Operation: Dard and Devotion

24 | Complaints & Confessions

I did not see Ahsan for days after that incident.

Days turned into weeks, according to the horribly scrawled tally marks I had etched on the stone wall of the dungeon with a twig. A sloppy line would see itself on the wall every time I had witnessed the sun go up. There were a total of seventeen. Seventeen days, nearly three weeks.

It had been nearly three weeks since I had seen Ahsan.

Even the food supply was cut short. Thankfully, I had saved some dates and bread, and some water to last the past three weeks. Each time I digested a small morsel, though, a bitter pain erupted in my stomach. Either my stomach was in audible disapproval with the measly portions, or the food was close to being spoiled, if not already. I was torn with deciding whether or not it was safe for Saad to eat. I may be able to handle digesting rotten food, but could he? Eventually I tried to assure myself that some food was surely better than none at all. Obediently, he would softly nibble on whatever I gave him. But for how much longer can we survive like this?

Saad even learned how to successfully take a few steps before tumbling into my lap some days ago. Even then, I felt like a terrible motherly figure because as much as I had tried, I could not bring myself to smile.

I forgot how to.

The corners of my mouth were no longer used to curving upwards. As of late, they seemed to have preferred a horizontal line. I was beginning to fear myself. The person I had transformed into was an absolute stranger to how I was, both physically and emotionally. Running a hand down my own face was a struggle in itself. My cheeks were no longer smooth and full, but instead, gauntness and dry skin had replaced them. My hair was in an even more sorry state. The thick locks had resorted to being thin and brittle so much that even finger-combing them had caused shedding. Day by day, I had come to the realization that I was slowly losing it. I was gradually dying. Lack of food and improper hygiene was really going to be the end of me.

I felt so empty and deprived. Deprived of healthy food, deprived of clean water, deprived of happiness, deprived of Ahs-

Ahsan?

My stomach churned distastefully at the very thought of him. Fine, perhaps I should've listened to him the first time he established that he did not want to see his mother. But had he any right to take out his anger on us? What did we do to him! At any rate, while I did feel sorry for him when his mother nearly disowned him, didn't he deserve to hear the hardcore truth?

Then, the words of Ahsan's mother dawned on me. The Ahsan I was familiar with was not a murderer, save the time he threw a man off of the rooftop at Faizan's bidding. Apart from that, he showed no signs of being a terrorist, at least to me. But, he had been part of Al-Tho'baan for nearly two years. Surely he did not spend all that time twiddling his thumbs in a corner! He must have killed so many people in that time. Men, women, children, babies even...

He was probably no different than the likes of Faizan. On the other hand, unlike Faizan, Ahsan seemed to want to cling on the last strand of humanity he had.

But that strand was, oh, so tiny.

I gazed at the family photograph I had taken from Ahsan's house and stared at the boy on the right side whom I believed was Ahsan, judging from his immensely dark eyes.

How did this innocent little boy become a most-wanted terrorist, a brute, a bloody murderer?

Just how?

The carefree child in the picture was a drastic contrast to the bitter man I was used to. The boy did not seem like he would threaten everyone around him with a menacing glare, have random mood swings, or reply sarcastically to nearly everything.