. At that moment, she felt as though her husband Rashid was walking by her side. With this thought, she returned to the camp along the street where she had once lived. When Fatima saw Salma's face and the plate she had brought, she said, "This is what they have been longing for for a long time. They may have been annoyed that even when they have taken our lands, homes, and lives, we still have our dignity. So they are trying to starve us to death and bring us to our knees. Ya Allah, is there no end to their brutality?” As she prayed to God, she took a piece of bread from the bag and fed it to Yasin, who was seated next to her. “Salma, you must be hungry too; take some and eat,” Fatima said. “I don’t want it, Ma; you eat it. You haven’t eaten since morning.” “Even if I die without eating, I will be happy. You and Yasin must live on. Our bloodline must not perish but survive for generations.” Her words, again, brought memories of her husband Rashid to her mind. - They survived a week on that bag of bread. Afterward, they wondered how many days can one go on with only water? Fatima's eyesight began to fade. Salma did not even have the strength to walk, so she remained lying down. Suddenly, the sounds of plates began to erupt in the camp. Salma, exhausted from hunger, began to feel a wave of energy spread through her body. On the other end, without any energy at all, Fatima lay on the floor. Salma was terrified that she would die of hunger. Looking at Salma, who had hurriedly come out, the woman in the neighboring tent told her, “Salma, take your pot. They have allowed relief supplies at the border. But the army has closed the street you usually take. They have also put up a warning sign saying, “If you cross, you will be shot.” The relief supplies may run out before you can go around the streets that the army has allowed, so leave immediately.” Salma looked at Fatima's face. Disturbed, Fatima immediately understood the meaning of Salma's gaze. “No… don't go that way!” she said softly but firmly, as hunger laced her voice. But Fatima's life was too important to Salma. She kissed her baby Yasin eagerly on the cheek. In that moment, Yasin felt the scent of motherhood embracing him in his entirety. Considering the need for time and relief, Salma quickly took the plate and left. At the end of the street where she had lived, more than twenty men, women, and children in the camp were hiding behind a wall, watching the army’s movement closely. If they were able to cross onto the lane on the other side of the street, while the army’s watch was relaxed for a few moments, they could reach the relief camp in no time. Their courage to play with death was catalyzed by the truth that in each of their homes, there were people like Fatima, whose lives were being held on by a thread. Salma joined them. Thinking that the army on either end of the street was asleep, they started walking, yet the eyes of one soldier caught them crossing. The alarm that he sounded awakened the other soldiers, and bullets began to rain from their guns. The eyes of the dead that fell remained wide open in thought of the starving. The plates brought to gather relief were splattered with blood. ∎ SUB-HEAD Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Photographer unknown. Wild peppergrass (L. chalepense L. ), ca. 1900–20, from Wild Flowers of Palestine . Source: Library of Congress SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Gaza Palestine Tamil Fiction Solidarity Short Story India Genocide Solomon P. is a writer who has authored two novels: "Vasanthaththai Thedi" (“In Search of Spring”) and "Puzhal Sirai" (“Puzhal Prison”). His political essays have been published in Tamil print media. He is also a social activist. In his youth, he directly witnessed and experienced caste atrocities. For more than twenty years, he has been actively involved in anti-caste and democratic movements. As a result, he has endured many instances of police brutality. He has consistently raised his voice in Tamil Nadu’s public sphere in support of both Palestinian liberation and Tamil Eelam independence, working alongside democratic forces. 24 Jun 2026 Gaza Palestine 24th Jun 2026 The Tortured Roof Vrinda Jagota 2nd May Occupation and Osmosis Ryan Biller 26th Oct Food Organizing at Columbia's Gaza Encampment Surina Venkat 24th Sep What Does Solidarity Mean? Azad Essa · Heba Gowayed · Tehila Sasson · Suchitra Vijayan 8th Apr Zohran Kwame Mamdani on Palestine in 2021 Zohran Kwame Mamdani 5th Jun On That Note:

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Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. FICTION & POETRY Gaza’s Street Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. GENERAL GAZA AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Photographer unknown. Wild peppergrass (L. chalepense L. ), ca. 1900–20, from Wild Flowers of Palestine . Source: Library of Congress ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Photographer unknown. Wild peppergrass (L. chalepense L. ), ca. 1900–20, from Wild Flowers of Palestine . Source: Library of Congress SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Gaza Palestine 24th Jun 2026 Gaza Palestine Tamil Fiction Solidarity Short Story India Genocide Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. The restless Mediterranean water struggles in endless desperation to lift the peace that lies within its ocean depths to meet the shores of Gaza. Humid winds awakened by the waves reach out to the refugee camp residing by its side to wipe away the imprints of tears and blood that weigh on the souls that dwell there. The salted air that once blew through houses undestroyed by bombs, through the babbling smiles of children, through the pranks and joys of its youth, through the resting elders, and through the pleasures of lust between couples now blows through tents filled with withering lives, in search of all that has been lost. Vulnerable to rain, cold, heat, and bombs, the refugee camp consists of hundreds of small tents so closely packed together that even hushed whispers are heard as cataclysmic inconveniences. When rumors of bombings spread, the people of the camp, like anxious flapping birds burrowing within their nests, bury themselves within the smallness of their tents. Through the tent opening, their eyes fearfully watch the skies with intent, as their bodies tremble on the soil. They only come out from hiding, in those fleeting moments when the skies bear no weapons, when only peaceful clouds dwell in the vastness of sunlight. In moments when the fear subsides, the elderly Fatima reminisces about the past. - It was only a few months ago that both her husband Ahmed, who had already lost his left leg, and their son Rashid, were swallowed whole by the bomb’s heat. Afterward, Salma, her young daughter-in-law, and Yasin, her two-year-old grandson, were her only roots of existence. In their small lives within the camp tents, Salma raised her son, shielding him from the memories of his father. Fatima, on the other hand, wanted Salma to be freed from the hauntings of her husband’s death. Yet even when Fatima cared for Salma as a mother, it was difficult for her to unburden the worry that had settled deep within Salma's eyes. “They are giving out relief supplies at the UN office. I will go and get them. Until then, you go speak with folks in the other tents,” Fatima told her daughter-in-law that day. Salma, however, retorted, “You stay at home and take care of Yasin; I will go and get them," and she walked the long journey to get the supplies. The most important reason why Salma went to get the supplies was because it allowed her to walk through the same streets where she had once happily lived with her family. But now, the Israeli army, alleging the presence of “terrorsim” on Gaza’s streets, brought entire roads under their sudden control. In these moments, they prohibited people from traveling that way. Even though the journey was long, Salma knew that to get the relief supplies, this street that they once lived on, was the best shortcut. She knew every nook and cranny of this path. If she travelled through the other streets, it would take her further and longer to reach, and by then the relief supplies would have finished as well. Without walking straight down the road, and using certain alleyways instead, you could reach the relief center easier. It was for this reason, too, that she used this street to travel. Whenever she passed through the alleys, Salma would be consumed by the scent of life that once came from these now desecrated houses. In those moments, blissful memories of her husband spread through her heart. Even when they brought her to tears, she would remember the memories fondly. They made each burdening moment much lighter to endure. Just like her, many people walked barefoot along that narrow, unpaved street. Some even travelled through the alleys, bringing their small children along with them. Yasin would often adamantly grab her scarf, saying, “I’m coming too,” in his babbling innocence, but she would firmly deny him. Salma didn't like the idea of seeing her child among the suffocating crowd, holding up a plate to beg for food. That is why, because she came alone, the three of them shared the relief supplies that were meant for one. - Today, the sun had reached its peak. Even though the scorching heat on the street was taking a toll on her bare feet, she continued walking down the street, bearing the longing that she would soon enter the street where they once lived. Her reminiscing led her mind to what once was. Her husband used to run a small provisions store in front of their house. The residents of the area bought their goods from that shop. They lived a bountiful life, with no shortage of food and necessities. Yet Rashid believed that the happiness of the nation was far greater than the happiness of individual life. He secretly contributed a part of his income to the liberation movement. “I should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that has been made impossible. My son should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that too was made impossible. But my grandson or granddaughter will learn to take their first steps on the soil of a liberated Palestine. Inshallah,” he would ritualistically say to Salma whenever they were alone. “Then why didn't you join the movement?” she once asked. A man drowning in sorrow, he took a deep breath and said, “In my childhood, because a bomb fell on our house, my father lost his left leg. After which my mother started a small shop while also looking after my father and the family. I have no siblings and I am an only child. Hence when I grew up, I had to take on the responsibility of the family. But I will have four or five sons, one for the house and the others for the nation, and for that, I am ready to face any anguish that may come my way.” “You may be ready, but as a mother, how can I sacrifice my children to war?” Salma said, jokingly, yet Rashid's face shrunk at these words. With furrowed skin on his forehead, reddened cheeks, and a depth in his eyes, he spoke. “No, Salma, you have to be prepared for that. Our land, which has lived prosperously for hundreds of years, was taken from us in decades by them. Through the help of imperialist nations, they first took our soil through sorcery. Then they destroyed our state through war. Through this, they reaped our happiness away from us. The soul of our nation now withers as flowers without pollen and as birds without wings. To reclaim the pollen that we have lost, to soar once more with the wings that we have lost, we need war, we need weapons. For that, I am contributing the wage from my labor towards that. War needs men, and for that war I want to raise and give my sons.” “Your wish can only come true if you stop talking,” Salma said with a smile. Rashid's eyes glistened with joy. Freed from the thoughts of the past, she now entered the street where she used to live. The narrow street was lined with collapsed apartments. The buildings that were not yet completely destroyed were wounded with bullet holes—evidence of gunfire between the two sides. Some of the collapsed buildings had been walled up with clothes. Within some of them, families were being raised. These people preferred the solitude of the ruins over living among the crowded camps. Today, unlike most days, the number of armed Israeli soldiers on this street was unusually high, making her feel a peculiar form of anxiety. Salma crossed the street where she had once lived and approached the relief camp. A great crowd was present, with plates in their hands, struggling amongst each other. The aggravating sound of the plates clashing with one another and the raised voices demanding food made Salma feel as if her heart were tearing. “Get it somehow. It seems that even relief supplies won't be coming after this. The Israeli army is blocking even the relief supplies that are coming to us at the border. We don’t know when this problem will be resolved. Until then, only this food will save us. So try to get it quickly somehow,” a middle-aged man told her camp, but Salma didn't have the heart to be among the crowd, begging for food with a plate. Even though she wanted to stay hungry until the problem at the border was over, the faces of Yasin and the elderly Fatima came before her eyes. Because of that, she too stood among the horde, pleading. The more she raised her plate and shouted for food, the more her heart wailed in shame. Usually, she would get wheat, rice, and tahini sauce, but today, she only got one packet of bread. The thought of the very few days three people could survive on the bread haunted her. Her heart yearned for the possibility of someone giving them two more packets of bread. “The kinds of lowly thoughts war subjects a person to. It first seeks to destroy the feelings of self-respect. This is what the Israelis expect from the Palestinians. Even if we die of hunger, it is alright. We should not give in and lose our self-respect,” she decided in her mind. At that moment, she felt as though her husband Rashid was walking by her side. With this thought, she returned to the camp along the street where she had once lived. When Fatima saw Salma's face and the plate she had brought, she said, "This is what they have been longing for for a long time. They may have been annoyed that even when they have taken our lands, homes, and lives, we still have our dignity. So they are trying to starve us to death and bring us to our knees. Ya Allah, is there no end to their brutality?” As she prayed to God, she took a piece of bread from the bag and fed it to Yasin, who was seated next to her. “Salma, you must be hungry too; take some and eat,” Fatima said. “I don’t want it, Ma; you eat it. You haven’t eaten since morning.” “Even if I die without eating, I will be happy. You and Yasin must live on. Our bloodline must not perish but survive for generations.” Her words, again, brought memories of her husband Rashid to her mind. - They survived a week on that bag of bread. Afterward, they wondered how many days can one go on with only water? Fatima's eyesight began to fade. Salma did not even have the strength to walk, so she remained lying down. Suddenly, the sounds of plates began to erupt in the camp. Salma, exhausted from hunger, began to feel a wave of energy spread through her body. On the other end, without any energy at all, Fatima lay on the floor. Salma was terrified that she would die of hunger. Looking at Salma, who had hurriedly come out, the woman in the neighboring tent told her, “Salma, take your pot. They have allowed relief supplies at the border. But the army has closed the street you usually take. They have also put up a warning sign saying, “If you cross, you will be shot.” The relief supplies may run out before you can go around the streets that the army has allowed, so leave immediately.” Salma looked at Fatima's face. Disturbed, Fatima immediately understood the meaning of Salma's gaze. “No… don't go that way!” she said softly but firmly, as hunger laced her voice. But Fatima's life was too important to Salma. She kissed her baby Yasin eagerly on the cheek. In that moment, Yasin felt the scent of motherhood embracing him in his entirety. Considering the need for time and relief, Salma quickly took the plate and left. At the end of the street where she had lived, more than twenty men, women, and children in the camp were hiding behind a wall, watching the army’s movement closely. If they were able to cross onto the lane on the other side of the street, while the army’s watch was relaxed for a few moments, they could reach the relief camp in no time. Their courage to play with death was catalyzed by the truth that in each of their homes, there were people like Fatima, whose lives were being held on by a thread. Salma joined them. Thinking that the army on either end of the street was asleep, they started walking, yet the eyes of one soldier caught them crossing. The alarm that he sounded awakened the other soldiers, and bullets began to rain from their guns. The eyes of the dead that fell remained wide open in thought of the starving. The plates brought to gather relief were splattered with blood. ∎ More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

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Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. | · FICTION & POETRY Gaza · Palestine Gaza’s Street Through this short work of fiction, a Tamil writer extends solidarity to Gaza, bringing to light the torment and suffering of ordinary lives during genocide. Photographer unknown. Wild peppergrass (L. chalepense L. ), ca. 1900–20, from Wild Flowers of Palestine . Source: Library of Congress The restless Mediterranean water struggles in endless desperation to lift the peace that lies within its ocean depths to meet the shores of Gaza. Humid winds awakened by the waves reach out to the refugee camp residing by its side to wipe away the imprints of tears and blood that weigh on the souls that dwell there. The salted air that once blew through houses undestroyed by bombs, through the babbling smiles of children, through the pranks and joys of its youth, through the resting elders, and through the pleasures of lust between couples now blows through tents filled with withering lives, in search of all that has been lost. Vulnerable to rain, cold, heat, and bombs, the refugee camp consists of hundreds of small tents so closely packed together that even hushed whispers are heard as cataclysmic inconveniences. When rumors of bombings spread, the people of the camp, like anxious flapping birds burrowing within their nests, bury themselves within the smallness of their tents. Through the tent opening, their eyes fearfully watch the skies with intent, as their bodies tremble on the soil. They only come out from hiding, in those fleeting moments when the skies bear no weapons, when only peaceful clouds dwell in the vastness of sunlight. In moments when the fear subsides, the elderly Fatima reminisces about the past. - It was only a few months ago that both her husband Ahmed, who had already lost his left leg, and their son Rashid, were swallowed whole by the bomb’s heat. Afterward, Salma, her young daughter-in-law, and Yasin, her two-year-old grandson, were her only roots of existence. In their small lives within the camp tents, Salma raised her son, shielding him from the memories of his father. Fatima, on the other hand, wanted Salma to be freed from the hauntings of her husband’s death. Yet even when Fatima cared for Salma as a mother, it was difficult for her to unburden the worry that had settled deep within Salma's eyes. “They are giving out relief supplies at the UN office. I will go and get them. Until then, you go speak with folks in the other tents,” Fatima told her daughter-in-law that day. Salma, however, retorted, “You stay at home and take care of Yasin; I will go and get them," and she walked the long journey to get the supplies. The most important reason why Salma went to get the supplies was because it allowed her to walk through the same streets where she had once happily lived with her family. But now, the Israeli army, alleging the presence of “terrorsim” on Gaza’s streets, brought entire roads under their sudden control. In these moments, they prohibited people from traveling that way. Even though the journey was long, Salma knew that to get the relief supplies, this street that they once lived on, was the best shortcut. She knew every nook and cranny of this path. If she travelled through the other streets, it would take her further and longer to reach, and by then the relief supplies would have finished as well. Without walking straight down the road, and using certain alleyways instead, you could reach the relief center easier. It was for this reason, too, that she used this street to travel. Whenever she passed through the alleys, Salma would be consumed by the scent of life that once came from these now desecrated houses. In those moments, blissful memories of her husband spread through her heart. Even when they brought her to tears, she would remember the memories fondly. They made each burdening moment much lighter to endure. Just like her, many people walked barefoot along that narrow, unpaved street. Some even travelled through the alleys, bringing their small children along with them. Yasin would often adamantly grab her scarf, saying, “I’m coming too,” in his babbling innocence, but she would firmly deny him. Salma didn't like the idea of seeing her child among the suffocating crowd, holding up a plate to beg for food. That is why, because she came alone, the three of them shared the relief supplies that were meant for one. - Today, the sun had reached its peak. Even though the scorching heat on the street was taking a toll on her bare feet, she continued walking down the street, bearing the longing that she would soon enter the street where they once lived. Her reminiscing led her mind to what once was. Her husband used to run a small provisions store in front of their house. The residents of the area bought their goods from that shop. They lived a bountiful life, with no shortage of food and necessities. Yet Rashid believed that the happiness of the nation was far greater than the happiness of individual life. He secretly contributed a part of his income to the liberation movement. “I should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that has been made impossible. My son should have been born in a liberated Palestine, but that too was made impossible. But my grandson or granddaughter will learn to take their first steps on the soil of a liberated Palestine. Inshallah,” he would ritualistically say to Salma whenever they were alone. “Then why didn't you join the movement?” she once asked. A man drowning in sorrow, he took a deep breath and said, “In my childhood, because a bomb fell on our house, my father lost his left leg. After which my mother started a small shop while also looking after my father and the family. I have no siblings and I am an only child. Hence when I grew up, I had to take on the responsibility of the family. But I will have four or five sons, one for the house and the others for the nation, and for that, I am ready to face any anguish that may come my way.” “You may be ready, but as a mother, how can I sacrifice my children to war?” Salma said, jokingly, yet Rashid's face shrunk at these words. With furrowed skin on his forehead, reddened cheeks, and a depth in his eyes, he spoke. “No, Salma, you have to be prepared for that. Our land, which has lived prosperously for hundreds of years, was taken from us in decades by them. Through the help of imperialist nations, they first took our soil through sorcery. Then they destroyed our state through war. Through this, they reaped our happiness away from us. The soul of our nation now withers as flowers without pollen and as birds without wings. To reclaim the pollen that we have lost, to soar once more with the wings that we have lost, we need war, we need weapons. For that, I am contributing the wage from my labor towards that. War needs men, and for that war I want to raise and give my sons.” “Your wish can only come true if you stop talking,” Salma said with a smile. Rashid's eyes glistened with joy. Freed from the thoughts of the past, she now entered the street where she used to live. The narrow street was lined with collapsed apartments. The buildings that were not yet completely destroyed were wounded with bullet holes—evidence of gunfire between the two sides. Some of the collapsed buildings had been walled up with clothes. Within some of them, families were being raised. These people preferred the solitude of the ruins over living among the crowded camps. Today, unlike most days, the number of armed Israeli soldiers on this street was unusually high, making her feel a peculiar form of anxiety. Salma crossed the street where she had once lived and approached the relief camp. A great crowd was present, with plates in their hands, struggling amongst each other. The aggravating sound of the plates clashing with one another and the raised voices demanding food made Salma feel as if her heart were tearing. “Get it somehow. It seems that even relief supplies won't be coming after this. The Israeli army is blocking even the relief supplies that are coming to us at the border. We don’t know when this problem will be resolved. Until then, only this food will save us. So try to get it quickly somehow,” a middle-aged man told her camp, but Salma didn't have the heart to be among the crowd, begging for food with a plate. Even though she wanted to stay hungry until the problem at the border was over, the faces of Yasin and the elderly Fatima came before her eyes. Because of that, she too stood among the horde, pleading. The more she raised her plate and shouted for food, the more her heart wailed in shame. Usually, she would get wheat, rice, and tahini sauce, but today, she only got one packet of bread. The thought of the very few days three people could survive on the bread haunted her. Her heart yearned for the possibility of someone giving them two more packets of bread. “The kinds of lowly thoughts war subjects a person to. It first seeks to destroy the feelings of self-respect. This is what the Israelis expect from the Palestinians. Even if we die of hunger, it is alright. We should not give in and lose our self-respect,” she decided in her mind. At that moment, she felt as though her husband Rashid was walking by her side. With this thought, she returned to the camp along the street where she had once lived. When Fatima saw Salma's face and the plate she had brought, she said, "This is what they have been longing for for a long time. They may have been annoyed that even when they have taken our lands, homes, and lives, we still have our dignity. So they are trying to starve us to death and bring us to our knees. Ya Allah, is there no end to their brutality?” As she prayed to God, she took a piece of bread from the bag and fed it to Yasin, who was seated next to her. “Salma, you must be hungry too; take some and eat,” Fatima said. “I don’t want it, Ma; you eat it. You haven’t eaten since morning.” “Even if I die without eating, I will be happy. You and Yasin must live on. Our bloodline must not perish but survive for generations.” Her words, again, brought memories of her husband Rashid to her mind. - They survived a week on that bag of bread. Afterward, they wondered how many days can one go on with only water? Fatima's eyesight began to fade. Salma did not even have the strength to walk, so she remained lying down. Suddenly, the sounds of plates began to erupt in the camp. Salma, exhausted from hunger, began to feel a wave of energy spread through her body. On the other end, without any energy at all, Fatima lay on the floor. Salma was terrified that she would die of hunger. Looking at Salma, who had hurriedly come out, the woman in the neighboring tent told her, “Salma, take your pot. They have allowed relief supplies at the border. But the army has closed the street you usually take. They have also put up a warning sign saying, “If you cross, you will be shot.” The relief supplies may run out before you can go around the streets that the army has allowed, so leave immediately.” Salma looked at Fatima's face. Disturbed, Fatima immediately understood the meaning of Salma's gaze. “No… don't go that way!” she said softly but firmly, as hunger laced her voice. But Fatima's life was too important to Salma. She kissed her baby Yasin eagerly on the cheek. In that moment, Yasin felt the scent of motherhood embracing him in his entirety. Considering the need for time and relief, Salma quickly took the plate and left. At the end of the street where she had lived, more than twenty men, women, and children in the camp were hiding behind a wall, watching the army’s movement closely. If they were able to cross onto the lane on the other side of the street, while the army’s watch was relaxed for a few moments, they could reach the relief camp in no time. Their courage to play with death was catalyzed by the truth that in each of their homes, there were people like Fatima, whose lives were being held on by a thread. Salma joined them. Thinking that the army on either end of the street was asleep, they started walking, yet the eyes of one soldier caught them crossing. The alarm that he sounded awakened the other soldiers, and bullets began to rain from their guns. The eyes of the dead that fell remained wide open in thought of the starving. The plates brought to gather relief were splattered with blood. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Gaza Palestine Tamil Fiction Solidarity Short Story India Genocide Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 24th Jun 2026 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

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