Tayi looked up at Shayeena, another tear dropped from the side of her bloodied, bruised, and flesh-torn face, and then Tayi looked to Khalim who stood behind Shayeena, and she smiled at each of them before looking at her father.
“I love you.” She said, before closing her eyes, never to open them again.
Shayeena fell to her knees, with her hands over her mouth and tears spilling from her eyes, landing beside Tayi and her friend’s father, and together they embraced Tayi and each other, weeping for what seemed an eternity. Khalim kneeled down and wept too, embracing them. After several moments of solace, he helped them each up. With all of the will that he could muster, this fifteen-year-old boy apologized for the barbarity of his father and his brother and so many of the members of the village. He explained that the villagers weren’t to blame, but that his father had worked up the crowd and had put them up to it. He knew his brother had done wrong but was unwilling to come clean. Instead, he chose to place the blame on her and saw to her cruel death.
He helped them walk to the edge of the village, gave them water for their remaining journey home, and then stood and watched over them as they walked into the distance. He then gathered Tayi’s body, and brought her home to her family, to her grandparents, who in anguish listened to his account of what had happened. Afterward, he hugged them, each with tears in their eyes, and left Tayi’s home, so they could do what was needed to be done to give her a proper burial. Right or wrong, Tayi had suffered enough and she deserved to be buried in the manner of her family’s choosing.
Shayeena and Tayi’s parents had stumbled along the path to the entrance of Shayeena Arezo’s parents’ estate and they thanked her for caring and for being there for her as much as she could and bid her farewell. She tearfully walked the kilometer from the estate entrance to her home and then told her parents about what had happened. After doing so, she blacked out.
When she awoke, she was in her bed.
Her mother and her father were sitting in chairs around her. Her brothers had been in Firozkah and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks. Tayi’s parents were there, too, each one sobbing and with a look of complete loss and sadness. Sorrow had been etched deep within their countenance and their hearts for the levels of inhumanity that should never have occurred against such a young, innocent, and sweet little girl. They felt sorrow for the helplessness of Shayeena who would have done anything to prevent this, but instead could do nothing but witness the brutality of unchecked humanity, of a culture gone wrong, and a beautiful religion left tainted and sour. Both Tayi’s and her own parents knew that this series of events would leave her shaken and would bring trauma to her for a long, long time. They didn’t want her to feel terrorized throughout the rest of her life because of what had transpired, resulting in the needless loss of a dear and sweet friend. They knew that they needed to find a way to calm Shayeena’s heart and mind. So they tried to soothe her the best way they knew how.
Shayeena still couldn’t believe what she had witnessed, what had happened, and she suddenly felt a deep emptiness within. She was gone. Her dear sweet friend, Tayi, was gone. She would not be knocking on the door to go on fun little walks anymore. No more journeys with her to the countryside. No more laughs with Tayi, no more cheer. She was gone, and she would not come back. “If there’s a Heaven, she will be there waiting,” she thought.
Tayi’s parents had seen Shayeena fighting and trying to make her way through the crowd and they knew that she had done everything she could to stop all that had happened. Despite the anguish and loss within, they felt compassion for her and explained to her and her parents that they loved Shayeena too, and that she should not feel guilty for what had happened, that she was always welcome in their home, and that she still had Tayi’s family as friends. They explained that this should never have happened, but it did. Even though they were broken, they had grace, kindness, and compassion. They spent some time together, and then Tayi’s parents left with sobbing and sadness in their auras as they hugged her parents and Shayeena before exiting the door.
Her father then turned and talked to her and told her that he had something he needed to show her. “This is something for you and you alone. Only your mother and I know this exists.” He lifted the carpet between her desk and her closet in her room and exposed the cover to a stair-casing that was almost undetectable. He bid her follow him, and she did. He took her to the basement, showed her all of the trinkets, the clothes, the burkas, the hijabs, a magnificent library with so many books and literature, and the books were very abundant, from forbidden sciences, novels, and biographies, to religious texts; he then had her follow him through a tunneled and finished-looking hallway to another door. He opened the door, and as he did, she could see a pathway surrounded by rocks, with open skies up above and beyond the rocks, where there were groves of trees that hid the pathway from view in every direction. He then took her through another tunnel on the other side of the stretch of pathway, and it too was filled with supplies, water and water recycling purifiers, defenses, more books, a telescope, and blank notebooks with a lot of pens.
“This is all for you. Every single bit of it, as you see fit. Be careful, study, and enjoy what is here, but keep it here. Take your time, learn what you can, and always be safe.” He kept leading the way, through tunnels, exits, pathways, and more entrances to other tunnels until he arrived at the final exit. Although they could see a minaret through the trees, someone standing outside the trees would not be able to see or hear them due to the thickness of the trees and the way the shadows would always hit the entrance and where they stood.
Shayeena’s father showed her the Jam River, a huge bolder overlooking it, the mountains to the south, the trees all around, and to the east just a small distance away, the Minaret of Jam.
He then, very caringly told her, “This is your private escape from the village. This town has been overlooked for many years and many have forgotten to love the beauty that we have been blessed with inside this world. This will be yours. Here, you can share your beauty with all that you see and not fear recourse or the deviant nature of the men of the village. The men travel west for schooling and business and no one makes way toward this location for any reason. Plus, between here and the village is the distance of our farm which we own. Our farm is surrounded by a large rock wall and then a forest.
“I have done my work here, this place is protected, and I will no longer head out here unless you go to the door at the entrance and move the brick-like stone just on the inside. I will then know that you need help, will grab some of the defensive gear that I have shown you, and come to your rescue. Meanwhile, hide inside this last tunnel, and barricade the door. Here, follow me.” He showed her the brick and the steel bar and how to lay it in position to prevent the door from being opened if ever needed. “I am showing you this, in the event that if you ever need safety and security, you will have it. No one else should ever be out here without your knowledge, because you can hear for a great distance all around. Even more, we are surrounded by areas with a harsh environment; the cities to the east are too far away with other routes to the cities to the west. This is for all sakes and purposes, a forgotten part of the world. It is yours now.”
He then told her that what happened to Tayi should never have happened. “Tayi was an innocent angel and a victim.” He then asked her a question, “Imagine walking through the village, looking through the window of one of the shops, and seeing a beautiful painting. If you broke that window and stole that painting, would you blame the window or the painting for what you stole?”
Shayeena responded, “of course not. If I were to steal something, it would be my fault. How could it ever be the fault of the window or the painting?”
Her father then explained, “The window is like the person and the painting is the virtue of the beautiful nature of someone who is being plotted against, where consent does not exist. It has not invested any emotions or feelings into the person looking at it or wanting it. Bre
aking the window and stealing the painting can be looked at as stealing a person’s virtue. The person looking at a painting can be likened to an individual who looks at a young woman who is both pretty and beautiful. If he fails to see her as a human being capable of sentient thought, if he fails to wait until he has developed a proper relationship with her within societally accepted bounds, and then failing all of that, he has determined that he will steal her virtue, he then has turned her into an object of his own devious desires, kind of like the desire to unfairly steal that painting. Without regard for negotiating with the store’s owner, or in this case talking with those who protect the woman or girl, her feelings, her emotions, or her well-being, because instead he has decided he will have his way with her and then blame her beauty for the reason as to why he stole her virtue. He will then seek to have her destroyed because the village in a sense blames the painting for being stolen rather than the man that stole it. In order to find vindication for this horrible deed, they will destroy the painting, so it can never be stolen again. While this would never make sense to any rational human being, somehow doing this helps the guilty and privileged party find peace within—yet, that will never happen. No one will ever truly find peace within unless they change how they behave, how they perceive others and show respect—giving dignity to those around them. Just as the window is not at fault for being broken and just as the painting is not at fault for having been stolen, the young, pretty, and beautiful woman is not at fault for having had her virtue stolen from her. Tayi was objectified by the man who broke her and stole her virtue, and he is the sole person responsible for that horrible act. He is the person who took what wasn’t theirs to take and not the person who lost what was theirs to give.
“Tayi was a beautiful, innocent, and sweet girl. The Imam’s son raped her, and his father had her stoned to death because of it. In the village and in many locations under the control of a very fundamentalist and tainted form of our religion, the people in charge are afraid of the power that women have. They don’t realize that this power can be used for good, to influence people to be better than they were before, and to bless the village or the community they are in. They don’t realize that their lack of self-control is their responsibility—a person should be able to see a beautiful flower or several in the field and not have the need to pluck it or crush it under their feet.
“This should never have happened, but sadly it did. Now, all I can do is notice that you too are beginning to shed your youth for womanhood, you are a pretty girl and a beautiful young woman, and seeing the men stare at you when you go to the village, I know that you will need to take measures to ensure you are protected. You should not have to, but the environment this village provides, as well as anywhere outside of even your room, there are very few options. If someone were to objectify you, you could be hurt. I am like the shop-keeper, as are you, and I am also as a shopkeeper's bodyguard, who protects both she who owns the beautiful painting and the shop itself. I must protect your virtue and keep it from the thieving hands and minds of malice. Nevertheless, I want you to be able to have freedom in this world, freedom from all of the brutality of those who fail to evolve themselves to the point to where they can love others, and live with compassion at their core, because you can do so much, and you have so much potential that is priceless. Right now, the best way to have that freedom is to take the journey down this pathway as often as you would like or need to or can, in order to read, learn, and enjoy this location to think, observe, and feel.
“You deserve protection. I am your father and I will give that to you. When you return home, you will find on your bed a wardrobe that should keep the men’s eyes at bay and allow you to walk around with the kind of protection that will afford you more time to grow and learn, before you must be married. You are a year past the time that most girls marry, but since I am a farmer, we are allowed to retain our daughters a while longer for service and assistance with what needs to be done to provide food to the village. While we are granted that courtesy, I don’t want you to find yourself hurt by those that would wish to steal your virtue.
“I am so sorry about what happened, but you must heal, and hold on to the good moments with immense strength of character. I love you, my dear daughter and my sweet Shayeena.” He looked at Shayeena, smiled at her with tender and kind eyes, and put his arms out so she could hug him, and she did.
Every morning after that, she would take two covered buckets, fill them with the water at the Jam River, and bring them home before noon so that her family could have clean, fresh, and pure drinking water. This was her morning chore. While she was there, since her parents approved, she would take her time, study her books, bring her toiletries—her salve of lilac and rose, mix it in with her shampoo, body wash and conditioner, and bathe in the waters of the Jam River, just below a cascade of water that flowed a few feet above her head. Above that lay another pool of water with yet another waterfall, and from there she would return home with two buckets of fresh water. Before gathering the water, however, she would follow up her bath and shower and let the wind flow down the mountains and through her hair to dry her locks and the flesh of her body, as she sat or lay upon the boulder overlooking the river, the minaret, and the mountains to the south.
The first day that she returned from her secret place of freedom, she saw a wrapped package with her name on it. “This is for you, our princess, to wear into town and around the house when your brothers are home.”
After her morning duties were complete and she was ready to leave her room, at home or in town, she would wear the public clothes her father gave her. She would don what consisted of a burka and a one-piece neck-to-feet outer garment, made of a thick yet airy material that was comfortable on the interior, against her skin, yet appeared as breathy sack-cloth on the exterior. All of this was to hide the beauty that flourished around her persona, as the prettiness of her face, the alluring curves of her body, and the beauty she possessed from within had begun to spill out even to the point to where she needed to hide it from her brothers. Shayeena, her father, and her mother knew this was necessary to prevent her brother’s boasting chatter to other men that would not have her best interests in mind.
Shayeena would go into town disguised behind her sack-cloth and layered religious attire, bringing two buckets of wheat and a bag of bread loaves strapped to her back to sell in the village market. While there, she would quietly peer through the small holes in her burka, using her eyes and not the obvious move of her neck to see and listen to the market’s television broadcasts of the news, with talk of war, jihad, and the evil infidels to the west. As she heard what played out on the airwaves, she never forgot that the people who killed her friend were those who lived here in the village she was from. From her own personal experience with these people seemingly devoid of personal values, the people in the village were full of themselves, did the Imam’s bidding at all times, and as such they were lacking in bravery, yet full of sanctimonious droll. As it was in all reality, to Shayeena, the television might as well have been talking about those who lived immediately to the west of her own home, not the “evil infidels to the far west.” To Shayeena, the infidels were the people who could look at the face of innocence and snuff the life from it with monstrous brutality where true evil could play out without guilt or consequence. She learned to forgive the villagers over time, yet she never forgot what they did. She also never forgot the one young man who had, in anguish himself, helped her to her feet and carried Tayi’s lifeless body to her home in his arms.
It had been five years, and she had been thinking of all of these things as she would do most nights. Every night for five years she had visited the Jam River and its Minaret in peace.
Here she was again, and once more she felt the refreshing breeze pass by from the southeast as it cascaded down from the mountains, picked up the mists hovering above the Jam River, then hit her skin and brushed through her dark brown hair with a naturally soft moisture, and parted
her shiny locks on the left side of her diamond shaped face. She closed her large golden-hazel eyes beneath her high arched brows, feeling the soft olive complexion of her smooth and silky skin as she folded her arms as if embracing herself—her features captured every bit of the beauty she possessed from within and the aesthetic of her physical charm, as she leaned back with her hands gripping her opened towel for support, with everything on display for the whole world to see, and though no one was there to enjoy what she shared with nature, she was ever so grateful for the kindness nature had graced her with, to allow her to see and feel how life could be such a wonderful thing to behold, when freedom abounded without the need for guilt or suppression. As she closed her eyes, her luscious and naturally ample lips, quieted her mind, and with her small refined nose inhaled the scent of nature passing her by; she felt it, heard it, and then she exhaled.
She sensed the quietness around her which allowed her to perceive every crackle of a twig, crunch of a leaf, movement of nocturnal life, or any disruption that would give cause for alarm and smartly swift action—this preparation had made her more keenly aware of her surroundings and alert before gazing up at the radiant stars of the Milky Way and becoming carried away and ensconced by them. Tonight she was gazing at the constellations of Cassiopeia and Andromeda which for some reason were brighter than on previous nights—she could even see the faint and fuzzy shape of the Andromeda Galaxy. Tonight she had much to ponder upon, yet these moments were those that Shayeena lived for and hoped to never forget.
She had been shown this beautiful getaway after losing her dear friend, Tayi. After her father had shown this to her and talked with compassion and understanding to her, as the mighty yet meek man that he was, he had left this place to her and granted her unlimited freedoms, and it was then that she had discovered her own beauty from within, as well as found an escape from the cruelties of life. Joy inspired her mind as she made the most of this lush and forgotten paradise. Shayeena had visited her minaret regularly from the moment her father had shared it with her to now, and he had given it to her for her own purposes. She had found harmony there from that moment on. She carefully kept to her routine and her secret would stay within her mind for as long as she knew it was needed, for as long as she could withhold it from others, and that would be forever if possible. There was a time, not too long after Khalim started working for her father, that he had brought home seeds for flowers of every kind, had bundled them in a small bag with instructions for planting them, when she almost felt the desire to share this location with him. But, she held back. She would let him know in due time, and she believed that one day that time would come. While at the Minaret of Jam she had freedom and had cultivated Khalim’s gifts into a beautiful paradise filled with beautifully scented flowers, she was in reality forced to live a different style of life, remise of them everywhere else—her freedoms were bound within her home, since her brothers were amenable to social influences and the brutality of some within the village, and due to the possibility of unjustifiable scorn, jealousy, and the piety of the people. The truth of her vulnerabilities became redundantly clear, especially after the loss of her dear friend, when she and Tayi were thirteen. Now she was eighteen, and womanhood was very difficult to hide.
Further than Before- Pathway to the Stars Page 80