If, for a moment, you suppress the awareness that this rendition extols the martyrdom of the soldiers we are at war with, you cannot escape a deep sense of sorrow on the futility of fighting, on the waste of death.
In a sense when we watch this emotional homage we come home to our own martyrs and understand some more the profound sorrow of the parents of our young soldiers that lay to waste their energetic, zestful life guarding our borders, on the inhospitable heights of the Himalayas, treacherous ravines, dense and dark jungles, waterless deserts, tumultuous rivers, turbulent high seas and up in the vast emptiness of the air.
We share some more in the pain and loneliness of our war widows, the unceasing emptiness and anxieties of the orphans left behind by our heroes. We tenderly feel the wrists of sisters forever waiting for the Rakhi of their brothers that will never return.
As we internalize these pains we realize some more the utterly disdainful crime of war in this day and age. While at one level we can hate the enemy, at another, human level we also share their pain of death.
Nobody, indeed, nobody at all needs to die. Not in these times when we can communicate, reason and argue. If - alas, if only - the men of goodwill on both sides arise and assert. For peace and friendship. And silence forever the war mongers that fail to feel these horrible and totally needless pains.