‘Your worship, I had to do my duty, I couldn’t bear the evil thing in my classroom. It would taint the other girls. I burned it immediately.’
The judge glanced at the clerics and they all dipped their heads like crows around a carcass. He asked Mrs Jamal to take another line of questioning.
She shifted her notes. ‘Under our constitution minority faiths are allowed to practise their religion and are not to be persecuted. Mrs Abdul, you have broken that law by your own admission in trying to force Aster Suleiman Masih to become Muslim.’
‘I wanted the best for her. I didn’t want her to burn in hell.’
I’d never heard her speak so sweetly, like almond halva. She sounded like the ideal teacher with all her students’ needs in mind, and the clerics’ crow heads bobbed in time again.
‘Do you deny beating Aster?’
‘No, I had to discipline her often – she was very disruptive in class.’
‘We only have your word on this.’
Mrs Abdul drew herself up and a look came over her face that belonged to the Mrs Abdul I knew. ‘My word should be enough for anyone who is a true Muslim.’
Mrs Jamal called for another witness. Miss Saed-Ulla, wearing a shawl over her head, was brought to the stand by a man who must have been her father. She didn’t mind saying what she thought of Mrs Abdul.
She indicated the line of clerics in the front row. ‘Her brother is a mullah at the local mosque and he has probably advised her on how to deal with the “only Christian girl” in class. Treatment like this of such students must stop. Mrs Abdul targeted Aster because she was Christian, she said so in the staffroom one day. “I will beat that kafir religion out of her,” she said. “You’ll see, by the end of first term she’ll be Muslim.” It was as if it was her project to convert Aster.’
This sounded helpful but by the time the prosecution was finished with Miss Saed-Ulla, Mrs Abdul looked like a saint. The lawyer had discovered Miss Saed-Ulla taught western novels in English classes. I thought lawyers were educated – surely he’d read western books? Why were they suddenly bad, and why did it seem like he was building a case against educating girls?
Mrs Jamal didn’t receive the respect that I thought she deserved. It was like a fantastical story Ijaz told me once about a girl called Alice, whose court case was run by the Queen of Hearts. Except for Mrs Jamal, the Colonel and Miss Saed-Ulla, this whole court was a façade, just like a pack of cards that could be blown away.
It was my turn to speak. Mrs Jamal was frowning as I was asked by the judge what I pleaded. My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. Even the other lawyer looked impatient and annoyed.
‘Not guilty,’ I finally said. ‘I would never have intentionally blasphemed. I don’t know what I wrote that could be so bad, my teacher didn’t tell me. I was accused when I was fourteen and it has been difficult in jail as a schoolgirl, but I believe Khuda will help me.’
I couldn’t think of anything else. There was no pity on anyone’s face except the Colonel’s and Miss Saed-Ulla’s. The clerics had looked pleased when I said it was difficult in jail.
Mrs Jamal stood. ‘There is no evidence whatsoever that Aster Suleiman blasphemed. Everyone except Mrs Abdul says she is a respectful and intelligent girl who cares for others, who has Muslim friends as well as Christian ones. There is only one person’s word standing between this child and freedom.’
I felt strange, as if I was kneeling on a cloud and could see a bright light, like Stephen did when he was being stoned for blasphemy. The cloud disappeared and I was left staring at the floor.
I could hear the judge pronouncing me wilful and guilty, then sentencing me to death. I grabbed hold of the chair in front of me so I wouldn’t fall against the policemen. My chest heaved; I couldn’t control the sobs.
Mrs Jamal shouted that a Pakistani court shouldn’t give the death sentence to a child – what was the judge doing, bowing to uneducated religious leaders who weren’t following the true Islam? ‘We’re being led into the dark ages.’
The Colonel tried to calm her. He was weeping, then he hugged me.
Mrs Jamal shuffled her notes together and actually put an arm around me.
‘I’m sorry, Aster,’ she said. ‘We proved it was just one woman’s vindictiveness but the court’s been rigged. The lawyer was switched at the last minute – this man has a history of taking blasphemy cases and winning – they’ve threatened the judge or bribed him, I’m sure of it. I’m sorry, it’s been a circus, but we’ll appeal to the High Court and if they also agree with the verdict, we’ll go to the Supreme Court.’
I wept into her shoulder. None of my family was there – it would have been too dangerous. As it was there were many policemen, not only guarding Mrs Jamal and me and her witnesses, but to contain the crowd. The police I was chained to were pulling on my arms.
‘We have to take her now, madam,’ one said to Mrs Jamal. ‘You too, quickly.’
The other policeman leaned closer to me. ‘No need to weep,’ he said. ‘The sentence will keep you safe.’
I glanced up, sniffing. He had skin like mine and looked as if he would cry himself.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ Mrs Jamal said, when we reached the back door. ‘Don’t give up hope.’
I could hear shouts from outside, cheers. ‘Let’s kill her now – save the government some rope!’
More clerics were outside and there was so much shouting it sounded like the end of Ramadan, as if the people had much to celebrate. Men were even dancing in the street. How did they find out I was inside? I hoped they wouldn’t stone me. Shooting or even hanging would be quicker. If I had said the Kalimah I may have been saved, but Mrs Jamal had said I shouldn’t have to, and I agreed. Did she ever imagine she would lose?
Lines of riot police and soldiers in khaki with helmets and guns lined the street, trying to keep the mob away from the courthouse as courthouses have been attacked before. Other police officers had shields and two accompanied us, one in front and one behind, as we got in the van. There was a shot but I didn’t see if anyone fell. I was pushed in and landed on the floor with the two officers. Our legs were entangled and I managed to get mine to myself. The two men with the shields jumped in too. I glanced up at the officer who had told me not to weep and as he shifted to get more comfortable I saw the glint of a chain at his neck. There were thumps on the outside of the van, shouts to give up their vile cargo.
‘Do not worry,’ the darker-skinned officer said, ‘the van is bulletproof.’ What if they bombed it? I would be like Tom Robinson. I could see the headline: Schoolgirl shot while escaping.
The policeman added, ‘It is little Eid. It is when hope begins.’
I stared at him. He was saying it was the Easter festival. I didn’t know, since it’s a different date each year. Yesu Masih was given the death sentence for blasphemy at the first Easter. I was His follower – why should I expect any less?
Yet still I prayed my sentence could be revoked. I am not Khuda, I am just a girl.
I wanted to return home and our lives to be the same again. I’d never disobey my parents or disappear when there were chores to do. But I am fooling myself – my life will never be the same. If I were to be released I’d have to flee the country and become an asylum seeker. Would my parents come too? Would we live with Maryam’s family in Australia? Like Malala Yousafzai who was still in Britain. Would she ever be able to come home?
I couldn’t talk about it in the cell. I was frozen. Hafsah knew I had been given the death sentence. I bet the genie told them. With glee.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hafsah said.
I kept thinking, if the Colonel had said this or Mrs Jamal had said that, but always I came back to the same conclusion: whatever was said, the prosecution would have turned it over like a shovel mucking out a goats’ pen.
Mrs Jamal was right: the court had been tampered with. It had felt like a lion’s den and I hadn’t been delivered.
That night I dreamed I was in
the courtyard. A light shone and grew closer and there was Yesu Masih, holding out His hand. He wore a long cream robe and a shawl that was so bright it made the whole land shine with colour. He looked as strong as if He could overthrow a court or a whole government if He wished it, but it was me He wanted. His dark eyes brimmed with compassion.
‘Beloved Aster.’ His voice reverberated in the sky and His love settled around me like a blanket made of peacock feathers.
Such power and light I had never experienced. I knew then Yesu had delivered me, just in a different way from what I’d expected, deep inside me, for when I woke I was not so afraid.
Free Peacock Blue
To see a world where freedom,
peace and justice reign
Sign petition here
Target: 200,000
Freedom of Religion – Is there such a thing?
We are all supposed to enjoy the right to freedom of religion but today I can’t think of what to say about it. My fifteen-year-old cousin Peacock Blue has just been given the death sentence because she’s the wrong religion.
There was no jury, as juries in multicultural countries with ethnic tensions can be biased. India and Pakistan abolished the system soon after Independence. If Peacock Blue had had a jury they would have been Muslim. But the judge and lawyers were Muslim, too, it turns out. Courts can still be corrupt without a jury, though you only have the lawyer or the judge to bribe or intimidate.
We all know there is much persecution in the world: there were horrible crusades that had nothing to do with the love of God, inquisitions that pitted Christian against Christian, Hitler killed six million Jews, Muslims were killed in Europe and now in Africa, Indigenous peoples the world over have been massacred, minorities including Yazidis and Christians are being killed in Iraq, Syria and Egypt. How can we stop people doing this to each other?
COMMENTS
Affat I’m very sorry to hear of your cousin’s sentence. It is so wrong. I’m collecting peacock feathers to put in a vase where I study at uni. The peacock is a symbol of renewal and patience and I will wear one to show I care what happens to Peacock Blue.
Crystal I’m sorry to hear that, Maryam. Even though I’m Muslim I disagree with Peacock Blue’s sentence, and I’m going to wear a feather. That’s a good idea, Affat.
Danyal This is the worst time to be a religious minority in Pakistan. We are all born free and equal but the reality is different. There are no fair trials and people are unfairly detained or given too high a bail to pay. There is violence under the blasphemy law and some are killed even before the trial. Death is the risk for campaigners against the blasphemy law, but the only way to reform the law is through mass awareness. Peacock Blue is my wife’s cousin, so thank you, cousin, for this brave blog and petition. I have signed.
Rashid I can imagine how this girl feels. I do not believe my religion (I feel like I am locked in a cell too) but I cannot change it or I will be accused of blasphemy. If I do not go to the mosque with my father he beats me and I am nineteen! He continually watches me as if I am going mad and I know he is afraid.
Crystal That’s awful, my family is Christian and when I became Muslim they accepted it. My mum even came with me to the mosque in Birmingham for Eid. I hope something works out for you, Rashid.
Tamsin I’ve got a peacock brooch of my mother’s. I’ll wear that for Peacock Blue. I think we need to respect each other’s views, not try to make people the same as us, but allow them to inquire.
Ahmed That is called freedom of religion, which most countries, including mine, who are killing minorities have stated in their constitutions. They just can’t seem to carry it out at grassroots level.
Maria We lost everything when my family fled the war in Syria. My parents even forgot our important papers.
Crystal Was that an attack on you because of your religion?
Maria It is war, they say, but Islamic State seems to be targeting our Christian towns. When our Christian village in Syria was attacked, there was fire everywhere. My parents thought we would survive if we did not flee. But my youngest brother was killed by a stray bullet. My mother has had a breakdown and now we live in a tent.
Affat It sickens me to see our great ancient religion undermined by this new harsh form of Islam.
Habib It is not new, sister, this is how it was meant to be. Who would want to change their religion if they were Muslim?
Maryam Habib, I could say the same about Christianity.
Fozia So, Maryam, you think Christianity is the best religion?
Maryam Everyone thinks their faith is the right one otherwise they wouldn’t believe in it. They’d change. Well, if they could – sorry, Rashid, that sounds so insensitive. But this is not a forum to argue about which religion is best – but to air differences and breed respect.
Affat We can do something to help by signing petitions to stop ethnic cleansing.
Dana I live in Australia and I’ve never heard of ethnic cleansing happening since WW2. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?
Amir We’ve heard in Canada how Australia treats traumatised asylum seekers, so I’m not surprised you don’t hear what’s happening in the world. But you can easily find out on the web. Then you can give to charities and sign petitions.
Dana I don’t sign petitions – someone may see my name on the list and bomb my house. If we let asylum seekers in we’ll have cultural wars here. We don’t want Australia ruined.
Tamsin Speak for yourself, Dana. There are many people in Australia who don’t agree with the inhumane policies towards strangers. A country that doesn’t look outside itself and help others in need will crumble on the inside. Let’s do all we can to support freedom of religion and speech, and in the meantime, don’t forget Peacock Blue.
Sammy You have a good blog, cousin, open to discussion, but not everyone is so progressive. It may be seen by the wrong people.
Maryam Bring it on – they need to see how balanced and intelligent people can discuss different faiths and still be allowed to retain belief in their own.
Sammy The people I’m thinking of are not balanced or open-minded. They are only a tiny percentage of our population but give everyone in our country a bad name. They shame us yet say they are protecting God’s honour – but when has God needed our protection? We need his protection right now to save us from these thugs.
Maryam I think people confuse ‘sticking up for God’ for reverence and respect. I cringe every time someone at uni says ignorant things about my faith. But I don’t throw grenades at them, for that would dishonour God too. At least my friends who are atheists respect that I believe. It’s just old-fashioned good manners really. Kindness is putting ourselves in the shoes of others and realising what is important to them rather than to ourselves. The world needs to be kind.
MESSAGES
Sammy Ibrahim + 2 Maryam, could you send that petition to the Pakistani President? I think he has the power to stop the death sentence.
Hadassah Bashir Not for blasphemy, I shouldn’t think. No one can override that thing. It’s a monster that’s alive. People here are calling it the black law.
Sammy Ibrahim Cousin, I meant what I said on your blog. These are very dangerous things you and some others are saying. Be careful. Extremist thinkers may not be commenting but will be watching. Glad you finally blocked Abdulla. We could Skype so I can tell you what it is like for us here.
CHAPTER
24
The first date in September for the appeal in the Lahore High Court was delayed. If only I could have gone to visit the judge for him to see the kind of girl I was, to disbelieve the ‘evidence’ on the paper in front of him. But it didn’t work like that. Immediately, Mrs Jamal began planning her case for the next appeal date, even though one hadn’t been set. It could take years, and I didn’t have as much hope as she did for a reprieve, although Gazaalah told me a man was convicted by both lower courts for blasphemy some years ago and the Supreme Court let him free years later. Sh
e didn’t say this to cheer me up, just to let me know it might have happened for others but it wouldn’t for me.
She also said I should convert. For the first time I considered it. I’d be able to live with my parents again; we’d have to flee, but we’d be together. I’d see Sammy. I imagined myself hugging him, even though we were too old for it to be allowable.
Then reality set in. Wouldn’t they execute me even if I did recant? It wouldn’t save my life, it was too late, and I’d lose who I was. I couldn’t bear the look that would be on Yesu Masih’s face – the sadness, the betrayal. Couldn’t I have waited a little longer? I resolved to stand with Him, no matter what the world threw at me.
The genie tossed the mail into the cell after breakfast. It was a letter from Rabia.
Dear Aster,
I am so sorry to hear of your sentence in court. It has been in all the papers, and no one I know has any sympathy at all. Sorry to mention that, but I want to say I do. You made me think more, and now you are paying for it.
I’m so sorry that I told Mrs Abdul that you had spoken about Yesu Masih, she got it from me in such a way I didn’t realise I was saying it until it was out of my mouth. She’s been so nice to me ever since but I hate that because of me you are on death row. I wish I had your strength. Though if you had become Muslim you mightn’t be in prison now.
There are a few families back in your village and I have visited. They seem safe. The doctor you spoke about goes to a church in town. He sings really well, doesn’t he? Just like a pop star on video clips. I pray for you, Aster.
Your friend, I hope, Rabia.
I couldn’t think what her letter meant. How dangerous to go to a church. Just because her family was Masihi before, she couldn’t convert back, or she’d be accused of blasphemy. Then she would be in a worse predicament than me. I couldn’t even reply to warn her to be careful and tell her it wasn’t her fault, for it could be read by an officer.
The Truth About Peacock Blue Page 15