The Truth About Peacock Blue

by Rosanne Hawke

  I decided then that, no matter how difficult, I’d write the story for them and all girls falsely accused; the Malalas and Mrs Jamals also, all those brave enough to fight for justice.

  CHAPTER

  27

  There’s a crowd of people shouting, calling out my name. But it’s not like the mobs outside the courthouse. These are calls of love. Dada-ji, my dear grandfather, waves to me. I have never seen him stand so tall. A young man steps forward – he looks different but I know who it is. He is strong and well and he doesn’t wheeze when he speaks my name.

  ‘Aster, we are all here,’ he says. ‘Do not be afraid. This isn’t your time, but when it is, we are here.’ It is Ijaz.

  When I wake I realise what Abba meant about our faith: I know that if I live for Yesu Masih, death will be my gain and it is true that in this instant, I am not afraid. Today I’m thankful for the life I’ve had. I have now lived a year longer than Ijaz, for today I am sixteen. And now I want to live for Ijaz as well.

  Two years ago in March I was hemming my dupatta for high school and now I’ve just been moved to solitary confinement. This is not just a nightmare and I’m not sure how long I will be able to endure it. All the same, each morning when I wake up I force myself to be thankful that I am still alive.

  This cell may be my future, unless enough pressure is put on the court system to execute me. The appeal to the High Court still hasn’t happened. It’s been delayed twice but I’m used to that.

  I wonder if Asia Bibi is. She is waiting on the Supreme Court now. I would like to meet her but she is in a different prison a long way from here. I think about the journalist, Zaib, and the story she wants me to write.

  I get the fountain pen and exercise book from my bag and write:

  My name is Aster Suleiman Masih.

  I smile – it’s not a bad start. Maybe I’ll write it as if I am telling Kamilah and Jani. They wept as I said goodbye when I was moved to solitary confinement.

  I wonder if they will be allowed to visit. Jani said she’d miss my stories, and Kamilah thanked me for my love.

  ‘You’re like a sister,’ she said. Hafsah cried too when the genie came to get me. I’ll miss them all – maybe not Muneerah and Durrah, who said good riddance when I left. I’m still wary of the genie but I know now she has acted for my benefit.

  My cell is smaller than the one I shared with Hafsah. It is also windowless like my other cell but I have a single charpai that reminds me of my bed in the village. There’s not much room for anything else except the hole in the ground to do my business; I will not be allowed to go to the bathroom to meet anyone who may hurt me.

  I guess that means I won’t have any exercise either, so I will have to pretend I am in the fields by walking on the spot. Narjis told me to enjoy the jungle in my new room. She may not be as unhinged as we think. Her eyes looked unusually shrewd the day I was moved. We survive as best we can. I have water in buckets, and my food is slipped in through a slot in the door. It’s like living in the toilet.

  The genie brings me the mail. This time there is a parcel and even though it’s been opened, the contents look like they’re still there. I say thank you and she comes into the cell.

  ‘This is the last time I can do this. From now on only your closest of kin and lawyer can come in, and maybe the cleaner. No one else, do you understand? You do not need to be frightened.’

  She’s talking about Karam and I incline my head. I would never have been free of him if I wasn’t in solitary confinement. It’s a high price to pay for safety.

  I look up at her and find her face is not as tough as I remember it, but I know she will still want to beat me if I don’t get out of bed. She points to a corner of the ceiling.

  ‘See that?’

  I nod again.

  ‘It is a camera. If anyone does get in here, they will be caught.’

  Will they kill me first? I choose not to think that. I’m getting better at choosing what to think, and when I forget, I decide what Sammy would think. It only works if I’m well and when I pray. If I forget to pray my world looks grey. I wonder if Narjis prays to remember the jungle.

  When the genie’s gone I look in the parcel. There is soap, a towel, little bottles of shampoo, a brush, hair ribbons and clips. It’s from a church in Australia, and I catch my breath to see the ribbons and clips. If Jani could come, I’d do her hair. Surely they’d let her in.

  Then I read my letters. I’m still amazed by the mail from people I’ve never met. There are more from overseas but I read the family ones first. Even though we don’t usually celebrate birthdays except for the first year, the little cousins have remembered mine and made cards. There’s a letter from Ammi and Abba, and another from Hadassah. And then I see one from Sammy. I rip it open first. His greeting stops me short. He usually writes Dear Cuz.

  Piari Aster

  I hope you are not lonely. Soon I will be old enough to be able to travel to visit you. So far my parents are considering my safety. But what does my safety matter when you are locked in a cell?

  I have been to see Colonel Rafique and he is looking into getting travel papers for you now while you are still safe, so they will be ready when you are released. I can’t wait for that day and we all pray for this.

  Also when you get out of prison, Uncle Yusef will pay for your flight to another country. There is a lot of support through the blog Maryam has set up too. Some people are offering money for your new life when you get it. An organisation has promised to pay for your education when you are released and settled overseas.

  France has already offered asylum to Asia Bibi for when she is released. I’m sure a country will do this for you also. You are an inspiration to so many and most of all to me.

  I love you, I always have. I cannot remember a time when I didn’t. Please let me keep writing to you and helping in any way I can.

  Your devoted cousin, Sammy.

  PS: I’ve been reading Solomon’s Song of Songs, thinking of you. Remember, love is invincible facing danger and death.

  The letter drifts to the floor and I sit transfixed. Now I know how Sammy loves me. Since Sammy and I grew up next door to each other, he was more like a brother and yet in here, he is the one I miss the most. His lightness, his laugh, his jokes always cheer me up in my head. I used to be so full of life, like Hadassah, but Sammy wouldn’t recognise me now. I’ve learned to be quiet, to not provoke so as to avoid notice and a beating. I could be in here for years if I don’t die. But Sammy loves me.

  I pick up the letter, read it again. Then I read Abba and Ammi’s. They send their love, hoping I can find space in my heart for joy. It’s difficult for them thinking of me incarcerated, unhappy.

  Am I unhappy? I was, but I am learning that happiness is an attitude, a state of mind and heart. I have my songs, my prayers. And my dreams. Yesu Masih has come in dreams whenever I needed a friend. What sort of miracle is that? How could I not believe?

  I pray for a world where we are allowed to believe what we wish without fear, where we respect others’ faiths and choices and don’t kill them if they are different. I pray for a world where I can be free with Sammy.

  That idea makes me think a long time. Then I pull the exercise book back onto my lap and write:

  I was named after a Jewish girl who was chosen for her beauty and grace.

  I feel a surge of power rise in my heart.

  I will fight, like Maryam, like Malala. I will finish this story for my little cousins, for Jani and others, and maybe one day someone will be as brave as Shahbaz Bhatti, Salman Taseer and Mrs Jamal and manage to make reform.

  When Queen Aster approached the Persian king to ask for her people to be saved from a cruel law that targeted them, she knew she and her people may perish. Yet she took the risk and moved the heart of a king.

  I pray my story will also do this, and that I may walk this path, whether I live or die, to give honour to Khuda’s name. Then, because I am alone I sing as I write.

 
; I sing of hope, and I sing of joy.

  Free Peacock Blue

  To see a world where freedom,

  peace and justice reign

  Sign petition here

  Target: 500,000

  Write a letter to Peacock Blue

  Peacock Blue’s Story

  Justice delayed is justice denied. Justice for Peacock Blue has been delayed long enough. It has been two years since she was sentenced at Easter time. Three years she has been in prison – she’s now 17. What comfort is it to us that no one has been executed for blasphemy? What comfort when other children accused of blasphemy have been released?

  The appeal to the district High Court in Lahore has been postponed for the fourth time. At this rate it will be years before Peacock Blue’s case is heard, especially if Asia Bibi’s case is anything to go by. Asia Bibi’s appeal to the Supreme Court is still pending.

  The United Kingdom MP for minorities is calling for a reform to the Pakistani blasphemy law again. When a church in Pakistan was bombed recently Muslims stood guard with Christians against a further attack. During the Egyptian revolution Muslims protected Christians during worship and Christians made a ring around Muslims so they could pray in peace. The world is changing, people are growing braver. Join with me – whatever faith you have or none at all – to help Peacock Blue see that change.

  Peacock Blue is also fighting for change by writing her story. Not just to help herself and her family, but to show the world what is happening so others won’t be wrongfully accused. Click here to download the full story.

  The Truth about Peacock Blue

  My name is Aster Suleiman Masih. I was named after a Jewish girl who was chosen for her beauty and grace from a harem of thousands to marry the Persian king.

  Like her I belong to a minority faith and like her my life changed because of it.

  This is how it happened.

  GLOSSARY

  Abu, Abba Dad

  accha good, okay, I see

  adda station

  Ammi, Ummie Mum

  ao come

  Assalamu Alaikum (A) peace be upon you, hello

  azan call to prayer

  bahut very

  Bara Din Christmas Day

  bebekoof imbecile

  beti daughter

  bhai brother

  burqa head to toe covering for women

  busti small settlement, village or community

  chai spiced tea

  chana chickpeas

  chapatti unleavened flatbread

  charpai traditional string woven bed

  chup quiet

  chutti holiday

  Dada, Dada-ji grandfather, dear grandfather (father’s father)

  Dadi, Dadi-ji grandmother, dear grandmother (father’s mother)

  degchi, deg huge steel cooking pot

  dost friend (usually for boys)

  dupatta a long silk scarf

  Eid ul Fitr a religious festival to mark the end of Ramadan

  imam worship leader of a mosque, officiating priest

  Injeel New Testament

  jai praise

  jaldi quickly

  ji short for yes; also used for respect after names or titles

  jinn, genie a spirit, good or evil; can take human or animal form

  kafir infidel, unbeliever

  Kalimah statement of belief in Islam, the first pillar of Islam

  kharmosh be quiet, shut up

  Khuda God, usually used by Christians in Pakistan

  Khuda Hafiz goodbye, may God protect you

  lota jug

  masalah containing spices

  Masih Christ

  Masihi Christian

  mehndi henna

  mullah Muslim religious teacher or scholar

  naan flat bread made with yeast and cooked in the oven/ tandoor

  nahin short for no; also nay and ji nahin

  Nana, Nana-ji grandfather, dear grandfather (mother’s father)

  nay short for no; also nahin and ji nahin

  neela blue

  peelah yellow

  phulkari Punjabi ‘flower work’ embroidery

  piari dear

  qameez long shirt or tunic

  Ramadan the Islamic holy month of fasting

  Sahib title of respect

  salaam peace, shortened form of hello, usually used by Christians in Pakistan

  shalwar baggy trousers

  shalwar qameez outfit of clothes, long shirt and baggy trousers

  shamiana marquee

  sharam shame

  shukriya thank you

  tabla hand drum

  teik hai okay, fine

  Wa Alaikum Assalam (A) and upon you be peace; the response to Assalamu Alaikum

  wah wow, wonderful

  walima wedding feast or reception

  Yesu Masih Jesus Christ

  zarur certainly

  zina adultery: sex with a man who isn’t one’s husband; includes premarital sex and rape if four male witnesses are not found to prove it was forced

  NOTES

  Asia Bibi, a Christian mother of five, is on death row for blasphemy in Pakistan.

  Salman Taseer, the governor of Punjab province, Pakistan, was assassinated on 4 January 2011 by his bodyguard because he called for reform to the blasphemy law and tried to free innocent victims.

  Shahbaz Bhatti, the minister for minorities and a Christian, campaigned to reform the blasphemy law and supported those accused of blasphemy such as Asia Bibi. He was assassinated on 2 March 2011 by Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan for being a blasphemer of Muhammad.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Truth about Peacock Blue is a work of fiction and, even though a few public figures have been named, all characters in the story are fictitious and not based on any real person.

  I thank Asia Bibi for her inspiring memoir, Blasphemy, so that we can know what is happening to her. I also thank Dr Ambrose Emmanuel for permission to use the words from his song ‘Umeed’ and Maria Farzeen for help with school dates and cultural details.

  The phrase ‘Changing the World One Girl at a Time’ that Maryam uses on her blog is a slogan coined by the Walford Anglican School for Girls in Adelaide and used with permission. The concept of the fear of others corrupting our soul on Maryam’s blog is inspired by Andrew Dutney’s article, ‘The fear of others has corrupted the Australian soul’ at www.abc.net.au/religion/articles/2012/11/27/3642256.htm

  Thank you, Lisa Berryman, who encouraged me to write a story for the UNICEF anthology Reaching Out: Stories of Hope, and also said (along with Jacinta di Mase) that my story, ‘Just a Schoolgirl’, would make a good novel.

  Thank you to Lenore Penner and Gary Hawke for reading drafts. Thank you, Eva Mills, Sophie Splatt and the wonderful team at Allen & Unwin who helped me create this book.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rosanne Hawke lives in rural South Australia. Many of her books have been shortlisted or notable in Australian awards; Taj and the Great Camel Trek won the 2012 Adelaide Festival Award for Children’s Literature and The Messenger Bird won the 2013 Cornish Holyer an Gof Award for YA literature. For ten years Rosanne was an aid worker and teacher in Pakistan and the Middle East. She is a Carclew, Asialink, Varuna, and May Gibbs Fellow, and a Bard of Cornwall. In her books she explores culture, history, social issues and relationships. She also teaches Creative Writing at Tabor Adelaide. The Truth about Peacock Blue is her twenty-fourth book.