“Today, you’ll be in the arms of your mother!”
As light filtered into the cave, Ahmad opened his eyes and gazed out. Was today going to be his last day on this earth? Would he be with the angels tomorrow? How were the angels? He hoped all of them were like Rebecca.
If Rebecca were here, he would have asked her; but she was dead now, and he hoped he would meet her in Heaven, though Abdullah said she went straight to Hell. As he watched Mohammed turning over on his mattress next to him, Ahmad remembered the last time he had seen Rebecca.
Hearing the commotion, he had peeped out to see her being slapped around by Abdullah and Musa, who was shouting and abusing her. Mullah Shaheen came out, and as they dragged her inside, they told him what happened. The men came outside, and within minutes, everyone was told to pack up; they would all be leaving the camp immediately.
There was a flurry of activity, and it was amazing how quickly the group was ready to move on. Ahmad knew Mullah Shaheen was very angry with Rebecca and would punish her. He wondered what she had done this time; no doubt, she had tried to escape. Scared for her and scared himself, Ahmad wanted to help Rebecca and ran to the cave where they had left her.
“I’m going to help her to escape,” Ahmad whispered to Mohammed, who had followed him. “She may not be noticed in the commotion of moving.”
It was too late; they saw Abdullah and Musa drag Rebecca to the main cave where the men slept. Abdullah saw Ahmad and Mohammed hiding behind a rock and shouted at them to get ready to leave.
Ahmad had not seen Rebecca so scared, but she held her head high and even managed to look at the boys and smile bravely. Blood ran from her hair down her cheek, and her lips were also bleeding. Ahmad had stood firmly next to Rebecca and tried to reason with the men.
“You cannot hurt a woman…” he protested and was shoved out of the way.
“Gulnoor Bibi is going to be very angry, and Allah won’t forgive you because Rebecca is your guest,” yelled Ahmad.
Abdullah, Mohammed and Rebecca had been surprised to see Ahmad’s persistence to protect her. Mohammed tried to pull him back to avoid the wrath of his father. Just then, Mullah Shaheen came into the big cave with a gun in his hand. He slapped Ahmad and pushed him out of the way while they dragged Rebecca into a corner. Ben was wild with rage and had pointed a gun at Ahmad. The boy had thought Ben would shoot him, and he braced himself.
“Chacha, please don’t,” Mohammed had intervened, and Ahmad watched Shaheen become aware of his nephew standing between them and lowered his gun. He had told the boys to leave the cave and asked Mohammed to keep an eye on Ahmad as they left the camp. Mohammed had dragged Ahmad from the cave.
“Becca betrayed us, so we have to move quickly. Shaheen Sahib is going to leave her body behind,” Mohammed informed him as he came back to help Ahmad pack. Mohammed always told him secrets he overheard between his father and the other men.
“Leave her body?” he asked, stunned. “Are they going to kill Becca?”
“I heard my father say this,” Mohammed replied, getting his things together. “Hurry or else they’ll take their anger out on us!”
On their way out of the camp, Ahmad had seen Qasim and Musa making their way back and had followed them, only to be dragged back by Musa, who was angry about Salimuddin, who had disappeared in the ravine when they encountered the strangers. Ahmad got five lashes for pushing. Ahmad did not know the strangers but figured they had come to help Rebecca. He heard a helicopter close by, and the noise frightened him. Was their camp going to be bombed? He knew instinctively that all this commotion was the result of something Rebecca had done. Now touching his sore back, Ahmad said a prayer for his dear friend Rebecca, asking Allah to forgive her and let her into Heaven.
“Mohammed, I don’t care for the damsels waiting for me in Heaven,” Ahmad confided to the sleeping Mohammed.
“Huh?” said Mohammed sleepily.
“I’d rather get out of here, away from Mullah Shaheen and your father,” Ahmad confessed. “I want to see the world that Rebecca told us about.”
“Don’t say that. You’re a noble Talib; you’ve been chosen to perform a good service for Allah,” Mohammed emphasized, and the two friends got up and went out, away from the listening ears of the other five children in the cave. They were not allowed to be out in the open during the day for too long, but it was still dark outside, and it was all right. There were fewer people at the new camp, and Ahmad wondered where the others had gone.
“I’m not ready to make this sacrifice,” Ahmad frowned.
“Ahmad, you have no choice now. My uncle is sure to have you watched and guarded,” Mohammed warned.
“Your mother always protected me against Mullah Shaheen. I feel that no one here cares for me now that she isn’t here,” the boy replied.
“Don’t say that, Ahmad. I’m your friend. Do you know what you’re supposed to do?”
“No, Qasim is coming with me and will tell me when it’s time,” Ahmad added.
Ahmad was scared, but he did not want to show his friend that. Gulnoor would have understood and explained things to him. She told him how the conflict began and how they were attacked and had to flee along with the other displaced people. She had explained to him how hard those days were; when the war in Afghanistan brought millions of refugees into Pakistan from across the border. Gulnoor always said once they settled down, the boys could attend a madrasah.
What she failed to mention and what Rebecca told him about after, was the radicalized jihadi movement that came with the refugees. The numerous new madrasahs for the orphaned victims of war were supported by foreign donations from wealthy individuals and Islamic charities, mainly from Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states.
Ahmad looked forward to going to school until Rebecca told him about the madrasahs.
“These schools teach a twisted view of Islam and claim that the West is the source of corruption in Muslim countries,” she explained. “What they teach isn’t true; how can spreading hatred be permissible? They glorify jihad, which allows the murder of innocent civilians, including other Muslim men, women, and children, and the new heroes are terrorists!”
He was confused, and her words came back to haunt him now that he was to be a martyr to the cause.
“Martyrdom through suicide attacks are encouraged,” she had explained to him once in disgust. He had never given it serious thought before, until now. “The monsters who run these radical religious schools take advantage of the students who are poor and uneducated. They’re young, dependent on the schools, and cut off from contact with their parents for years at a time; this makes them good targets to being programmed towards violence.”
He was so confused and asked Rebecca, “What do students in schools in your country learn?”
“They learn about reading and writing; about books and math; about history and nature and science. They study to be good citizens and respect life on earth.”
“That is a lot to learn,” he smiled. “What about Allah?”
“Allah is in the hearts of believers,” she replied simply so as not to complicate things. “His message is of love and live peacefully. We try to be good human beings according to his teachings.”
Surely there was some middle ground between what Rebecca said and what he had learned. He wanted to talk to someone about his mixed feelings. Mohammed did not understand his dilemma and just kept telling him to follow his orders to avoid punishment.
If only Rebecca were here, he thought. She would know what I should do.
To his pleasant surprise, everyone at the new camp suddenly started treating Ahmad with respect after Mullah Shaheen had called his name during their meeting yesterday.
“Ahmad, you’ve been a good Talib, and no one is better than you in reciting the verses of the Quran. For your loyalty, you’ve been selected to become a Shaheed, a martyr,” he had announced. “You’re special to be chosen for such a glorious mission. Come forward and accept your blessings.”
Ahmad had been happy to finally be on the right side of Mullah Shaheen, who was usually angry with him. He had eagerly gone to the front amid the cheers and pats from his friends. He felt so good and important.
But this morning, Ahmad was filled with doubts. He had always felt Mullah Shaheen hated him more than anyone else in the camp. Ben punished him, whatever the reason. So, the thought that troubled him more than anything was why he had been selected to be a Shaheed? Surely, he was not worthy, since he had heard numerous times how worthless he was. What exactly did “Shaheed’”mean? Was this a reward or a punishment? Once he had this thought, it would not leave his mind. He decided to talk to Mullah Abdullah, Mohammed’s father.
As soon as he heard the call to prayer, Ahmad said his prayers with all the others from their group. He got a lot of affection today from everyone and knew they would have said a special prayer for him today. He went to see Mullah Abdullah with Mohammed, who was following him everywhere today. Ahmad kissed the hand of Abdullah and sat down beside him.
“We’re so proud of you, my son,” Abdullah praised after a while, “Your parents would be so glad if they could see what you’re going to accomplish today.”
The praise made Ahmad’s green eyes shine bright, and he smiled as the dimples on his cheeks appeared. Ahmad was barely eight, the rough people and harsh environment around him should have toughened him up, but it had not.
The people in the Talib-e-Azad were the only family Ahmad had. He was three years old, according to Gulnoor, when the Pakistan army had killed his parents. The Talib-e-Azad had taken over the responsibility of taking care of Ahmad, and he had grown up with the other children like him, who had also lost their parents and were looked after by the group. Mohammed, who was almost Ahmad’s age, was his closest friend, and the two were inseparable.
There was no doubt about what the kids would do in life; they would be trained to be fighters through weapons and physical training, as well as weekly lessons on anti-Western lifestyles bolstered by their radical teachings. Though Ahmad had not formally learned to handle a gun yet, he was around arms, which he helped to load and clean during shooting practice.
They were raised to endure a hard life. Whenever someone showed weakness, the punishment was severe. At times, some of them had gone on little trips with the elders, never to be seen again. Ahmad never considered asking or questioning what was asked of him until Rebecca came along.
Rebecca had made him think. She told them things about her world, about places where she came from and about the different people in the world. She had described stories, so different from their usual teachings; tales about magical things. About Mowgli, the boy who grew up in the jungle with the animals. What fun!
Today he was going to be Mowgli and put fire in the jungle and destroy the evil people who had killed his parents; he would make the world a better place by ridding it of wrongdoers. One thought still troubled him, though. Would Mowgli do what he was going to do? Or was he going to do something that Sher Khan, the ferocious tiger, would do? It was all so confusing.
“Are you scared?” Mullah Abdullah inquired, seeing Ahmad sitting quietly and deep in thought.
Ahmad was not scared of what he was being told to do; he was scared that he might be doing the wrong thing. He knew Abdullah would never understand this, so he posed another question.
“Abdullah chacha, will I meet my parents today?”
“Insha Allah,” Abdullah confirmed, raising his hands to Heaven, not realizing the integrity of his words. “Today, you’ll be in the arms of your mother!”