সেপ্টেম্বর 22, 2026

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Still Waiting to Be Chosen

(Inspired by the bond between Traveller and Robert E. Lee during the American Civil War)

In war, men often spoke of loyalty as though it were a glorious thing. They carved it into speeches, painted it into banners, wrapped it around dying words so death itself would sound honorable. But loyalty, in truth, was rarely beautiful even if it had become little more than a word spoken before betrayal. Most of the time it was simply endurance wearing the face of devotion. Before the smoke of war swallowed nations whole, before the sound of marching boots became the rhythm of survival, there still existed creatures incapable of deception. Creatures that stayed. Not because they were weak enough to endure suffering, but because devotion had become their nature long before cruelty ever found them.

This is not the story of a general. Nor the story of war. It is the story of a creature that kept giving pieces of itself to someone who never truly stopped searching for more. There was only a horse and the man who chose him. Or at least the horse believed he had been chosen. The general had chosen him himself. He was not the finest horse in the South, not the tallest, not the strongest,not the fastest. There were always others.Better bloodlines, better posture, younger legs untouched by exhaustion.Yet somehow, whenever the roads became too difficult for those better choices to endure, the master returned to him. Yet his hand had rested upon him.That single moment became the beginning of everything.

The horse was named Traveller.The first time the horse carried Robert E. Lee, the reins were gentle. The man’s hands did not pull harshly. His voice was calm, almost respectful, and the horse mistook restraint for kindness. That was the beginning of his devotion. War came slowly at first. Then all at once. The roads became mud and blood.
Forests became graveyards and the sky itself seemed permanently stained with smoke. Through it all, Traveller carried the man forward. Across collapsing battle lines when storms swallowed camps. Across sleepless nights and endless marches when supplies vanished. Across fields where men screamed for mothers, for God, for mercy that never arrived when younger horses collapsed beneath exhaustion. The general returned to the one creature who never refused him. The horse endured everything. Because every time his body threatened to fail, the master would lean close and whisper softly against his neck:

“Just a little farther.”

And the horse believed him always. And each time Robert returned,Traveller mistook dependence for love. That was the cruelest part. The master was never entirely unkind. If he had been cruel all the time, hatred would have been easier. But kindness came in fragments. A softer touch after a brutal march, a careful brushing after weeks of neglect, a quiet voice during storms. Just enough affection to keep devotion alive. Just enough hope to make suffering feel meaningful. So, traveler endured. Even as his body slowly began to betray him. Years passed that way. Pain followed by tenderness. Exhaustion followed by reassurance. It no longer knew where devotion ended and dependency began. The winters became unbearable. Cold settled into his joints like rust spreading through iron. His breathing grew heavier with every campaign, though he learned to hide it. Horses that showed weakness were replaced. And there were always replacements nearby. Travelersaw them. Young horses with clean coats and strong legs waiting in distant stables. Horses the officers admired openly while the master said nothing. The horse understood more than men believed animals could. He noticed the comparisons. Not spoken directly but present in silence. And for reasons he could not understand, fear settled heavier inside him during those nights than it ever had during battle. Not fear of death, fear of replacement. Still, whenever the war grew difficult, whenever the roads became too harsh for younger horses to endure, the master returned to him again. Because Travellerstayed. Always survived, always obeyed.

When camps fell silent except for distant coughing and dying fires, the horse sometimes watched the master standing among officers and maps. The man always looked beyond where he stood. Beyond the present, beyond him. As though searching for something greater that never quite arrived. And Traveller began to understand something terrible. He was not ‘The dream’. He was merely what carried the dream forward. But devotion, once rooted deeply enough, does not disappear simply because truth arrives. So he stayed. Even when every step hurts. Even when exhaustion became permanent. Even when the master’s affection started sounding less like love and more like gratitude toward something useful. “Good horse,” the man would whisper after impossible journeys. Not with warmth but with relief. The kind reserved for tools that had not broken yet.

Years passed like wounds refusing to close. The war consumed everything, villages,families. Boys who had barely learned how to shave. And still the master kept searching for victory in places where only ruin remained. Still he asked for more. Another march, another retreat, another impossible distance.Always:
“Just a little farther.”

Traveller stopped believing the words long before he stopped obeying them.

By the final year of the war, his body had become a map of quiet suffering. His legs trembled after long rides. Old injuries no longer healed properly. The strength that once carried armies now barely carried himself. But the master still climbed onto his back whenever things became difficult. Because despite all the searching, despite all the better horses that came and went, Travellerremained the one who endured. And perhaps that was his tragedy. Not that he was unloved. But that endurance became the only reason he was kept. Then came the end. Not dramatic, not glorious. Just exhausted silence spreading across broken men. The war was over. The dream had collapsed beneath its own weight. And for the first time in years, the master no longer needed carrying. Traveller waited anyway. He would stand perfectly still. Because despite everything he still wanted to be the place where the general rested. But loyalty has a terrible habit. It teaches suffering to feel honorable. Because waiting had become his nature. He watched roads empty of soldiers. Fields untouched by marching boots. A future slowly forming beyond him. The master still visited. Still touched his neck gently sometimes. Still spoke softly.But there was something missing now, the “Need”. And without being needed, affection suddenly felt unbearably thin.

One evening, the general stood before him in silence. There were no commands. No urgency. No battle waiting ahead. Only exhaustion. The general rested his forehead briefly against Traveller’s neck. And in that moment, the horse felt something dangerously close to happiness. Because after years of pain, creatures like him learn to survive on moments that would starve others. The war had taken something from both of them.

“I could not have done it without you,” he whispered.

Traveller closed his eyes. For one brief, fragile moment, he almost felt chosen. And like every loyal creature before him, he mistook gratitude for being chosen. But the words came too late. Because deep within the tired silence of his aging body, the horse already understood what the master never would.

He had spent his entire life carrying a man who was always looking beyond him. Toward victory, toward legacy, toward futures where devotion itself was never enough. And even after everything he had endured, the horse was still waiting to be chosen. Yet even then, whenever the general passed him, Traveller lifted his head instinctively. Still waiting, still hoping. Still believing that one day the hand resting briefly against his neck would finally mean:

You are enough.
I choose you above the others.
You may rest now.

But that moment never came.

Final Verdict

And even as his body weakened beneath the weight of years, Travellercontinued stepping toward the reins, still waiting for a love that only appeared whenever the general feared losing him. Because some creatures spend their entire lives being needed, without ever truly being chosen, but still waiting to be chosen.

শিক্ষার্থী | পরিসংখ্যান বিভাগ, ঢাকা বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়
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