I Love My Country

I sat at the back of a dark, solitary classroom while scraping the edge of my wooden desk with a pencil. The exams were being handed out, when at last its unworthy face was laid in front of me. I wrote December 16, 2014 on my Second Year Physics Exam, which lay desperately in front of me, while agitation was being built up inside my stomach. The exam was awaiting an answer to be made on its fresh page covered with Newton and Pascal’s law questions. My body started to increase in adrenaline and my face portrayed a feeling of anguish and fear.

I brought my attention to the other students in the room; Ibrahim, Abu Bakr and Aalim. They all seemed afraid. At least I wasn’t the only one.

I contemplated upon the grey tiled roof, in the hope of inspiration. There was none. Why hadn’t I studied for this exam in the first place? Maybe because the headmistress kept me after school to do a hundred suicides, as a consequence for being late to Math class.

My agitation broke into a jolt of exasperation, when a thunder started evolving beneath the classroom floor. A crackling of about forty-five bullet shots erupted. The silence in the classroom remained. Mrs. Asiya looked side to side, telling us to remain quiet. The boys started whispering to each other. Once again, the thunder grew, much frightening than the previous one.  Commotion broke out.

Mrs. Asiya hushed us, signalling us to take cover by the back wall of the classroom near the bleach smelling closet.  I had never experienced such an adrenaline rush before. Abu Bakr who was the most brave out of all of us, was today red in the face, leaning against the back wall, while his breath quickened like the rapid clapping of a chicken’s wing’s when it is about to be slaughtered. I held his hand, in hope that his body warmth would comfort my soul.

Another twenty bullets flared into the air, but this time it was much near, as though its heat was violently pressuring my soul.  It seemed to have come from Mrs. Aisha’s Grade 6 students’ beside our classroom. There was a daunted howling of children. My heart started beating like a prey hiding from its malevolent predator.

We all stuffed our green ties into our mouths in fear of screaming, so whomever it was arousing the fear within us, couldn’t hear our despair and dread that was wanting to escape, in the form of an abominable scream.

I alleviated myself. I cautioned myself. I consoled myself. I knew our school was under attack. Telling myself that I was trained in an army school. I have been trained with effort to establish courage, fortitude and immense love for my country, so I will be regarded valiant and heroic when dying for my country.  So I will not feel regret when my life has ended at a young age. I may not have the muscle, but what I do have, is the strong love for my country.

Five minutes later, while I was still keeping grasp of Abu Bakr’s hand the stomping of heavy boots bombarded through our classroom door. Standing in front of us were three men wearing Pakistani army uniforms and holding Ak-47’s. A feeling of joy and relief struck my classmates and I. We were saved alas. Mrs. Asiya stood up and smiled, she seemed to be in the same state of joy as we were in.

One of the men started laughing, maybe because we were smiling in such a violent situation. We were undoubtedly confused.

Ibrahim also laughed along, he couldn’t bare not laughing, when another was laughing. The minute of happiness was broken from our recovering hearts when Ibrahim was bulleted down by the man. His youthful face was now streaked with blood and a faded smile.

Ibrahim didn’t make a sound and fell to the ground. Tears fell upon my cheeks.  Vengeance and enmity struck me.

“Kill me first!” said Mrs. Asiya abruptly, as tears soaked upon her red dupatta.

“Burn her!” said one of the men. Mrs. Asiya didn’t say anything. Her tears continued, but her weeping of sorrow from within came to a halt.  She stood there, as the lit match fell on her shirt. She closed her eyes while screams of pain fled her very soul.

These men were rebels, rebels I say! No compassion, mercy or kindness to even a young woman. What a shame!

Then it was our turn, the terror travelled in a line starting from Abu Bakr all the way to me. I closed my eyes waiting for these vengeful creatures to shoot me. If only, I could attack them somehow? But, there were three men. I didn’t know exactly what stopped me from killing these creatures.

My physics exam swiftly fell to the ground as the gun was pointed towards my chest. My rage and bravery had a fierce combat with the bullet that was piercing through my chest and abdomen. The blood fled from my body at the speed of the tears leaking from my eyes. My pulse fastened. My lungs gasped for air. I scraped my nails into the pond of blood that was forming on the floor.

I was astonished at the violent ending of my life, but I was not afraid. I was calm, because I am a defender, a lover and a soldier who died for my country.

I am a Pakistani Soldier. I love my country and now I have given back.  With a quiet whisper, I spoke these last words so no rebel could hear, only the graceful angels could here that were coming down from heaven to take our heroic souls.

Writer’s Note: On December 16^th, 2014 nine members from the Tehrik-I-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) attacked the Peshawar Army Public School. Over 140 teachers and students who were present in the school were massacred. This blog was written as a fictional experience of one of the children who died in the attack. Let us hope the best for these children and the children who survived. We can hope that the families of those massacred to be given patience to go through such mourning over the loss of their youthful children. This was a dreadful happening that happened in Peshawar, Pakistan. Let’s keep firm faith and belief in the safety of every child throughout the world.

Photo: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-30505504