The Whirling Vortex

June 30, 2020

By: Mehroosh Majid

"Sahr! Sahr! Come, see what is happening." Relapsing back to senses, I recounted I am not Sahr. Nevertheless, she clasped my hand in hers and took me to the spectacle. They were tearing a woman's heart apart, shattered her bones to pieces. She asked for  forgiveness while the crowd hummed melodiously, "Wailul-likulli hu mazatil lumazah." A white shimmering cloth in which she was adorned started to slowly smear with her blood and a man steamily smoking cigarettes lowered her.
I closed my eyes as a child horrified only to behold Dal lake coated with squalor, with men thumping their chests. Their musical cadences echoed in my heart,
   Karbala kay shaheedo alvida!
   Karbala kay shaheedo alvida!
   Karbala kay shaheedo alvida!
Going berserk with them I moved my head to and fro. 
A man with a cracked eyeball and bullet-ridden body, in a hapless state and a grim voice, asked me, "Take out my bullets!" whereupon an old lady clutched my hand and said to him, "She is my guest!" and took me to her house.  She pointed to a place and said, "Sit down, will you?" and then said, "NO, sit there!" She repeated it again and again and then cupping her hands said, "My dear, where will you sit? My blood is everywhere! Where shall you sit? I tried to see where blood was. I found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I woke up drenched in sweat, gasping for some air.