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The Chronicles of a Potential Terrorist (Part 2)

October 27, 2013


( part 1 : )

Day 82

The past 4 days have been better than the last two months. Keith and I have really started to bond, I don’t know why but he has this strange sort of pain in his eyes that just keeps me going to make him happy and on the other hand it gives me a reason to survive a bit I guess because, the agony he has faced is somehow or the other similar to mine. There was another attack on Wednesday, they hit a school this time, and the two customers at my shop were saying “luckily there were only 2 killed and half a dozen injured. Only the watchman and the janitor killed while the pedestrians on the street were merely bruised”.

Lucky? Merely bruised? What is this world coming to? What is this land of my forefathers coming to? The pity and pain for the loss of a single life has been banished to the deepest dungeons of our hearts. The two closest beings in my life have passed away due to these attacks and even I cant empathize with them, those little innocent souls, wondering what to play next, desiring to adopt the profession of a pilot when they grow up, excited about the day they were going to start their college, but feeling the pressure of that instant when the rocket hit, that fire, that blast… I can’t, my imagination stops me from going any farther. I haven’t been able to write and missed the entries for the past 4 days because the day after the last entry, I think it was a Tuesday, I went to Keith’s place after the therapy and forgot the journal there. Keith did not come to the therapy for 2 days, and when I knocked on his door the next morning, no one came out. I thought he had left the village yet again. But the next day he turned up and told the group that he was ill. I asked after the therapy that I went to his place but no one was there, I told him that I knocked several times. Then he said he remembered faintly that someone was knocking on the door. It was obvious that he was lying. I’m dead sure that he tried to bail again but something pulled him back. I wonder what that is. I asked for my journal and he brought it to the therapy next morning.

Day 83

Abdus Salaam, the young guy who used to sit next to me before I started to sit with Keith, has not been attending therapy for the past 3 days. This is the thing I’ve begin to like about this therapy. The brotherhood, its restoration after a long time. We have started to care for each other for instance the day I went to visit Keith, Aslam Ali accompanied me, and helped me by occupying my mind with little puns and riddles. The force that compelled him to accompany me is the brotherhood I’m talking about, and even the reason why I went to visit Keith in the first place is the same. But every rose has its spikes. Aslam Ali once again accompanied me to the residence of a member of our group, Abdus Salaam, the call centre employee at a telecom company franchise nearby. This time, upon our knocking the door, it opened a bit by itself. My companion said that we shouldn’t go inside, it is against the morals. But I did not have a good feeling about the appearance of the house. It was all dusty and lacking fresh air. The windows were closed. There was an upper story, which we approached slowly and wishing that we were imagining things after confirming that there was no one present at the ground floor. It only had one room and an open terrace. Slowly we walked to the door of that room, knocking it gently at first then banging it brutally. Aslam Ali was screaming out his name, and I was not sure what to do. After a very long minute, we decided to break it down. The door was not locked by keys instead only a steel wire was wound around the door knob and the nail in the wall, as if it was a last favor from Abdus Salaam in this world for the persons who discovered him hanging from a rope tied to the fan. This was the first corpse I had seen, the cause of which’s death was strangulation, voluntary or involuntary. How lifeless he looked, eyes closed, a bit of his tongue between his teeth, face bluish and the red marks around his neck. He did not have a beard, Aslam Ali however had one and it was soaked with tears at the moment. I grabbed him and bolted out the door as fast as I could, but during this act, my eyes caught something on the door, it had a carving on the inside, not the type that is done by the carpenters or the manufacturers of the door but a carving that looked like it had been done by a nail or a knife. It read:

هيله من يم، مرګ ښه احساس کوي

I hope there’s a better feeling in death

He was buried next to his parents who were killed in the first ever attack experienced by our area. Kamal Khan’s children and wife were there, yet again reciting Surah Yaseen.

Day 84

Therapy was cancelled today, after the incident yesterday, at the graveyard we all thought that it would be better if we just take a day off. The carving on the door has been bugging me and it did not help me sleep last night. The carving itself, or the words are not the things occupying all my attention but the feeling when he would have wrote those words, what would he be thinking, how did he drink the last glass of water, how did he write for the last time, how did he breathe for the last time deliberately…

I went to Keith’s place today, he was drinking. I did not interrupt him, nor did I express any opinion on his act. We didn’t talk for a while. During the time we were in each other’s company yet solitary, I was thinking how does he drink? Hi father passed away a long time ago. He has been living here among us, and as far as I know, there is no vendor. But these people have their links, and I decided to let the matter go. I finally started talking, and asked him how he was doing. He was good and after making the formal small talk, he snorted as he tried to joke about not being able to offer me the drink he was consuming. And just like that the incident was forgotten for some good 40 50 minutes until the topic of therapy came up and we both went a bit silent. I was about to leave when he blurted out that he lied about being ill, and he had gone somewhere. I behaved impassive and asked where did he go then? “It’s a rehabilitation program for the victims, I go there to help once in a while. It relaxes my soul” he said. Upon my asking that why did he lie about that, he said that if people were to find out that the village situated about four hours’ drive from here are being facilitated with a rehab program, they won’t like it and neither would they like the fellow who drives 4 hours to participate.

“I’ll take you there someday if you want me to” he said. Sure I replied, why not.

To be continued…

part 3: ( )


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