TUGULDUR
‘You are a clever man, but folly chases after everyone.’
That was what the superiors told Tuguldur after they had found out about the failed attack.
They were at a camp, but hidden from the view of others by concealing themselves in the biggest tent, the tent of Tuguldur, the commander of the band. The entire floor was of carpet and in the center, a large chair.
‘Zoroastrians are the eternal inhabitants of these mountains,’ Tuguldur said. ‘How do you expect us to expect them?’
‘You lost about twenty-three men in that failed raid of yours,’ the leader continued, not listening to any one of Tuguldur’s excuses. ‘We Mongols do not know defeat, and yet you have bathed in it.’
‘I think it is worth mentioning that it is also not my fault.’
‘That everyone says. But why am I berating you? You can make up for your mistakes of course, though it will be quite difficult.’
The man walked towards the table and roughly picked up a glass of mead and drank the entire thing in two gulps. He sighed and sighed with satisfaction. He cleaned his lips with his sleeves.
‘This is good!’ he exclaimed. ‘I would very much like to get drunk from this.’
‘You are getting off topic, I believe.’ Tuguldur informed.
‘Are you eager for punishment?’
‘If there is a punishment, that is. You can trust that I am more than capable of regaining your favors.’
‘Ah, but can you say the same with the Khan? I doubt it. But he is busy with other plans, so he might have forgotten you even exist.’
The man was getting on Tuguldur’s nerves now, but he had to remain calm. It was important if he wanted to achieve his goals.
‘Two-thousand men is all I ask from you.’
He laughed. It was a laugh like a tidal wave, great and loud.
‘I think you have drunk more than I have these past five years,’ the superior said. ‘Really, do you expect me to spare two-thousand men for you just so you can fail again?’
‘I will not fail again. You can trust me. Do you not remember the t times when I was fiercely successful? Even now, I have rarely lost a battle. I am like the ocean, and I have proven that multiple times. By the spirits of my ancestors I will crush these Abbasids and make it easy for the Khan to conquer Baghdad.’
The superior was silent for a moment. He put down the glass of mead and stroked his thin beard. After that, he sat upon the wooden throne-like chair in the center of the room.
‘Twelve-hundred,’ he said. ‘You may take it or you may leave it.’
‘I shall take it.’ Tuguldur replied.
‘Then it is settled.’
With a groan, he got up, but before leaving, he looked at Tuguldur.
‘Fail again, and you have dishonored yourself.’
And he left. Tuguldur smiled. He knew what he must do, and he had his eye on the desert.
ALI
Ali had taken his life the Sufi route.
Still, he wouldn’t have considered himself a Sufi. Though many times Gregorios told him he had the heart of one, Ali simply thanked him and said ‘I wish to not put labels on myself.’
Speaking of his heart, it was beginning to go through despair, though not because of Ali.
‘I fear for Ismael,’ it said. ‘I fear that his own despair will consume him and make him void of all joy.’
‘Pray to the One that that does not happen,’ Ali replied. ‘God knows him better than he himself knows, and He shall give Ismael the peace he deserves.’
***
It was only a few days later that the two brothers met again. Ismael was fidgeting in excitement like a filled bottle about to burst.
‘Why so joyful?’ Ali asked.
‘Akhi, I may have found a solution to my sadness.’ He replied.
Ali’s eyebrow raised, and he smiled.
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes! And it involves me teaching.’
Ali resisted himself from making a jest on the subject. Controlling himself, he continued.
‘And what shall you teach?’ he asked instead. ‘Wood carving I am guessing.’
‘You would be correct. I would like to teach these soldiers the art of creating art.’
‘What gave you the inspiration to do such a thing?’
When he said that, Ismael’s smile began to disappear. His eyebrows knitted and he fell into thought.
‘I … I really don’t know why, if I want to be honest. I simply decided one day that I wished to teach what I am good at to others. It was a call by something beyond me, and I felt I had no choice but to comply with its wishes.’
Hearing that, Ali’s smile grew wider.
‘That, my brother, is the call of the universe.’ He revealed.
‘Pardon?’
‘Always, the universe wants us to achieve our destiny, and it does it by giving us signs. For you, it has given a command, and you have followed it. You are heading in the right direction now.’
‘The universe … wants me to achieve my goals?’
‘Every time someone achieves their destiny, the universe becomes more beautiful and gives out more love. With love, the world becomes just a little bit more balanced and worth living in. And because love is released from a soul who has achieved his destiny, it is only logical for the universe to help you achieve it.’
The knowledge first affected Ismael by having him be shocked, then his face began to light up, gain color. Soon, he was grinning ear to ear.
‘Then I should start right away!’
And Ismael began to run away before his brother could give any remark. Ali chuckled a bit and looked at the sky.
‘Lord, You move in the strangest ways,’ he said. ‘But those movements of Yours are indeed the best, and the most beneficial.’
ELIJAH
Hamza had officially become a nurse.
Elijah had no idea how to react to the information. Should he be happy, or think of it as ironic? Either way, he thought that the best option was to completely ignore it. After all, he had much to worry about. There was a strange mixture of emotions that was twirling inside him, and he couldn’t manage to identify them. They were a spoonful of inner voices, a pinch of cryptic thoughts and great dumps of messages that were hidden.
‘Look inside yourself, and you will see that you have much to dig. Your soul is like a mine, and you must find the emerald.’
There it was again! The voices were unstopping, unyielding. They were like a persistent ruler who kept on sending messengers.
Before Elijah could ponder anymore, Hamza had appeared carrying a tray with clay cups. Strange how fate had worked as such.
‘How do you fair now, Ilyas?’ he asked with a toothy smile.
He mentally groaned. After all, he did not wish to talk to the man. But he had to reply for that to happen.
‘Better, I think.’ He said.
‘I have water. Your lips are dry, after all, so it is best that I give you some.’
He put the cup of water beside him, and Elijah secretly rolled his eyes.
‘If you do not mind me asking, what is Jerusalem like?’ he asked, making Elijah suddenly tired. ‘I always dreamed of seeing it some day, but never had the chance to leave Madinah. Now, I shall have to quench this thirst through tales told by those who have seen the golden dome of the Dome of Rock, and the black dome of Masjid ul Aqsa where the Prophet ascended to the heavens and Isa prayed.’
Elijah wanted to scorn. How could he speak of the Lord with that tongue of his? He was not worthy as far as Elijah knew. But he had to reply, he just had to.
‘Jerusalem is one of the greatest places on earth, practically the Kingdom of God,’ he replied. ‘The churches, the masjids, the temples, everything, the greatest things on earth. People of different religions live there in … well, they simply live there together.’
‘Why? Do they not live in harmony?’
Elijah wanted to laugh, but managed to restrain himself.
‘Ah, always, there are people of different religions fighting each other. Can’t mention Isa without causing some kind of fight, can’t pray without people judging you. Honestly, it is hell there. That’s ironic, because it is meant to be considered a land just behind Heaven.’
Hamza sighed.
‘Well, that is … unfortunate. I always heard that it was a place where people of all religions could greet each other like brothers and sisters. The way you describe it, it seems everyone is at each other’s throats.’
Hamza seemed solemn, almost disappointed. Why was that? Elijah guessed that if he were to say that Muslims were dominating the place, Hamza’s mood would suddenly change. He debated trying it, and eventually decided in favor of it.
‘It is a good thing though how us Muslims are safe there.’ He said.
‘What is the point if the non-Muslims there aren’t?’
Another peculiarity! Hamza caring about the kafirs? The day was becoming stranger by the minute.
‘Why should you care?’ Elijah asked. ‘After all, you do not live in Jerusalem, but rather in Madinah, where kafirs seldom visit.’
‘Nonsense! If there are people who are in pain, I must sympathize with them no matter their faith. This world was created for all of us, and no Muslim is better than a non-Muslim, and no non-Muslim is better than a Muslim. We were created by the same Hand, and will be buried in the same soil. At the end, all of our souls will stand before God. We are all equal.’
Hamza became silent for a moment, and then, in his most melodious voice, began to recite what seemed to be a verse from the Qur’an.
‘La iqraha fee adeheen.’ Let there be no compulsion in religion.
Elijah’s head had begun to spin. The strange feeling started to stir that strange feeling again. If he was hearing things correctly, then that meant Hamza really cared about people of other faith, and claimed that other Muslims did as well, claiming that their holy book commanded them to treat other people with different faiths with respect. Could it be that Muslims actually cared about Christians and weren’t constantly trying to find ways to end them?
The thought was ridiculous. All Elijah’s life, he had taken it as a fact that all Muslims hated Christians. And yet, here was Hamza proving him wrong. But he had to know more.
Elijah folded his arms, preparing for the question.
‘What are your views on Christianity?’ he asked.
Hamza was a bit taken aback by the question.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘I’m simply curious. I would think everyone has a different view on the same thing. Perhaps this one is to get to know you better, even if it is a trivial matter.’
Hamza scratched his beard.
‘It is a sudden question, but I will try to answer,’ he said, and Elijah braced himself. ‘If one thinks about it, us and the Christians are not so different. Really, the only difference is that they believe Isa, may peace be upon him, is God reincarnated and Muhammad, may peace be upon him, is not a prophet at all. But look at the similarities! We both believe in the miracles of Isa, Musa, Ibrahim, Ismael, Ishaq, and many more. We both believe in the prophets, a singular god, and – above all – peace. We have more in common than we have differences. But even if we were totally different, it shouldn’t be an excuse to kill each other, right?’
Elijah was silent. That wasn’t an answer he had expected.
His heart seemed to melt, like hard, cold ice turning into warm water.
‘Is that really how you view other religions?’
‘If I didn’t, would I be treating these people the way I am?’
‘That … that is inspiring. Many should learn from you.’
‘No. They should not.’
Elijah looked at the man curiously, waiting for an answer. Hamza sensed his eagerness to know and so elaborated.
‘I am merely a man, flawed and imperfect,’ he said. ‘By no means, I can be a role model for anyone. No man will ever be perfect, no one will ever be. Even the prophets, though sinless, weren’t perfect. But because of that, Allah had sent them as examples. They were the pinnacle of humanity, but if you were to follow even one teaching of them, then that is enough. They are the ones whose teachings we should be learning from, their actions which we should mimic. But if you want to go a step further, then it is best to follow the word of God.’
And from that day after, Elijah’s heart began to go through a transformation. He wasn’t aware of it, but that was because of the subtlety of the process.
He looked at Hamza, and then turned his gaze away. Were all Muslims like this?
‘Well – um – thank you for sharing your opinion.’
Hamza smiled.
‘If you need anything else, just call out to me, all right?’
Elijah nodded slowly, and Hamza left while maintaining his smile still. Elijah touched his chest, on the side where his heart was. He felt its steady beat. Dum, dum, dum. There was nothing strange about it, but there was an unsettling feeling that something inside him was changing; in a good way. It was as if a wound in his heart was beginning to heal.
And there was a wound, and it was beginning to heal.
‘And now, you are following My path.’
ABBAS
He wasn’t allowed to go outside. None of them were. Yet, Abbas kept on feeling the urge to go and feel the fresh air. It had been three days since he was sleeping in greyness and breathing in jagged air. Therefore, he had decided to somehow sneak outside despite the risks that were involved.
But he had managed it. It wasn’t easy, but the answer of if it would be worth it was yet to come.
Yet, as he walked outside the cave and into the open field, Abbas couldn’t help but think that he was making a terrible decision. After all, wasn’t he making himself vulnerable to the Mongols? If they would spot him …
He didn’t let the thought finish. He didn’t want to begin to imagine what the Mongols were to do if they found out. So instead, he looked at the mountains. He remembered a conversation with Umar he had, the one where they mention mountains talking.
Now that he looked back on the conversation, it had been a silly comment. But then again, hadn’t they been the ones to talk to deserts? Abbas should not be the one to judge what was strange and what was not.
And that was when the mountains spoke. Its voice was like an echo, a constant repetition of its words. Unlike the desert’s smooth, silky, and mystical voice, it had a rough, stern, and grounded one.
‘You are eager to land the opportunity of getting killed, aren’t you?’ it said.
‘I am not planning on getting killed. I am only trying my best to inhale the fresh air.’
‘Nonetheless, you will get killed. I hope you know that. But I will not say anything further about it. If it is the will of God, I will not interfere.’
‘If you are speaking to me, I can only guess you have advice to give me.’
‘How do you deduce that?’
‘You take me for a simple fool? I have talked with the desert, and it is never personal. It only says what it wants to say, and that is always a lesson.’
‘Hm, he is my colleague, and he does have the habit of doing such things. But anyway, I can assure you that I am nearly nothing like him. He is the flowing wind that never stays put while I am the stationary stronghold that maintains its position. Though I do have advice to give you.’
Abbas waited patiently for the mountains to continue.
‘You are struggling to find your hadf in this world, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes I am.’
Abbas wasn’t even surprised that the mountains knew. He had encountered too many queer things all together to have that sort of reaction.
‘Yet, I myself cannot give it to you. It is only for you to find your destiny, and it is not my responsibility to simply hand it over to you. But see, what I can do is show you the path.’
‘What does that mean?’
The mountains were silent for a moment, as if conjuring up a reply. It seemed that it was much slower than the desert as well.
‘Do you think that my domain is here only? My arms reach the westest of the west and the eastest of the east. I know the lands southwest, and the snow northernmost. I am everywhere you look, everywhere, my echoes are heard.’
‘What do you try to say?’
‘Love, Abbas. You must go to the path where the lantern of love lights the way.’
Love? What on earth was the mountain speaking of?
‘The love that I speak of is not the love you think of. Love is the feeling that you emit rather than bottling in yourself. Love is the fuel that runs the world, making it spin. It is the thing that makes the trees grow, the waves in the seas clash against the shore, the rivers flow, the dunes shift, and makes me remain an unconquerable fortress. Everything needs love, and you must be the one to give it.’
Peculiarities were everywhere, and here was a mountain teaching Abbas about love! What kind of tale would Abbas have to tell to people if he were to survive!
‘My arms extend to India, and they have great words in their language. There are three words for love there: pyar, muhabat, and ishq. These are not the same, Abbas.’
‘How so?’
‘Pyar is the simplest form of love. It is when you declare it with your tongue. This type of love comes from the mind. It can be for everyone that you like or prefer to spend time with. Muhabat is the more upper form of love. It is the love that comes from the heart, and it is a much powerful feeling. It can lead you to do acts of loyalty, but it can also have you killed or kill.’
Then the mountain stopped, his words still ringing in Abbas’s mind.
‘What about the third form of love?’ he asked.
‘The third form is ishq,’ the mountain continued. ‘It is the purest stage of love as it comes directly from the soul. It is when you love only for the sake of loving.’
‘How does that connect to me?’
‘Ishq is usually the type of love reserved for God and God only, but God created ishq so that we are able to give it to fellow beings. When one does so, he has achieved what is best described as “Nirvana”. Enlightenment.’
‘Enlightenment? True happiness?’
‘Precisely. Your hadf is with the people, and with them, you can know peace. You want to finally feel something, do you not? You may only feel when you absorb the feelings of others. That is the way of things. You need to understand what others go through. Expand your heart, and your love may also inflate.’
‘That was my purpose? To give … love?’
‘Yes. It is all of our purpose. It is what God made us for; to give love. It is the purest form of emotion, and must be given in plenty. What better way to have the capabilities to give love than to feel for others?’
‘Are you saying that I must always be willing to listen to others, hear what they have to say?’
‘And what else? Why do you think you were so happy in the past?’
Things began to connect wonderfully in Abbas’s mind. It all made sense. He wasn’t happy when he was a wandering merchant because of the wanderings themselves, nor because of the revenue he had. He didn’t enjoy traveling for the sake of traveling. He enjoyed it because of the people. He enjoyed it because he was able to know other human beings.
All those times. What with the blacksmith, with Umar, with Hamza, with all of his comrades. Hee wanted to know about them, care for them, and be sympathetic to their pain. All this time, his main purpose was to love, to ishq.
‘Is this what Muhammad, may peace be upon him, felt when the first five verses of Al Alaq?’ Abbas asked. ‘I am enlightened now, and I feel as if I know the secrets of the universe. Love, love! That was my purpose, my reason for living, my hadf. I finally know now! It all makes sense!’
‘Ah, I have only shown you the path, and you think you have reached the destination? You have yet to complete this path. You may have gained the ability to love, but you must also gain the ability to give that love. It is now up to you to give love, for I can only tell you what you must do. This may be the last time we meet, Abbas. I am no wisdom giver, despite what songs say about me. The desert is wisdomful, though. Just ask Salman, he will agree.’
‘You know of him?’
‘I know about things nearly as much as the dunes. Do not underestimate me in such matters. But at any rate, we must end this conversation this instant. Good-bye! Though we will never meet again, remember me in your heart of hearts, and within the soul in your soul.’
And he left, leaving fainting echoes behind.
Abbas stared for a moment, and he became paralyzed with wonder, enchanted at how fate had worked. He finally knew of his hadf now, and that was no small matter. Then he closed his eyes, and began to feel, hear, and smell everything around him. He felt the air that kissed his face, the subtle touch of ground that pierced through his footwear, and the rough scent of the grey mountains. He could feel it all, and he enjoyed every single moment.
For further comfort, he reminded himself: all things are one.
And then there roared a voice.
Abbas woke up from his trance, and he looked towards the entrance of the cave where a Zoroastraian was shouting at him. He was motioning with his arms, indicating that Abbas should be inside instead of outside.
‘Just a moment more!’ Abbas yelled back.
But he was having no excuses, not that he understood anyway what Abbas was saying. He continued to simply bombard Abbas with what he thought were curses.
‘Fine! I am coming then!’
And so, still amidst the shouting and what seemed to be vulgar words, Abbas used the path to go back to the cave.
***
The man yelled some more things in Farsi.
‘I do not understand you,’ Abbas said. ‘And to be honest, I do not want to even listen to you.’
But then, Abbas remembered the conversation he just had and turned back to him.
‘I am sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I have no right to speak about you in this manner. I sincerely seek your forgiveness.’
And so, Abbas put his hand on his heart and bowed a bit. By that action, the bowman was a bit surprised, but he then smiled and even let out a laugh.
‘In tooseh khobi est.’ He said, and did the same as Abbas.
Still smiling, he returned to the cave, giving the same motion of invitation to Abbas, this time friendlier.
‘With pleasure.’ Abbas replied, returning the smile and entering.
HAMZA
Hamza wetted a clean cloth and spread it on a soldier’s forehead.
‘That should help you; warm water always does in these cold environments,’ he said. ‘It had always helped us back in the camp, remember?’
‘I do indeed. Thank you very much, Hamza.’
He nodded, much satisfied with himself. He gave a few more words of encouragement before leaving. He sat on the ground. It was a specific spot that he had fancied. It overlooked nearly everyone in the healing room. It was convenient. He could immediately see what everyone was up to, and could also deduce when someone had the urge to hurt himself.
Which was another problem that they were facing. Many, from their shock, were trying to harm themselves so that they could be relieved of their mental pain. They admitted that it did little to actually help them, but it was becoming a habit, an addiction of sorts.
And Hamza saw it as his own responsibility to prevent these sorts of things. These soldiers were still young, and had a chance of a bright future. If only they could also start being aware, and Hamza starts doing his best.
‘You seem to be enjoying this new trade of yours.’
Hamza, in his panic, stood up and managed to nearly topple a stool that was next to him. He turned towards the source of the noise and saw Walid.
‘Oh – er – good morning, sayed.’ He greeted.
‘It is evening, but I understand the instinct.’
He stared long at Hamza, analyzing him, looking for any sign of weakness in him.
‘I believe that the conversation we are to have is long overdue, but then again, it is important so perhaps there was no right or wrong time for this.’
The words immediately made Hamza nervous. He suddenly wanted to leave, run away from the place and never come back. But he couldn’t move.
‘I want to talk about what happened out there during the raid,’ Walid continued. ‘Tell me, what had inspired you to not fight, Hamza? I am not angry at you, I simply want an explanation.’
Hamza sighed and he tried to convey words out of his mouth. The first time, he failed, and the second time, it had come off as more of a murmur than understandable words.
‘I – I do not know, Walid,’ Hamza managed to reply on the third try. ‘I simply had a feeling in my heart, and I followed that feeling. I will be frank with you, sayed: killing is wrong, and I have neither the will nor the strength to do it.’
Walid became silent for a moment, but the silence inside him did not take long to break.
‘So that is the justification you have, then?’
‘I wouldn’t call it that. It is more of a reason than an excuse.’
‘Is that so? Well, I do think it is valid.’
Hamza looked at the commander with a perplexed look.
‘Pardon?’
‘You have heard me quite correctly. I do understand what you mean. You come from Madinah, after all, the city of the Prophet, and so are among those who follow the sunnah the best. Killing is a great sin, no doubt, and I think that it has become unnecessary for me to tell you that in war, you have to kill.’
‘But why? Why must that be? How does killing even solve anything?’
Another silence took over, and Walid sighed.
‘Hamza, may I tell you a story?’
He hesitated a bit before replying. What did a tale have to do with what they were doing?
‘You may, Walid sayed.’
With a heavy breath as if preparing to take away a burden, Walid began.
‘There used to be a blacksmith, one of the best in the land. He would make pots for the locals, and mend broken pantries. But the most remarkable thing about him were the weapons he made. His blades were of the finest steel, sharp and precise. With the iron he had, he would make axes, spearheads, shields, and many other weapons of war. Yet, despite that, he never had the thought of going to war himself.
‘That was until one day some soldiers came to him. They said “Come! Towards war we must go and with glory we should return!”
But the blacksmith was not interested, and he answered “There is no need for me to go out seeking glory. Allah made me a blacksmith and because of that, my place is in this workshop, not the battlefield.”
But the young men were adamant and wanted him to come severely, for they loved him and needed his support in battle. Therefore, the blacksmith complied, thinking that if he were not to kill, he would return safe.
‘When time came to be, he fought his first battle. The two sides, like tidal waves of different seas, clashed with each other and made bloodshed. In the battle, the blacksmith killed the enemies for he had no choice but that. First it was one man, then two, then three. Just like that, he managed to slay about eleven men. With every slew foe, his heart ached, and he prayed that he would have finished by now. He cried out that this was a tragedy.
‘But tragedy was yet to come. He lost both of his arms, and though he returned to his home alive, he could not ever continue his duty making materials of iron.’
Now it was Hamza’s turn to be silent. Was there supposed to be a moral in the tale? It was grim, and Hamza could not help but think Walid had made it up on the spot so that he could convince him to start killing, otherwise he would lose something.
But Walid did speak, and he explained.
‘So you see Hamza?’ he said. ‘Kill or not be killed, a soldier has two fates: either he dies like any regular person, or he has a maut hayu. A living death.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means when you die, yet still live.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Most do not, and that is why the example of the blacksmith is important. See him. Though he lives, could he ever work with iron again? Could he ever indulge in the trade he loved so much? In other words: he is a dead man with a life.’
Hamza thought of it. He tried to make up solutions, but none of them made sense. Eventually, he gave up.
‘There – there is no way for him to be happy again, then?’
The question must have been unexpected to Walid as he had to stop with what he was saying abruptly and scratched his chin.
‘Perhaps … there is a way,’ he said, and that made Hamza’s ears perk. ‘There is always a way to be happy again. But the way is a harsh one, and most die without seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Nonetheless, one can still be happy. Yet, he loses a part of himself despite everything. There will be a void in his heart, a deep hole that can never be filled with anything. It is a place that can never be capable of love, hatred or any emotion. That is one of the worst feelings.’
Hearing this, he stared at nothing, perhaps pitying the patients. Hamza looked at his staring eyes. He was reminded of something that he heard from Sufyan, the camel collector. Though the man was a bit grumpy, he still had good wisdom in him. ‘See here, Hamza. If you want to know what the other person is like, look at their eyes. The eyes, they never lie. Like a door to a house, the eyes are the gateway to everything that is hidden inside the soul. Look in their eyes and see secrets.’ And right now, Hamza felt that Walid had that void in his heart.
‘I will not scold you, for there is no point in it,’ Walid continued. ‘But I will warn you that sooner or later, you will learn of the world’s cruelty. Remember, Hamza: even the best of mankind are more than capable of breaking the rules that they set upon themselves. You are no exception.’
And saying no further words, he left. He simply left. Hamza wondered why there was no shouting to the point that the other patients would yell at them to stop, why wasn’t there him pleading to Walid to forgive him? None of that had happened, and Hamza had no idea of why.
All he did was wonder at Walid’s last sentence. Remember, Hamza: even the best of mankind are more than capable of breaking the rules that they set upon themselves. You are no exception. Did that mean that he would be someone who would kill? It was a gruesome thought – nauseating even. But was he capable of doing it?
Perhaps he would never know, perhaps he didn’t want to know. The mere imagination of killing was too powerful, so what would happen if he was laid with a choice? Walid had given him a scenario, and he chose the option where he killed no one. Yet, what was to happen if he was faced with the same choice in reality? Would he perhaps choose a different option?
He brushed away that scenario. He should be focusing on taking care of the patients. Yes, perhaps that would be best.
And he stood up, and the thoughts still lingered.