Message from Dien Bien

As May arrives, the sun begins to cast a golden hue on the leaves, and it is also the time when my grandfather's memories stir restlessly. He is now over ninety years old. His eyes are dimming, his thin hands are marked with countless age spots, but whenever the words "Dien Bien Phu" are mentioned, his usual weary demeanor suddenly disappears. He tells stories in a clear, resonant voice, as if he were standing in the middle of that battlefield.

For him, the days of "digging tunnels in the mountains, sleeping in bunkers, enduring torrential rain, and eating meager rations" in 1954 are not just words lying dormant on the pages of his schoolbooks; they still resonate in his old wounds whenever the weather changes, aching as if it were yesterday. It was his youth, flesh and blood, and the comrades who lay buried behind the mists of Northwest Vietnam – a part of his life that, though time may cover it with dust, he will never forget.

He recounted that back then, the whole country was rushing to the front lines, the atmosphere as enthusiastic as a festival. Countless volunteer applications were submitted, with people following in the footsteps of those before them without hesitation. There are stories that a grandchild born in peacetime like me can hardly imagine. Like the story of Mr. Trinh Dinh Bam in Dinh Lien commune (formerly Yen Dinh district, Thanh Hoa province), a fellow villager of my grandfather, who dismantled his ancestral altar to use the wood to make wheelbarrows for transporting supplies. The altar is the most sacred and revered place, yet when the country needed it, people were ready to sacrifice everything, keeping nothing for themselves.

Back then, he belonged to a medical transport unit, always close to the front lines. Recalling the rainy days at Dien Bien Phu , he shuddered slightly. The muddy trenches were knee-deep, and he and his comrades had to raise their arms high, carrying the stretchers on their heads to keep the wounded from getting dirty. “The mud mixed with the blood of our comrades fell on our faces and heads; it was heartbreaking,” he said, his eyes gazing into the distance as if encountering the faces of the past amidst the smoke of gunfire. On the treacherous Pha Din Pass, convoys of carts followed one another across the ravine, carrying hundreds of kilograms of rice and salt to the front lines – a feat that perhaps even the enemy couldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams.

Listening to him recount his story, I realized that in his memory, Dien Bien Phu was not just about the sound of gunfire. There was also the salty taste of sweat mixed with blood, the pungent smell of damp earth after the rain, and the gentle aroma of a bowl of freshly cooked rice with cassava soup that the soldiers shared at the entrance of the bunker. For some reason, these simple things were what he remembered most vividly, even after more than seventy years had passed.

On May 7th of that year, when the thousand-pound explosive charge shook Hill A1 and the red flag with a yellow star fluttered atop the De Castries bunker, my grandfather and his comrades embraced each other and wept like children. They wept because they knew they were still alive, because peace had truly arrived. And they wept for those who would forever rest at the foot of Him Lam Hill and Hill A1, leaving their youthful lives behind in the red soil of Northwest Vietnam.

Now, every May, I see him quietly taking out his old canteen or rusty iron bowl to clean it. These are relics from the wartime era, and he cherishes them as if they still hold warmth. Then he lights an incense stick and turns his face towards the northwest. In the hazy smoke, I wonder what he is seeing again—perhaps faces blackened by gunpowder smoke, the bright smiles of youth left behind halfway up the mountain slope.

Looking at him, I understood that Dien Bien Phu was never a thing of the past. It was still there, embedded in his blood and flesh, even in the age spots on those thin, gaunt hands. It was the place where the soldiers of yesteryear were still guarding the peace of today, and it was also where I found the answer to who I am and where I begin.

According to Dien Bien Newspaper

Source: https://baoangiang.com.vn/loi-nhan-dien-bien-a485155.html