All It Takes, To Be Brave, Is Just One Step

A non-fiction short story: All It Takes, To Be Brave, Is Just One Step

“The Phoenix rose into the sky

And blazed so bright

The sun turned its eye.”

-Aaron Brown

It is said that the bundle of hardships is directly proportional to the construction of a strong character. In simple words, the mounting piles of hardships will transform you into a man or a woman of a strong character. I am not denying it but I just think that it is the half-truth. The naked truth is that a bundle of hardships carries piercing and intense pain with itself. That pain never diminishes. It clings to your brain and sucks the calm portion of your memory. You feel helpless yet you become a strong person. You shine like a phoenix rising from ashes however, your pain sets ablaze your heart. The pain never leaves until it waxes and wanes like the moon. Your strong stature seems helpless before the immense burden of undefinable pain. Therefore, you drink it like a distasteful drink and busy yourself in the routine.

The rays of the sun try to shine upon the face of Mirha as she folds the blanket tiredly. “It is the day.” she thinks. Her younger sister’s mouth is half-open in her sleep but it is not bothering Mirha today. “They will make a decision by keeping reason, logic, and sense in their big brains.” She walks towards the kitchen reciting “Ya-Allah, ya–Muhaymin” (The God, The Witness). Allah has witnessed what happened back then.” She puts the cups and plates in the dishwasher. “What if they label me as a criminal instead?” Her fingers crumble while pressing the button of the dishwasher. “NO. Ya-Allah, Ya-AL-MUHAYMIN! Help me for I am helpless. Make me a conqueror for I am right. Assist me for You can. OH, Allah! I am at your door hoping that the open door will bring out mercy and satisfaction for me”, she prays looking at the window.

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Sitting beside her mother with a dupatta ( a head scarf) on her face, she tries to calm herself as the verdict has come. Her trembling hands support each other and she looks towards the old man named Chaudhary Ismael who is standing in the jirga (a Council) to speak out the verdict.

“Ya Allah! I am not the criminal.” whispers the heart of Mirha.

Representative of the Jirga, Chaudhary Ismael speaks: “I am going to announce the final and mutual decision in front of all the villagers. I acknowledge that I am the representative of Allah Mian and He is the best Judge. Still, I have made sure that the decision is taken by keeping the commands of Allah Huzoor in mind. I ask for Allah’s mercy as I announce the verdict. So, my companions, we all have been gathering here on weekends for almost three and a half months as our daughter Mirha Qasim has accused Shahzaib Abbas of rape. (“Accused? Most of you saw the signs.” Mirha thinks.) she says that she was looking for her younger sister’s doll in the room above the stairs of her home on the evening of her cousin’s nikkah. Shahzaib locked the door and raped her. The mind thinks that such a grand house filled large number of guests did not hear a single scream or a fragment of voice. (SCREAM! I could not. I could not. I could not. I tried but he stopped me. He was strong and I was not. Besides this, they tried to hide my marks when they saw me running down the stairs). Yet the mind bewilders more when we try to find a reason for Bibi Mirha’s visit to the room alone. ( I told you that Nimrah was crying. Children do not think when they want something. They want, they scream, and they get.) Chaudhry Yaqub is also stunned to think that the daughter of the village’s chief, Chaudhry Qasim got raped. ( Predators do not see the family’s background, they see the prey.) Bibi Mirha has asked for justice against her family’s will and has tried to go to court. Yes, yes, yes. I know. It is such a demeaning move for us all. (demeaning, I am the one who got demeaned once by the rapist and from then onwards, by all of you, again and again). She thinks that it is a sin and it is against Allah’s orders. Yet, she forgets that Allah says that all matters of shame and sin must not be discussed openly.”

“She has become a rebellious bird who will take down her all family with her.” intercepted a large-mouthed woman in disgust.

Mirha looked toward the voice and said, “What if it were you and not me?’’ 

“Shhh…. Let us speak, Mirha child.” Continued Chaudhary Ismael. “Shahzaib has recorded the statement that he was with his three friends at the wedding and he did not know Mirha at all. (statement? Ya-Allah, ya–Muhaymin). The medical report suggests that the honor of the family ( my family’s honor!! My honor.) was tarnished and the identity of the rapist has been recognized unfortunately, my heart is gloomed to announce that he is Shahzaib. (“Ya Allah, Ya Wakeel” The disposer of matters, sighs Mirha.) According to the new law, the punishment for rape is chemical castration and it would be brought into effect immediately. I hope that Mirha would be relieved to find the young and prosperous child being doomed.”

None was happy after the verdict. Not even Mirha. It was not the solution. Would it be performed? Maybe because the elders never got back from their verdicts and maybe not because elders agreed to listen to my story in Jirgah. Is rape all about intercourse? You can rape someone through hands, eyes, and mouth. Mirha could not question the verdict for it was part of the deal that she would be heard in the scales of justice only when she would acknowledge the final decision, no matter what. 

Three years passed and she has risen like a phoenix. She has turned the ashes of her tarnished soul into wings and has been soaring high and high. All memories still suck her present joys but she keeps on sealing those boxes. Sometimes, she thinks that the pain will never fade away. It will pierce her soul. Mirha manages to hope that suffering in the form of tragedy will chain some of her future prospects while some doors of opportunity will welcome her. Pain will tear her but her mind will mend those tears with strength and courage. She will armor her inner self from all pain just like she protects herself from the world now. 

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“We all are gathered here once again with a child accusing unlucky Shahzaib of rape. The child is known as Kubra and she is being represented by Bibi Mirha. Mirha says…”

“I can speak. Thank you, Chaudhary Sahab! Yesterday, I was passing through the barren lands with my driver Karem and maid Memona after shopping when I heard suppressed voices. I got out with the driver and found poor Kubra in appropriate condition while Shahbaz was raping her. I want…”

“Liar. Shahzaib? He has been castrated according to the law.”  scornfully said an elder man.

Mirha replighed, releasing a sigh. “You are not getting what I am trying to say.”

She knows that she has to explain lots of things and she will do. For Kubra. This time justice would be served according to Allah’s commands. Moreover, no ridiculous law will be followed. She will make sure of it. 

“Ya-Allah, Ya-Muhaymen”, her heart chants when she opens her mouth to speak for the victim.

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