Blessings

21 Voices

21 Voices

A shuddering sob rips through the still silence of the cramped prison cell. The mournful sound echoes in the unyielding darkness, hanging in the heavy atmosphere. The owner of the sob buries her head in the filthy shawl draped round her head, afraid the sudden outburst of noise will call the guards attention.

A soothing hand reaches forward to offer a shred of comfort to the weeping woman.

She is not the first to cry.

Breathing in deeply the woman attempts to calm herself, suppressing the occasional wail that threatens to spill from her chapped lips. 

It had like any other day.

Class had just ended and the members of the program were quickly piling in. The leaders of the organization were outside the entrance of the classroom, welcoming both eager and hesitant women alike.

Soon, the room was filled with young women occupying the seats. They faced toward the front expectantly, hoping to possibly gain some insight to their deen and benefit as a result. The leaders clapped their hands, it was time to begin. 

"Assalamualaikum." 

"Quiet my dear; we don't want to alert the guards." A soft motherly voice cooed soothingly. Quiet murmurs of agreement sounded from the other occupants of the cell.

The dim lighting from bulb outside reflected the women's sleep deprived faces; dark circles lined their eyes bearing a testament to these few brutal nights. Some clung tightly onto their hijab fearing the protest of the cloth being torn off at any moment while others closed their eyes wearily as if warding off a bright light.

"B-but it's just so hard." The sobbing woman replies, voicing the horrid reality of their situation.

"It's hard for us all." Another voice states bitterly. Eyes turn to the woman in the corner who ducks her head at the sudden attention. She sighs inaudibly before continuing in a softer voice.

"Wouldn't we all rather be outside this horrid prison? Don't we all have family at home? Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. All worrying out of their minds for us. Losing sleep, crying, praying deep into the night for our release." She clenches her hand into a fist, "It's hard for us all." 

They were midway through the meeting. By now everyone had relaxed, concentration clear on their faces as they each leaned forward to hear the sweet words of their Lord. They each felt a curious sensation of warmth flood their heart; finally some truth was being told and it inspired a realization for a purpose in this world. Finally they were learning after so long, when a knock sounded. 

"And the children—you forgot the children." Someone else added timidly. "I have a child at home," another added, "he's almost six, but he likes to think he's seven." The speaker smiled in reminiscence.

"I too have a child, her name is Noor. Whenever I am sleeping she comes to me and kisses me tenderly on my forehead." The woman suddenly breaks off in anguish, "Who will she kiss now? Who?!" Whimpers offering no condolence greeted her unanswered question, all too familiar with the deep pain of not knowing. 

The person outside the door rapped his fingers twice against the surface, stilling the gathering within the room. Then came the sound of bullets. Hammering fast against the knob, the sound of metal hitting metal pounding within the ears of the women inside. The door had been unlocked to begin with, they didn't need the bullets. No.

The purpose of the bullets was to strike fear, and only fear. Finally the frightening sound ceased, before the door was flung open to reveal green uniform police men.