The targeted crème de la crème
Author: Ruzn Baloch
It was 4 am and I was in drowsiness. I didn’t want to sleep but the fortnight sleeplessness was not allowing me to remain awake further.
I felt a gasp from my neighbouring (torture) cell.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
But there was no answer.
“Is there somebody new?” I asked again.
But all I felt was the pin drop silence.
I thought it was my own obsession.
Again, I started my efforts of not to sleep.
“Wake up;” I heard a voice of heavy tone.
“I am already awake.” I replied.
“Why are you not sleeping for last two weeks?” The cop asked.
I responded with a smile.
“Shabir listen very carefully! Your demand for the provision of a pen and paper cannot be met, and it’s in your favour to stop this protest.” The cop told to me.
“It’s my right.” I laughed on my own statement; asking for the rights in one of the most vicious places of earth.
“You’re not doing anything else but assisting us to free a cell, as the score of missing persons is increasing and we’ve no cells to room them.” The cop said to me.
But I continued my protest and was losing weight rapidly.
All I needed was a pen and a paper to pen out my existence over a paper.
It was the 18th sleepless night and my eyes were stuck on the roof. I was feeling that I was drowning into sea. Suddenly I heard a groan.
I was sure there is a new victim in my neighbouring cell.
“Is anybody there?” I asked.
Again I heard a groan.
“Hello, who are you?” I asked the man again.
“I am Shabir; Shabir from Awaran, member, no, no, the central information secretary of BSO Azad.” I introduced myself to the man of neighbouring cell.
I don’t know whether I was excited that my neighbouring cell was occupied after a year or what my feelings were, but I kept introducing myself.
“Shabii!” I heard my half name with a sigh from the neighbouring cell.
“Yes this is Shabir.” I replied.
I don’t know what I was thinking, because I had many things running in my mind.
Many days passed but the neighbouring cell remained empty. Brutality on me was now at a slight lesser rate. Maybe I was now an old victim and they were busy with the newer ones.
One day the door opened, a man was pushed into it. He was drenched in blood from head to toe.
He was unconscious. I was staring him like I had never seen a man. I suddenly realized that I should help him out. I went to the man and took him in my arms.
He was breathing.
After few minutes an armed man came into our cell.
“Did he sleep?” He asked.
I didn’t reply and started looking into his eyes.
“So your protest for the attainment of pen and paper ended now, Hhahahahah” He laughed hysterically.
“No, protest is my right. I need a pen and a paper because I am a reader and a reader always needs to pen down his thoughts.” I responded to the cop.
“You and your thoughts and the nasty struggle for a free Balochistan, my foot.” The officer roared.
“Who are you?” I asked the victim in my cell when he woke up.
He opened his eyes after three days.
“Karim”. He replied.
“Water”. After saying his name he asked for water.
I served him water.
“Where are you from?” I asked him.
“Kharan.” He replied.
“When did you come here?” I asked.
“I don’t exactly remember but I think I am here since last 15 days.
“How were you caught?” I asked.
“One night they sieged our village and started a search operation. They burned and looted out all things. They killed my mother in front of me when she resisted against my abduction.” He concisely narrated.
“The so-called national leader has asked the so-called prime minister of the state of Pakistan to release the missing persons. But the abductions have continued, even with a greater intensity. I don’t know then why this drama is being staged.” The victim said sickeningly.
“Is the leader asking for the freedom of missing persons? I asked.
“Yes.” Karim replied.
“Hahaha.” I laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” Karim asked shockingly.
“Did the leader asked us whether we want the freedom or not?” I asked.
Karim was staring at me.
When we join the Baloch Movement we knew that we’ve two ways to go.
One way is to kill.
The second way is to die.
The state knows no difference between the militants and an activist, whether the activist is political or a rights activist. When we are under the custody of the forces we face the same brutal torture as the militants face.
We all activists know what our ending is. But we decide to be part of this war because the war is not for the missing persons or for the facilities but it is for our national freedom. We’ve a nation, we’ve our own languages, we are not part of this country, and the war is for the freedom of Balochistan. The war is based on an ideology. This war will not end with abductions or killings. If our generation is abducted or killed then our next generation will fight for freedom. National freedom is our destiny.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of The Balochistan Post or any of its editors.