There is crime and there is punishment. The crime, full stop. It's a criminal act. It cannot be reversed. Punishment cannot right the wrong. There is hardly any redemption. Punishment is a poor instrument of deterrence, and most often it fails even in that. Going above the man-made instruments of punishments, we have the divine system of justice, For crimes, where man-made system of justice fails to deliver redemption, we expect the divinity to set it right. But what of mass crimes? What of Nazi Holocausts, communist purgings, religious ans racial genocides? The equation of right and wrong loses its meaning. It's just crimes, A massive wrong. Forget about mankind's justice, even wildest stretch of faith in divine redemption fails to get even an iota of justice.Does it mean that the mass crime stands unredeemed? Forever. Does it just keep casting its shadows over the present, creeping into the future, almost forever. Just waiting to be redeemed. And forgotten finally. Or forgiven more suitably.
The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. A song of humanity amidst mass crime. A depiction of human hate and lust for power in Nazi occupied France in second world war. France is virtually menless. Men are in prison. Women hold the baton of life. It's a dark cloud over, taking their smiles away. They are wives, mothers, daughters, sisters and lovers. But only in memory. The males who identify them as such are missing. They have to survive. When they can no longer fight to save their body, they fight to save their soul. For future. For the victory of humanity over monstrosity. For their men. To give them fresh lease of life, if at all they return after war. Forget about redemption. The survival of love in a woman's heart for her man, despite all the wrongs to her body in his absence, is still a better right then millions of wrongs by criminal souls. It is here that the question of redemption becomes irrelevant. Like a small lamp drives away millions of particles of darkness with its tiny flicker, The women of France keep the torch alive. Beacon of hope, of love, of a possibility in times to come, an urge to relive the moments that sound farther than wildest dreams, In the backdrop of Nazi holocausts, they move silently, unheroically, carrying love in their eyes, hopes in their laps and seeds of humanity in their womb. Read it. It might help you in being a still better human being. .
The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. A song of humanity amidst mass crime. A depiction of human hate and lust for power in Nazi occupied France in second world war. France is virtually menless. Men are in prison. Women hold the baton of life. It's a dark cloud over, taking their smiles away. They are wives, mothers, daughters, sisters and lovers. But only in memory. The males who identify them as such are missing. They have to survive. When they can no longer fight to save their body, they fight to save their soul. For future. For the victory of humanity over monstrosity. For their men. To give them fresh lease of life, if at all they return after war. Forget about redemption. The survival of love in a woman's heart for her man, despite all the wrongs to her body in his absence, is still a better right then millions of wrongs by criminal souls. It is here that the question of redemption becomes irrelevant. Like a small lamp drives away millions of particles of darkness with its tiny flicker, The women of France keep the torch alive. Beacon of hope, of love, of a possibility in times to come, an urge to relive the moments that sound farther than wildest dreams, In the backdrop of Nazi holocausts, they move silently, unheroically, carrying love in their eyes, hopes in their laps and seeds of humanity in their womb. Read it. It might help you in being a still better human being. .
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