I also had to be careful – even Kamilah and Hafsah asked me what my beliefs were. Gazaalah laughed when I said we can all go to heaven if we accept that Yesu Masih died for us, but Muneerah’s face turned dark.
‘That’s why you’re in here,’ she said, ‘if you believe such crap.’
In this country if you thought differently about God you would be accused of blasphemy, and you could die.
That afternoon I wrote in one of my exercise books:
Being in jail for blasphemy is like being in a coma – everyone will go on with their lives while I lie here on my bed. Hadassah will have more children I’ll never see. Sammy will marry someone else. It’s strange how I used to think about Barakat. It’s Sammy I think about in here – I hear his voice sometimes, telling me a funny joke. He always told jokes in Punjabi, it’s a provincial language that’s alive and funnier than Urdu, which is made from many languages. Now I think about dying when I never did before. I know what is written about heaven, yet still I feel confused and restless, on the verge of tears, and yes, angry that I’m here at all. Some days, facing death makes me appreciate it here – this is my cell, it’s my home. I’m not truly afraid of dying but I am afraid of the hanging – what if I soil myself, will it hurt if my neck breaks, what will it feel like not to be able to breathe? But isn’t that how Ijaz died? Didn’t he die because he couldn’t breathe?
I have learned too much here. I don’t feel fifteen. I feel old, as if I have lived my whole life but just can’t remember it. I am safe at least, although the genie beats me if I don’t tidy up quickly enough or if I stay in my bed too long in the morning. I find myself wanting to please her like I tried with Mrs Abdul. Again, my reward is not to be beaten. There is no softening, and no smiles. In the night I often wish they’d get the sentence over with, execute me and be done with it. In the daytime I hope that the appeal will be successful.
More letters came. They always helped to stop my morbid thoughts.
Dearest Aster,
Greetings in the name of Allah and may he be merciful to you. We are thinking of you and daily hope to hear good news. We can’t imagine how frightened you must be. If we could do something more for you we would. It is a deplorable situation that a child is kept in prison and for such a thing. Your cousin Samuel Ibrahim has visited us and we were very impressed with him. He has a plan for your benefit, we hope it goes well. We are thinking of your welfare as always.
Colonel and Mrs Rafique
I couldn’t imagine what they meant about Sammy, so I opened the next letter. It was from Maryam in English and it made me realise what Abba had been trying to tell me about fear. To not fear doesn’t mean we won’t feel fear, but that we mustn’t give in to it.
Dear Aster,
Our family is very sorry to hear of the delay in your appeal. I have 200,000 signatures now on the petition that people all around the world are signing for you. So please do not lose heart, the whole world is hearing about Peacock Blue.
If the High Court agrees with the Sessions Court ruling, then there is the Supreme Court in Islamabad. It has been known to override a High Court’s ruling before. I have been in contact with your lawyer and she is very hopeful of a positive decision. She will be using the petition as part of her next defence. Surely the High Court will be beyond reach of the extremist clerics.
I had thought it would be easier than this, and you would be out of prison by now. Freedom and human rights issues are not as clear-cut as I thought in the beginning – they can mean different things to different people. Some people’s comments on the blog are troubling, but I will keep it going so more people learn about you and what you’re going through.
Nelson Mandela, who spent 27 years in jail unjustly, said, ‘I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.’
Please do not give up hope. We love you dearly and continually pray for your appeal and release.
Your cousin, Maryam
Those hopes of appeal were soon dashed. One morning in January I woke up to breakfast and the Dawn newspaper. Karam had thrown it into the cell.
‘See what good that stupid lawyer was? You’ll get no special treatment now your guardian angel is gone. And good riddance too, with her high and mighty ways.’
I stared down at the paper in shock. What could he mean?
‘What is it?’ Kamilah said.
My heart beat faster as I climbed down to pick up the paper. On the front page was a full-colour picture of a young man with blood on his face, kneeling on the ground, weeping. In his arms he held Mrs Jamal.
‘Nay. It can’t be.’
‘What? What is it?’ This time it was Gazaalah.
‘My lawyer has been shot.’ A single sob escaped, unwilling.
Kamilah gasped, but Muneerah said, ‘Well, that’s what happens when people support blasphemers. She died because of you.’
I stared at her with my mouth open. I still couldn’t take it in, yet slowly a wave of guilt and despair rose and swamped me.
Underneath the picture was an article.
‘What’s it say, girl?’ Gazaalah asked irritably, but Kamilah gazed at me in sadness.
I took a breath. ‘It says the Khan family will not let this go. Even though the country needs the blasphemy law to protect religious beliefs, they will work to help reform the law so it is just and protects minority groups.’
I stopped as Durrah snorted.
‘No one can fix that thing,’ she said. ‘Look at you and Hafsah. You’ll rot in here if they don’t hang you first.’
I couldn’t stop looking at the picture. Mrs Jamal had been shot outside her front door. Her own house, where she should have been safe. Further down the page there was a picture of Asia Bibi and how her High Court appeal had been rejected – not just deferred like mine, but rejected. Her death sentence was confirmed. What hope did I have now?
All day I stayed in bed. And the next.
The genie came in and beat me. ‘Show us what you’re made of, you stupid girl.’
I said to myself I didn’t care if I was beaten but I did care. It was very effective. After it happened three times I made sure I was out of bed when breakfast came. I slept during the day but that seemed to go unnoticed.
Then the paper was tossed in again.
Karam said, ‘You’re in it, 753. Make the most of it – you’ll soon be forgotten, no one will care what happens to you.’
He stared at me from the corridor, watching me as I climbed down from the bunk. I picked up the paper and retreated to my bed. I held my breath, willing him to go. Finally, he did.
‘Be careful of him,’ Kamilah said. ‘Tell me what it is when you can.’ She said it quietly and I nodded.
There was nothing about me on the front page. Coverage of Mrs Jamal’s funeral would have been on the day she died. I turned the pages – maybe Karam was bullying me? – and found the piece halfway through.
Village is attacked following the shooting of a lawyer who was conducting a blasphemy case. Christian schoolgirl Aster Suleiman Masih has been given the death sentence for blasphemy and Mrs Jamal Khan was planning to appeal to the High Court in Lahore when she was killed.
There was no picture of the village but it must have been ours. Tears streamed down my face as I checked for anything else. The reporter had interviewed bystanders.
One man had said, Blasphemy against Islam cannot be tolerated and the village was burned to send a message to Christians living everywhere. If you live in our country you have to be like us.
Horrible, horrible.
Had everyone forgotten our flag? Since 1947 the white section had been a reminder that minority cultures were welcome here. And what about my relatives? Even though they were staying elsewhere, what if some had returned, what if the men had gone to work in the fields? Surely Rabia wouldn’t be visiting. But I couldn’t write to Rabia or her parents may see it. It would get her i
nto trouble.
Then Karam was back at the door, standing there, looking at me through the bars. Jani saw him and fell quiet. All the women did too. I pulled my shawl closer around me. It should have been enough to make a decent man drop his gaze but Karam’s didn’t waver.
What had happened to make him like this? It had been touches and innuendos before, not this open crazed staring. I thought with a shudder how he was even worse than Ikram. He unlocked the door.
‘The other guard is sick today. It seems I have to take you to your exercises.’ His sneer told me what he thought of my privilege. ‘Out you come, 753.’
I climbed down, my heart thumping, and took hold of Hafsah’s hand. I didn’t want to be alone with Karam. He reached in and grabbed me.
‘Only you, 753, she’s not a minor.’
I glanced at Jani as Kamilah drew her closer. I didn’t want her near Karam either. I hoped there were other people exercising in the small courtyard, but when we arrived, chained together, the courtyard was empty.
‘Can you unchain me?’ I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice. ‘Then I won’t be a bother.’
His voice changed and became wheedling like Ikram’s in the police cell that night. ‘You won’t be a bother if you do what you’re told.’
He put his hand on my head and pushed down until I had to kneel in front of him, then he unzipped his fly. I smelt sweat and filth. I didn’t know what he wanted and I felt disgusted to be this close to a man.
He chuckled. ‘So you’ve never done this before. I’ll show you.’
He pushed my head forward and I cried, ‘Nay, nay!’
‘Stupid girl,’ he shouted. ‘I was going easy on you, well, now you’ll find out!’
He hit me across the face with his fist and punched me in the chest. I fell to the ground on my back. The chain on my arm pulled tight and I gasped. I thought my shoulder would be dislocated. My glasses were lost but I had no time to grope for them. Karam fell on top of me. There was a crack as he held my chained hand with the other above my head and I screamed. I tried to bite him but every movement hurt my chest and I couldn’t breathe properly.
Hadassah flashed into my head. Did it start like this for her?
I screamed again, ‘Yesu!’
But Karam slapped me so hard my head rang and everything felt mercifully far away.
Then I heard a noise, the door, someone was talking. I shook my head clear. His hand was on the band of my shalwar when I heard the genie.
‘What is going on here?’
Karam knelt up and growled at her, my arm stretched forward on the chain, hurting my chest. I winced.
‘Get out of here, she needs disciplining.’
The genie folded her arms over her chest. Behind her were Kamilah and Jani. I crawled as far back from Karam as the chain would allow. What would the genie do? Who was the higher ranking officer?
She didn’t back down. At least she was bigger than him.
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m bringing this woman and child for exercise, since you didn’t.’
Karam unlocked the chain and stood up.
‘You’ll keep,’ he growled at me.
I’d never been so happy to see the genie but I wasn’t silly enough to show it. I mumbled thank you through my tears without making eye contact, doing nothing to set her off. She was just as likely to slap me for getting myself in such a position.
‘You can wait here until I’m ready to take you back.’ Did her voice sound less harsh? I still didn’t dare look at her.
Without drawing attention I found my glasses and checked myself. My head hurt and my nose was bleeding, but apart from what I presumed was a cracked rib and the shame, I wasn’t hurt. I closed my eyes and rested against the wall in thankfulness.
Free Peacock Blue
To see a world where freedom,
peace and justice reign
Sign petition here
Target: 250,000
Lawyer Murdered
A lawyer has been murdered for defending my cousin Peacock Blue, while fighting for social justice. And I’ve just heard that Peacock Blue’s village has been attacked.
Who instigates things like this? Why does this sort of thing happen and police stand by? Is any of this acceptable? We have over 200,000 signatures now on the Free Peacock Blue petition, but it didn’t work on the President. The justice system doesn’t allow the President to make that decision at this level of the proceedings. He has to wait for the trial in the Supreme Court before he can grant a pardon.
If someone else takes the case to the High Court I will send the petition to them. Mother-of-five Asia Bibi’s appeal to the High Court has just been rejected and her death sentence confirmed. There were 25 clerics in the courtroom and 2000 outside. Two judges are needed to override a death sentence but what if those judges or their families have been threatened? If they don’t override the death sentence the rest of the world will criticise the injustice, and if they allow her to go free, maybe there will be a personal price to pay. I hope the petition is enough to help free Peacock Blue. Find out how to write a letter to Peacock Blue here.
COMMENTS
Crystal It is in all the papers in Britain today. So sorry about all this trouble for your cousin and her family. I hope she is freed. But the whole thing has made my mother say she wishes I didn’t convert to Islam, even though she saw it made me happy.
Habib They should just execute her and stop all the trouble. If they had done it straightaway that lawyer would still be alive.
Khalid That’s a disgusting comment to make, Habib. What planet do you live on?
Affat Many lawyers are protesting in Lahore today over this injustice.
Shafique There is a rally in Toronto where I live too, for human rights and freedom of religion. I’ll be there. With a placard I’ve painted of a peacock.
CHAPTER
25
Karam had said I was forgotten, that no one cared about me. Maybe he was right about the last bit but I knew I wasn’t forgotten. Gazaalah told me ten thousand men were marching to say I should die. The paper was shoved in my cell again to prove it.
But I found some better news in the middle: Malala Yousafzai had spoken at the United Nations on her sixteenth birthday. It lifted my spirits above the crowd of angry men shouting for my death to learn of a girl fighting for girls everywhere to have an education and to be treated justly. I imagined she was also meaning me.
Karam came to the cell. My rib hadn’t healed yet and it still hurt to roll over on the charpai. Hafsah had let me sleep with her as it hurt my chest too much to climb. I never wanted to see Karam again. Surely he wasn’t here to take me to exercise again – it wasn’t the right day.
A frightful shiver swept through my body. I was already hurt and I wouldn’t be able to withstand him in my condition. But he stood there staring at me.
Hafsah put a hand on mine. ‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘You can refuse – they’ll just beat you.’
‘He’ll drag me out,’ I answered, my rib hurting just thinking about it. He could hurt Hafsah too.
Karam unlocked the cell door and glared at me. ‘You have a visitor.’
His sneer told me he thought it was someone I didn’t deserve. Or was it a trick? I stood on the mat and he reached in for me and dragged me. It was the arm on the same side as my cracked rib and I cried out.
He grinned as he chained me to his belt. ‘I like to know I’ve made an impression on a girl.’
I made sure there was no eye contact, did not encourage or incense him. He leaned down. I smelt his breath and almost gagged. ‘You owe me something.’
I gasped. It was a trick after all.
‘You give me something or I’ll take you to the courtyard instead.’
What did he mean? What could I give him in the corridor, in full view of other prisoners? A kiss? I didn’t think I could stand the humiliation. He stood watching me. I could tell I wasn’t going anywhere unless I acted.
‘
What do you want?’ I stumbled over the hated words and he rubbed two fingers together.
Money. He wanted money. Abba had given me some but I was keeping it for something important, though my virtue was worthy enough.
‘I don’t have much.’ I pulled ten rupees from my qameez pocket. He stared at it so long that I expected a rebuff. He’d want more than that. What if the other forty didn’t satisfy him either?
But he smiled. It was not a kind smile and as he took the money, brushing my fingers, I felt caught like a tiger in a trap. He handed me a piece of chewing gum. I didn’t want anything from him but it felt dangerous to refuse.
His grin was loathsome, showing how he knew my money would run out. He’d have me one way or another and the longer he got to play with me, the better. I would never be free of him. All the way to the interview room I berated myself, but what else could I have done?
Karam unchained me at the door and didn’t push me in or touch me. My reward for his little victory.
I walked in. There was a man sitting at the desk.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
I wasn’t sure. I glanced back at Karam and was horrified to think of him as the safer person of the two.
‘Do not be afraid.’ The man indicated the chair opposite him. Was he an interrogator? Were they going to torture me at last? But why would they need to interrogate me? I already had the death sentence. I calmed myself and sat on the edge of the chair.
The man regarded me. ‘I am Sarwari Asif Khan. I am your new lawyer.’
He had hollows under his eyes. I still didn’t relax. If he was who I thought he was, he may want me dead.
‘Are you Mrs Jamal’s father-in-law?’ I ventured.
‘I am the father of Jamal, yes.’
Immediately a single sob escaped. It was happening a lot lately and I couldn’t always stop it. ‘I’m so sorry. You must hate me.’ I looked up at him and saw his eyes change: they were troubled.
The Truth About Peacock Blue Page 16