Living, in Death

The war was bloody, to say the least. As the tanks went through the remains of our home, I shed –

“No, no,” he said in exasperation, “That sounds so artificial. It’s not coming from the heart.”

He tried again.

I cowered beneath our bed. No. It wasn’t our bed anymore. She… she wasn’t there to share it anymore. As the thought of her shattered all hope in me, I defiantly ran out of my house, and stood, facing the soldier. “Shoot me,” I cried, “Shoot me! I have no purpose left in my life.” The soldier –

He crumpled the paper up. “This isn’t a starting point. It’s an ending, for God’s sake!”

---

He was a young man. He had an entire life to live.

But then he lived in Mosul, Iraq. Mosul was a historical city which had been in Assyria, the Ottoman Empire, and the French mandate. But now, Mosul is under a different mandate. The mandate of the ISIS.

He liked to call himself a writer, possibly possessing a wee bit of creativity. In a land where guns and bombs were the only language spoken, here was one who spoke in dulcet tones of metaphors and similes, personifications and allegory. The last of the guild in this unforgiving land.

---

“Adiba, what shall we have for lunch?” he said in falsely high spirits, as he came out of his study.

“One slice of bread, Tahir,” said his wife, in her own falsely enthusiastic voice. “How is the story going?”

“I’ve got a start. It’s taken me a bit of time, but I have got a start.”

“Well, that’s all we have left to do. We have to keep saving up our bread and survive, at least until someone comes to help us.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, apparently lost in some other train of thought.

“Okay, well we’ll share this one slice between us. Do you want to cut it, or shall I?”

“Adiba. Really?”

“I’m just trying to get some childish fervour in all this morbid business! We can try to be happy, can’t we, Tahir?”

“Can we, Adiba?” I said, in a broken voice, “Can we really? With all this going on, do we have any hope?”

“We can run, Tahir.”

“No. I can’t lose you, Adiba. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

---

They lived on. Or rather, they existed on. Existed on one square bread a day. They didn’t have enough money to purchase the expensive rations that the ISIS sold. They could not go out of their house except on emergencies, for they feared being found out: they were Shi’a.

---

The hot Arab sun beat down on their bodies. We saw them praying in the direction of the Mecca, with perfect poise. Perfect poise. They had shot our friends. They had stood in perfect poise, while shooting them with their AK-47s.

We stood in the dark, dark hall fearing for our lives. We were scared. We wanted to live. But why? There was no point simply existing. Either we die, or we live fully. There was no point doing anything in between.

We had a packet of –  

“Where have you gotten to, Tahir?” asked Adiba, putting a slender arm around his shoulder.

“Not too far yet. I’ve finished a couple of chapters. I must say, you seem in a cuddly mood today.” he said, laughing.

She laughed too. A clear crisp sound as pure as the water that is in the Zam Zam Well next to the Mecca.

“I’ve missed that sound. Can’t we do that more often?”

Her expression clouded over.

“No. Don’t let that smile go. Please.”

She looked at him. Then, as if it were a spontaneous reaction, she hugged him. Tightly. Tighter than ever before. He could feel her warm breath on his neck. He could feel her chest, rising and falling in the rhythm of her breath. He could feel her warm tears falling on his shoulder.

After what seemed like an eternity she asked, “Why can’t we leave?” she whispered in his ear, “Why? If we die, then we die together, no matter what. Anything – anything is better than this existence of ours.”

“Yes – Yes, I think so, too. After – after all, we all die, don’t we? Sometime or the other. So why not leave this existence, and live?” he said, his voice breaking with tears in his eyes.

She left the embrace. She looked at him, longingly and lovingly. He nodded.

---

Two people, loving amidst destruction. What sort of irony is this? It may be a test, and they might have better things ahead of them. After all, destiny is written in advance, isn’t it? Or at least that is what Muslims believe. The same Muslims who were loving. The same Muslims who were killing. They pray in the very same direction, toward the holy precincts of the Mecca and the Ka’aba, yet their tangents are so different.

Hope always lies for those who believe. Maybe not here, on terrestrial Earth. Maybe in the afterlife. Hope always exists.

---

They had finally decided that their existence can give way to adventure and risk. They were running. Fleeing from it all, to destinations unknown. Their only purpose: to live.

---

Tahir was packing his bag. What did he have of worldly importance? Nothing: just the two symbols of his hope: his wedding ring, and his manuscript. Adiba told him to pack the remaining bread as well, so that they could survive the journey. They had a couple of maps. They had some idea of where to go.

They stood at the exit of their house, both wearing small backpacks.

“Ready?” asked Tahir, smiling.

“I’ve been waiting for this for months.” said Adiba, smiling as well.

“It was worth the wait. This is a better time, with more battles going on with the US. They’ll be busy.”

“Okay.” said Adiba.

Her face had a strange sort of a glow to it. He looked at her, remembering the first time he had seen her. It was the university in Baghdad. Her face had the same kind of glow to it then, as it did now. The same wayward, clean soul. Then, the memories started moving faster, with their first meeting, their marriage, their lively house.

“What happened?” asked Adiba, “I get self-conscious when you stare at me like that.”

“Adiba, I might never get to say this to you again. I love you.”

“No, Tahir,” she said defiantly. “No gloomy thoughts. We will reach our destination, and live.”

“Inshaallah.” said Tahir.

“Inshaallah.”

And with the blessings of God, they departed.

---

The desert night was shimmering with stars, all offering their little bit of light. Together, all their small lights joined to form a night brighter than most days in Mosul, which was covered with the darkness that the ISIS had spread. The moon wasn’t out though, suiting their purpose. They wore dark clothes, for fear of being discovered. Both knew they had to look out for soldiers and mines to get away. They could see their destination: a small speck of light, which notated the Kurdish camp. A small light at the end of the tunnel. But it was a long tunnel.

All the time, they walked, wary of even the slightest sight of metal on sand, listening for any clicks and sounds of loading, looking for any lasers pointing at them. They knew that both success and failure in their mission would bring the same result; yet, they persevered, wanting to live the life the deserved, before dying a peaceful death.

God was kind. The lights grew bigger, and they could see the individual lights that formed the Kurdish camp. A gunshot rang out. Beside him, a figure crumpled.

---

He sat next to her, listening to the beeping machines in the hospital. Her pulse was slow, but steady. He looked through his bag, desperately looking for the last symbol he had of her: the ring. Clawing through the bag, he found a crumpled page, lying in the bottom of my bag.

I cowered beneath our bed. No. It wasn’t our bed anymore. She… she wasn’t there to share it anymore. As the thought of her shattered all hope in me, I defiantly ran out of my house, and stood, facing the soldier. “Shoot me,” I cried, “Shoot me! I have no purpose left in my life.” The soldier –

“No!” he cried, thumping the bed she was on, “I am not losing her! I am not losing her! I am…” he broke down into tears, desperately trying to recollect any memory of her, to treasure, to protect, to feel her. The memories flashed in front of his eyelids, yet again.

“Why?” he screamed, “Why did we leave? We could have stayed, lived a little longer, maybe waited for the armies to free us…”

The memory of her glowing face came back to his head. He realized, that he might not have seen that glowing face, had he stayed. He realized he might have not felt her embrace, her tight embrace, if he had decided not to leave. They were happy. They lived, rather than existed, if only for a few days. They did not die a peaceful death, no. But they lived.

He dropped the bag, out of which the ring fell. It struck a high, sonorous note as it hit the ground. Tahir bent down, to pick it up. Just then, there was a long beep to signal her end. The hospital exploded.

God was kind, to grant these souls a leave from this cruel, cruel world. Their test had been fulfilled. After all, they had reached their destination. They lived, in death, happily ever after.