Fear

He got himself trapped in the blind alley. Nothing was there to get an aid. With a desperate thought he ran again. This time the speed was unbelievable. He himself was surprised whether it was he or the fear of being caught that was making him get an extra pace.

The fear, he could recall the very word his mother often used to say when he was a child of seven. She was always in fear of being victimized. Once she told him that it was the fate of every woman here. They were always in a perpetual fear of being hurt, tortured, harassed, raped, and killed. If any woman lived and died without facing this kind of humiliation she was considered the luckiest one.

Luck; it was the most desirous thing for him right now. He could have a narrow escape if luck would favor him. Apparently there was nothing to hope. He was trapped and the idea of a safe heaven was a dream now.  Safe heaven, safe heaven…………his thoughts ran with the pace of his body and dug up the past.

His father migrated with the same idea of a Safe heaven. But right from the time of migration, he was in a kind of fear of being killed, caught, jailed, martyred, and interrogated. He was here because it was the sole refuge for him and his family. But to his agony, the threatening circumstances were not letting him to act normally.

The sole refuge for him right now was to run and run with the pace. To be slowed meant to die. He could face death bravely like a true warrior but he was afraid of the aftershocks. He used the colors of his imagination to paint on the canvas of his mind the face of the true warrior not other than Mr. Sibgat ul Hassan Noorani, An example of a dauntless warrior. He used to say “live like a warrior or you must die''. And then one day he died like a warrior. A few weeks earlier he was giving his Wa’az (lecture on religion) on the member (pulpit) when a suicide bomber came and with a blast the Hassan Noorani was no more. He fulfilled his words and died like a warrior. All his body was charred. The sole part that survived was his head. Anybody could see the still daring eyes in that deadhead, so he died fearlessly. But all were not Noorani. After his death many regular visitors of the Masjid were never found to be there because they were afraid of death.

The fear of death. Yes the very fear he had seen in the eyes of the proud politician of his constituency. Ch. Charag-ud-Din Chattha was a strong man. He always boasted of seeing in the eyes of death, and then one day his elder son Ch. Kamal-ud-Din Chattha was shot down by a motorcyclist on his farmhouse. And the same fearless man could be seen with a squad of guards around him. Even some people had mysterious stories about his nights. From the day his son was murdered, he could never have had a peaceful sleep at night. The cries, the shrieks of fear were the common addition to his nights.

The nights of shrieks and fear, this image brought another character to his mind, The Christian priest of the local church, Mr. Deep Emauell Bhatti. He was often threatened by a group at night time. The neighbors repeatedly told the stories of a group which often came to his house at night. And then one night the neighbors listened to the terrific shrieks of fear. They approached him and to their fear he was smeared in blood. Someone has shot him dead.

A shot and he felt as if some hot iron had touched his temple. He placed his hand on the temple and it got wet and the smell of blood hit his nose. A wave of cold fear swept through his body. He was in range now. He added a bit more to his pace. He got the pulse of the time that now it was only pace; that could save him individually and his nation collectively.