The genie put her head around the door. ‘Five minutes.’ I went to Kamilah and she moved to one side so I could put my underwear in the trough to wash with hers. She glanced at me. Her eyes seemed to ask how I was and I tilted my head slightly. I hung onto the edge of the trough with the chain clanging against the side. I wrung out my undies with Durrah’s elbow in my ribs.
How would I survive this? How should I react? All the women were bigger than me. I would never win in a fight; I wouldn’t even know the first thing to do.
Kamilah smiled at me. ‘There’s a cupboard under here,’ she pointed under the sink, ‘where you get pads for your menses.’
Muneerah made a rude noise. ‘You won’t have to worry about that for long. Prison life will scare your menses away.’
By then my head was hurting so much I could hardly see. The door opened and the genie walked in with the chain. We lined up so she could thread it through our wrist chains again.
That night after I’d changed my clothes on the bunk I lay awake watching the dripping clothes hanging on the rope along the bars of the cell and listening to the Walkman. I dreamed of cages and peacocks. Neelum had been captured by hunters and forced into a cage, but the cage was too small for him to raise his tail. His beautiful fan feathers fell to the floor, then his brown and white underfeathers. Even his crown dropped off. He looked like a plucked bird ready for the pot.
Free Peacock Blue
To see a world where freedom,
peace and justice reign
Sign petition here
Target: 25,000
Children in Jails
Did you know that the age of criminal responsibility in Pakistan was seven years of age until last year? Now it’s twelve, except for terrorism cases. However, the penal code does say that nothing done by a child between 7 and 12 years is an offence if they have not attained sufficient maturity of understanding to judge the nature and consequence of their conduct. But who is the judge of whether a child is culpable or not?
In our newspaper this week I read of a nine-month-old baby being arrested along with his grandfather and other family members for attempted murder in Pakistan, throwing rocks at gas company officials. Yes, I can hear your exclamations of disbelief. Maybe the age of the baby is why the story actually made it into our Australian news. His grandfather bottle-fed the baby while answering questions from reporters. He said the charges were fabricated because a rival party wanted the accused evicted from their land. Does this sound familiar?
Last year there were over 1400 children in Pakistani jails. Only 165 were convicted, the rest were under trial, their families being too poor to pay the bail price. Pakistani prison rules state children should be accommodated separately from adults in different jails; they should play sports, and be rehabilitated. However, there is one juvenile jail in the whole nation, and both Karachi and Hyderabad have a Youthful Offenders Industrial School but the rest of the children are kept in adult district and central jails.
Very few girls are arrested, so can you imagine where Peacock Blue is being kept? The juvenile jail will be for boys. She’s probably in an adult jail, maybe in a cell with women. Only one prison has a separate dormitory for Christians, so that they won’t be persecuted by other prisoners. So what could be happening to Peacock Blue? Her arrest and imprisonment is a disgrace. Help free Peacock Blue now. Sign the petition here or write a letter to the Pakistani High Commissioner or the Governor of the Punjab.
COMMENTS
Abdulla You are just a stupid kafir girl who knows nothing. Blasphemy must be punished. This blog is rubbish and only western fools will believe your shit. If you do not stop this irreligious blog you will get killed.
Maryam People like you give major faiths a bad name, Abdulla. Injustice must be fought wherever it is found.
Ahmed Don’t answer fanatical or extremist views. Let’s keep this forum for respectful and open-minded discourse.
Tamsin So sorry to hear about this poor girl. I hope she is not suffering too much in prison.
Dana See how they treat their own? If we let these people into Australia, that’s how we’ll be treated.
Affat Maryam, there are demonstrations by Muslim groups as well as Christian ones here in Karachi and Lahore asking the government to free your cousin. They march against fear, and false accusations of innocent victims. Imams are joining the protests too. We do not want a law that doesn’t protect minorities in Pakistan.
Rashid What about the children Australia has in detention centres? Those people have endured prison, war and torture and now end up in a prison. Australia is a wealthy global nation. You of all countries should uphold the rights of the children and safety of all people.
Dana There are nearly 1000 children in detention centres in Australia and you know what? It serves them right for coming illegally.
Tamsin Australia is better than this, or it used to be. When I hear about how asylum seeker children are treated I’m ashamed to say I’m Australian. The fear of others is corrupting our soul.
Maryam I know. Many Australians are upset about these laws. It’s a Christian value to liberate people from oppression and injustice, and to provide hospitality to strangers, but Australia no longer upholds these basic human sentiments at government level.
Khalid These are sentiments in Islam also but my family did not receive them, only imprisonment, because we disagreed with the government. At least you can disagree and work for change.
Abdulla Western governments are weak. I live in a western country too. It was my parents’ choice to come here, not mine. I would have made a good jihadi but my father was weak and didn’t want to be one. He says he saved me from a bad life but jihad is a sure way into heaven if you die while fighting for Islam. Who wouldn’t fight knowing that?
Fozia You’ve been brainwashed, Abdulla. I don’t believe in religion but if I did I’d know God wouldn’t want people killing each other.
Tamsin Last week some church leaders in our city were arrested for praying quietly in an electorate office to seek the release of these children in detention and to put an end to our treatment of asylum seekers. The magistrate dismissed the charges and said these leaders are an inspiration and a credit to their faith.
MESSAGES
Sammy Ibrahim Be careful, cousin, you may be in free Australia and you feel no one can touch you but some people have long arms. They can force people online to feel fear, to think like them and become violent.
CHAPTER
17
When I woke in the morning the Walkman was gone. I scrabbled on the floor, searching under the bed. Did it drop down? But it would have woken us up, surely. Was it tangled in my shawl? Nothing.
Jani woke. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’ve lost something.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a little CD player – with ear buds.’ I despaired – she wouldn’t know what I meant – but she surprised me.
‘Like that?’ She pointed at Durrah on the top bunk closest to the wall. Durrah was bobbing her head, the buds in her ears. They had to be mine. Then she stared straight at me as if she had known all along I would see her. Her smile was smug.
I wanted to shout at her to give the Walkman back. It was mine. Never before had I wanted anything so badly. It was the only link to my real life. I didn’t want to do nothing, like the other women. Would I have to fight her? Durrah looked very strong – she’d managed to kill her husband. What would she do to me?
I remembered the story I’d finally told Jani about the jackal trying to appear as if he didn’t care if the tiger walked into the cage. I forced myself not to confront Durrah. I climbed up and lay beside Jani.
‘Don’t you want this?’ Durrah finally said.
I sat up. Durrah had taken out the ear buds. I wondered if she really wanted the Walkman, or just a reaction from me.
‘It’s only got Masihi songs on it – you won’t like them. I can tell you stories if you give it back.’
&n
bsp; ‘Nay, you sing a song and I’ll think about it.’
I licked my lips and glanced around. All the women were watching. I hadn’t had breakfast yet – would my voice be scratchy? Durrah was expecting me to not be able to sing at all, to humiliate me. I faced her and sang ‘Any dream will do’ from the Yusef movie, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. I sang it, staring into her eyes as if we were in close combat. There mightn’t have been blows but I knew this was as real as David facing Goliath.
When I’d finished, Jani said in childish awe, ‘You sound like a Bollywood actress.’
‘Her skin’s too dark for an actress,’ Muneerah said nastily.
Durrah had lost the attention of the others. She unplugged the ear buds and threw the Walkman at me. I caught it in one hand. Playing cricket with Sammy finally had a use. But she didn’t return the ear buds. I looked up and her stare was triumphant, even her scar flared. How was I supposed to get them back?
Later that day Gazaalah told me a woman was asking to see me. She seemed to know everything that went on in the women’s corridor.
‘Green Eyes will collect you.’
She grinned at my horror. Sure enough, he did come to fetch me from the cell. I endured the usual touches and caresses as he fumbled around chaining me to his belt. He’d progressed to saying lewd things.
‘Maybe we can be private one day. I know you are wanting to spend some time with me.’
The words were simple but his meaning wasn’t innocent at all.
We neared the interview room and I could hear a woman’s voice. She sounded bossier than any of our teachers, even Mrs Abdul.
‘You can’t keep her in here,’ she was saying to the genie as we entered. ‘She’s only fourteen. I want to see the exam she wrote.’
‘It’s not in her file.’ The genie’s tone was sullen.
‘Then get it, if the teacher still has it. It’s stupid to compel Christian kids to take Islamiyat. Of course they’ll get it wrong.’
Karam pushed me into the room. The action twisted my arm and I winced.
‘Unchain her,’ the woman told him. ‘What do you think she is – a serial killer? Bring a chair.’
She sat at the table. Karam brought over a chair and his scowl, as he dropped it near the table for me, made him even uglier. He stood to attention by the door as the genie left the room.
The woman was young, wore a dupatta on her head and sat very straight. She gestured to me to sit.
‘Assalamu Alaikum,’ she said. ‘My name is Mrs Jamal Khan, but please call me Mrs Jamal.’
‘Wa Alaikum Assalam.’ I returned the greeting.
Mrs Jamal saw my bruises and broken glasses immediately. ‘Who did this?’
Her question was like a gunshot and I jumped. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I told her, so I said nothing. There was also Karam to consider, since he would have heard her question. She didn’t speak softly like Dr Amal.
She glanced at him and lowered her voice. ‘Did an officer do it?’
‘Nahin,’ I whispered.
‘Another prisoner?’
I stayed silent and she made her own conclusions. ‘So you are in a cell with other women?’
This I could answer. ‘Ji. Most are nice enough,’ I added, thinking of Kamilah.
‘Most isn’t good enough.’ She lifted her chin at Karam. ‘See to it she is put in a single cell. She’s only a schoolgirl.’
I wondered who she could be. By what authority could she give orders to officers?
‘We have none spare. The cells are already overcrowded.’ Karam sounded petulant.
‘I don’t want to hear excuses. Arrange it somehow.’
She turned back to me. ‘So you have yourself in a pit of tigers, I see.’
I wanted her to understand. ‘I didn’t blaspheme.’ I brushed at my eyes. I suspected Mrs Jamal would be impatient with tears.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘A Christian blasphemes just by refusing to say the Kalimah. It’s the blasphemy law we need to reform.’
She sounded like my father when he was with my uncles.
‘Are you Muslim?’ I ventured, even though I knew she must be.
‘Certainly. Not all Muslims believe kids like you should be locked up because they can’t spell.’
She leaned down to her handbag and took out a notebook and an iPhone. ‘Now, I need details. I am your lawyer.’
It took a moment for her statement to sink into my head. A lawyer?
‘But how can we pay?’
Mrs Jamal gave me her first smile. ‘Let’s just say the firm I work for has an interest in cases like yours. You are a minor and you will not need to pay.’
It looked like a dangerous occupation to me. ‘Thank you, but how can you do this?’
What power could she have? Even a governor and a cabinet minister were assassinated for trying to support people accused of blasphemy. Our whole village went into mourning for them.
‘First we must ascertain your innocence.’
She pressed ‘record’ on her phone. ‘Your full name?’
‘Aster Suleiman Masih.’
I watched her write ‘Aster Suleiman Masih, Student’ at the top of her pad with a fountain pen.
‘And you did a first-term Year 8 Islamiyat Studies exam?’
‘Ji,’ I said miserably.
‘And your teacher said you blasphemed. Do you know what you wrote?’
‘Nahin. She wouldn’t tell me. She said it was too disgusting to repeat.’
‘You were arrested on the day of the exam?’
‘Ji, after the exam – I didn’t even eat my lunch.’
Mrs Jamal frowned. ‘So soon? She wouldn’t have read all the papers, only yours.’
She tapped her notebook. ‘You don’t know Arabic, do you?’
‘Nahin, miss. I didn’t learn it in the village school, but I was studying the Bible in Urdu. I’ve never heard the Qur’an recited in Arabic other than on TV.’
‘And your father switches the channel?’
I hung my head, for it was true.
Mrs Jamal sighed. ‘It is your right to follow your own faith. It is in our constitution. However, since the blasphemy law was changed in the nineteen-eighties to include the death sentence, we’ve had thousands of arrests.’
She considered me. ‘They need to prosecute the people who wrongly accuse.’
This was an encouraging thought and I said, ‘I must have spelt a word wrong but I didn’t mean it to be offensive.’
‘Of course not. Any educated and sensible person will understand that.’
Her words silenced me. Crowds of men at gates were not made up of sensible, educated people. Would it come to a court case? Those people were supposed to be educated. I had a sinking feeling that education wasn’t always what mattered, but conviction. Mrs Abdul was educated but she was convinced I was evil.
‘Now, you keep a strong heart, Aster. I’ll make sure your parents know how you are, and they can send items you need. There are many people, some leading imams also, who do not agree with this.’
She put the lid on the pen.
‘Can my parents visit?’
She regarded me a moment before answering. ‘Do not expect your parents to be able to come straightaway.’
There was a dull feeling in the pit of my belly but I had to ask the question. ‘How long do you think I will be here?’
Over the years, I had heard of many Christians jailed for blasphemy; my father prayed constantly for their release. A mother, Asia Bibi, was still on death row after five years.
That was the first time Mrs Jamal hesitated, and the first indication of how difficult my situation was.
‘Aster, this must be terrifying for you, but I will not lie to save your feelings.’
She watched me, as if gauging how I would react. ‘It may be a long time. I have not been able to secure your bail.’
She paused, tapping her notebook. ‘I was hoping that since you are a minor, they’d loosen u
p on the no-bail rule for blasphemy.’
I opened my mouth to protest my innocence again but she cut me off. ‘If you are released now, some people may take it upon themselves to exercise justice. You are safer in here. Also,’ she paused, ‘your village has been threatened.’
Coils of fear tightened around my chest. The thought of my village burning and everyone killed stopped any more protests I may have made. I told myself I could endure jail and Muneerah, even Karam, if only they were safe.
Mrs Jamal ripped off the pages she’d written on and gave me the pad and the fountain pen. She also took a bottle of ink from her briefcase.
‘What else do you need? Do you have personal things with you?’
‘Nahin. The police took me straight from school. I couldn’t even go to my classroom to get my backpack.’
‘They didn’t even think to send your schoolbag along later?’ She frowned.
‘Mrs Jamal, it would be good to have the backpack. And a towel.’
The furrow between her eyes dug deeper into her face as she wrote notes.
‘Certainly, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll take your glasses and have them fixed as well. Will you manage without them for a few hours?’ She looked up at me and I inclined my head. I had nothing to read anyway.
‘Don’t send mail to your family through the post, even if they write to you. Their address will be seen. Give the letters to me and I’ll send them. You can still study, so you are not behind when you are released.’
She pressed her lips together after she said ‘released’ and I knew she had slipped in her resolve not to lie to me.
CHAPTER
18
Karam escorted me back down the corridor but bypassed my cell and shoved me into Hafsah’s cell.
‘You can be a den of blasphemers and rot together.’ He grinned at his joke as he slammed the door shut and locked it.
Already I hated that sound – the loud clunk as the lock turned over. This new cell was probably originally part of the one I was in first, and bars had been installed partway along to create two spaces. I could still see Kamilah and Jani as they were sitting close to the door, watching me. Kamilah handed me my mother’s shawl, mat and other outfit through the bars. I gave Jani a smile, but she looked close to tears. My leaving would be a big change for a child whose world was a few metres square. This cell was smaller but at least I had a bed of my own above Hafsah’s.
The Truth About Peacock Blue Page 10