What They Said:
Rape me, my friend
Rape me, again
I am not the only one – Nirvana
Death: How It Felt:
Today is the fourth day from my death as I was shot dead on December 24, 2004 in Gujranwala, the heartland of Punjab – the land of five rivers, joy, happiness and above all, honor! I still can see my father holding me in his arms trying to stop the bleeding from my neck, chest, lower abdomen and my back. His eyes are dry. He is horrified. He cannot cry. He is yelling around for help – none comes. None even tries to form the usual circle that I used to always criticize for people had so much time to waste. Today, no one is willing to waste his or her time on a dying young girl.
I feebly turn my neck on my right side and there I see my rapists – all four of them – standing triumphantly, nagging with smiles on their faces and touting their guns. And then, one after the other, they start to run. Disappear. At large.
I look at my Abbu again. “You are the greatest Abbu and forgive me for my stupidities,” I tell him. I now see tears welling up in his eyes. “I am in great pain Abbu Ji,” I say. “I love you Abbu,” I tell him and he hugs me and cajoles my head.
I can hear the loud speakers of the mosque spreading the word of Allah. Allah-o-Akbar...Allah-o-Akbar...
Thank God. At once, I am feeling no pain for the pain is so piercing that it has numbed my senses to feel anything. The world is getting blurrier. The haze is soft but it’s getting darker. Even the glare of a shining sunny day doesn’t bother me and I turn my eyes to meet my father’s. Now, he’s crying. I smile. Touch his face. Wipe his tears. Close my eyes and feel the freedom. At last, I am free from all pains. An unbearable lightness engulfs me. I smile with joy as I look around, yet again. I am finally dead and it’s the Freedom of Death. Thank God!
Who I Am:
My name is Aisha. I am the only daughter of my parents. A naughty but caring sister of five brothers. All older than I. In a society where women are divorced or at times, burnt alive for not producing sons, my mother had a different story altogether. She was under severe criticism and pressure for not bearing a daughter. “Your father warned me that he wanted to have a daughter this time,” my mother, Amna, used to tell me. “He was so happy when he saw you and I felt secure,” my mother cuddled me while combing my hair on the Holy day of Friday.
As I grew up, I discovered that it was all about security for females if they were to grow up. Security of mother when I was very little and then father. As I reached my puberty, the brothers became guards. I could have no independence or freedom. I even couldn’t go alone to get myself a cone-icecream from the corner shop in Satellite Town market. “We are a Mashraqi (Eastern) society and we are Sayyeds. Our women do not go out alone. It is the duty of the men of the household to protect our women,” my father told me once I protested this over-protection on his part. All my protests went in vain whenever I raised my concerns and voiced my frustration for not being allowed to go and meet my friends, pick up the phone, watch the late Saturday night cinema movie on PTV or sit in the sun on the terrace. At times I also felt special for all of them took such a great care of me. I would often tease, Abu Bakar, my eldest brother at late in the night to get me a course book, a pen or a copy for my college use. He would always smile back and his eyes spoke, “I know Aashee you have none else to tease. Alright, I shall get you in a minute or two.” And he would.
I was a brilliant student from the very beginning and claimed good remarks from my teachers and position in my class. I won scholarships in my fifth and eighth grades and topped the whole educational division in my tenth grade. I was the star of the eyes of my family. All loved me and I loved them all. All cared about me and I cared for them all. I could see the soul of my family running in my body and all laughed when I giggled. All had sullen faces when I was sick. I was the joy of my family. All of my brothers came to me to get their things done by Abbu for he could never say no to me. He loved me so special and yes, I at times misused it too. I tell you all that there’s nothing more special in this world than the relationship between a father and his daughter.
There always was an eternal discussion about my future. My mother wanted to marry me off at the age of 18. My father wanted me to complete my education and become a lecturer while my elder brother had plans for me to go abroad and study fashion and arts. He was aware of my passion for colors. The younger to him wanted me to become a doctor while the youngest thought that I could do miracles in acting (he suffered the most of my maneuvering and was perpetually destined to transport me here and there for my needs!).
In short we were a not-so-small but very happy family.
My College Days:
Yes. I admit that the college gave me a certain freedom and exposure. By that time I was grown up and understood the world from the eyes of a girl nearing womanhood. I was aware of my beauty but it never went to my head. I was just an ordinary girl who wanted to eat Gol-Gappay during recess, bunk the classes at times to nibble the chana-chat of Baba that stood outside of our gate. The biggest luxury I used to avail of was the excuse that I had fever if I ever wanted to miss the college. It mainly happened in winters.
Despite all the casual attitude with education, I startled all with my dazzling success in my first year’s terminals and claimed first position in Gujranwala board. I was well on my way to become what I wanted to be: a painter!
My best friend in college was Maria. She was also a stunner but was as casual as I was. We were like sisters and both had great wit. Very few would dare to nag or tease us. If I failed, Maria would always have a befitting reply.
I was also aware of the sense that people’s eyes conveyed to me but I never looked around. Boys and men will toss their words to me but I never stopped to respond. My whole universe was limited to my home, the street and road I gazed during my walk to college for I never raised my eyes to look around but I enjoyed the freedom in college: I could walk, run, laugh, tickle, scream, shout, crack jokes and above all, I COULD look around. I strictly observed the code of conduct that a Sayyed girl should follow. I was fully conscious of the sense of honor of my family and I always preserved that.
My Rapists:
I swear on Holy Quran, I swear on the heads of my caring father and loving mother that I didn’t know any of them. I never saw them anywhere around for I never raised my eyes. On the Holy Day of Friday on December 10, two of them hounded me and all I could recall was that a big van stopped by my side and a person from inside firmly clutched my arm and dragged me while on of the two outside the wagon pushed me inside. In a matter of seconds, I was kidnapped from a busy street in Gujranwala’s Satellite Town.
None of the honorable men around me came to my rescue.
The wagon drove off and brought me to the outskirts. I couldn’t place which place that was. I was terrified. I was scared. I was cautious – not for my life but for the honor of my family. I could sense what these four men were upto. “You have sisters and I am also a sister of somebody. Let me go please,” I begged them. But they just laughed and laughed nastily. I pleaded, begged and requested them repeatedly and inquired about my fault. I tried to quote from Quran, Hadith and Sunnah to suggest how a good Muslim should behave. They just laughed.
The day ended quickly. Night befell and they raped me.
They kept raping me.
My body soon became numb to the disgust I felt each time they ravaged me and I felt nothing but my soul got crushed every time. I found my self blown-up in trillion pieces never ever to be brought together again.
My Rescuers:
Though I couldn’t keep tracking the days and nights that went by but it was again the Holy Day of December 17 when I was rescued from these men. Three of them were at that abandoned place when the fourth came running and told them that he’d been informed that police would raid this place. Soon after that, they packed up and ran away. I thought, they should have killed me there and then but they were not even that good to do that. They left me alive. Police came. I was rescued. Was I really?
Back in Family and More:
Only my eldest brother and my father coaxed me and asked me to keep my courage high. The other four brothers and my mother just wept and kept weeping. They dressed my spirits. They pampered my soul. They all supported me for it was not a mistake of mine.
My brother, Abu Bakar, hired a lawyer and filed the case. The perpetrators were arrested within two days and got bailed out in next two. I underwent the medical examination and the lawyer informed us that the first hearing of the case along with the medical-legal evidence would be held in Gujranwala District Court on the Holy Day of Friday on Dec 24, 2004.
It was just before the Jumma (Friday) Prayer and I was getting off the car with Abbu to enter the court area. I was standing by the car and Abbu was locking it. All I could hear was a bang, then another, and another and yet another and a shattering pain ran through my body and my soul. I saw blood coming out of my neck and saw my while shirt and shalwar fast turning red. I collapsed and my father screamed feverishly and came running to me and held me in his arms and shouted for help, which he couldn’t get.
I could feel the life draining out of me. I could seen the numbness prevailing upon me. I went beyond the boundaries of pain. I could see the horror in the eyes and on the face of my Abbu. How he had loved me and cuddled me. He had dreams for me to become a lecturer.
Have I failed him?
I also look at my ravagers. See them smiling and running away.
In a fraction of a moment I realized that I was going to die.
I look at my Abbu again. “You are the greatest Abbu and forgive me for my stupidities,” I tell him. I now see the tears welling up in his eyes. “I am in great pain Abbu Ji,” I say. “I love you Abbu,” I tell him and he hugs me and cajoles my head.
I can hear the loud speakers of the mosque spreading the word of Allah. Allah-o-Akbar...Allah-o-Akbar...
Death: It Has a Better Side Too:
Now I am free from all pains and restrictions. I can act like an “ordinary girl-soul” with no fears of reprimand.
And of course, none can rape me after death.
My honor in death is safe.
Footnote: It’s based on a true story when a girl was kidnapped, raped and killed in Gujranwala in front of her father’s eyes. She could have been anybody...even my own sister!!!