A sleeply little hamlet a little west of Islamabad. It's six in the morning and life in all its present forms wakes up to a new dawn. Ayesha nudges her husband -it's time to go to work. Abdul hesitates, yawns, hesitates again, and forces himself up. Ayesha was late today - she should know better. Abdul needs to go to the city to apply for a job as a security guard in one of Islamabad's swanky new residential complexes. He curses, rubs his eyes, and hurries to take in a cold shower. Water - the essence of life. Heat - what he does not have. Bloody Americans. They keep resources from Muslims. Pakistan struggles because America is consuming all of the oil. The water runs, soothing his mind. A silent patter. A shimmering puddle. A cool drop. Let the water wash away the anger.
The newspaper man brings in the latest from around the world. "More Iraqis killed!", "Americans negociate a billion dollar military deal with Israel!", "Arab woman killed in New York City!", "United States forms nuclear defence pact with India". Abdul scans the first few pages - he cannot read. He can see. Pictures. Everywhere. Iraqi children being beaten by American forces. Women walking around Iraq with no veil to keep away inquisitive eyes. The greed for oil. The hatred in the west. And the pictures are always the same. The cleric told him of the hate. The cleric knows all. The cleric believes American deaths will cause peace. Abdul believes him. The cleric cannot lie - he is the learned one. He can read the Quran and he is true. He has to meet the cleric. The interview can wait- Abbas will understand. The front door opens to a soothing breeze but an angry man. Ayesha looks longingly at the man she loved, watching him dissapear into the valley.
Chaos! The cleric must be having a rally this afternoon. Abdul looks up in astonishment as hundreds of people raise their arms and scream. Allah's soldiers. That's what the cleric calls them. He brushes past and demands to speak to the all-knowing one. The cleric is speaking to someone - calm as ever. Abdul patiently waits and soon enough, the cleric motions him in. "They have pulled out the final straw, my son." This is the final battle and Abdul knows it. He is prepared but he must know more. What did the straw signify? The cleric peers deep into Abdul's dark brown eyes. "They have humiliated our prophet. They are laughing at our religion. The religion we live for. The religion we promised Allah we would die for." Abdul's eyes well up - A picture of the prophet? The prophet must not be idolized! And especially not humiliated! The cleric grabs Abdul's head and tells him his time is near. Ayesha must not know and Ayesha need not know. There will be maidens with fruit and tea in the heavens. He will not miss Ayesha. God needs him and God knows all.
Abdul's job is simple. Put himself in the firing line so the guards at the consulate will be distracted. Rahman and his all-conquering troop can then plant the explosives at the specified locations. He will die. So will Rahman. The cleric knows all. Abdul walks with his fellow soldiers into the city. There will be innocent Muslim men, women, and children who will be killed by the blast. They will also go to heaven and will be thankful to Abdul for taking them away from this world. The cleric knows all. Abdul walks past posters depicting Jews as the cursed ones. American flags being burnt. It does not matter that his fellow muslims are satirizing other religions. It does not matter that his fellow citizens are burning soveriegn flags of other nations. What does matter is that when Islam is humiliated, the world must pay. The cleric knows all.
Gunshots. People running everywhere. Abdul runs too - he follows Rahman upto the consulate gate. Who told the Americans? Who betrayed us? A sniper bullet travels through Rahman's brain and takes away his feelings, his emotions, his life. Abdul runs. "Abdul! Stop right there!". Abdul's stomach turns upside down. A familiar voice, a voice that he used to love. Fury. Rage. Betrayal. "Ayesha! How could you!". Gunshots. Three bullets take away Abdul's life. Three bullets for a cleric. Three bullets for Islam. Three bullets for the heavens.
The cleric grabs another man's head and tells him of the heavens. The cleric knows all.
©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.
6 comments:
you dont like it?!, why not?...i really liked it, it was so sad, made me sigh...you really have this knack of story telling in the midst of reality, its great...and thats one thing thats so often forgotten: is the stories of ppl, who live thru all the news and chaos and death and political opinions...its the stories (and narrative), that if and when they do get told, have potential to affect hearts unlike what mere reports can...great job, govind, and keep 'em coming :)...
also, are you gonna comply with my tag? ;)
haha..thanks roshni..yeah im liking it more now..what do u mean by comply with yr tag? do i have to do something from my side? sure ill comply but ive abs no idea what to do :)
I should have explained...since I 'tagged' you, you have to answer those three questions--gender, qualities and tag others...:)
Aww..Damn..I guess I have to comply..I'll do it this weekend :)
Trust me, its not that bad...quite painless, and good harmless entertainment for the reader ;)
this is an awesome blog govind..i read quite a few posts..you are a pretty neat story teller..maybe you should publish someday..and give me an autograph or something..jk..great stuff - write on! - s.
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