ভূমিকা

Shiavault - a Vault of Shia Islamic Books I Was Saddams Prisoner Chapter Eight In a well-lit room, a Muhaqqiq sat on an elevated platform, with a writing pad before him. In my first encounter with him, the blindfold was slightly raised by the Haras -enabling me to see the interrogator and survey the room. There were several other tables around, and a portrait of Saddam neatly placed on a plank. And there was a sofa set arranged on one side.

I was given a chair, which I thought must have come there by mistake from a kindergarten. It was small, very low and apparently fragile. Initial questions dealt with my identity, my family history and my immediate relatives. In between these were simple enquiries, he asked: "Do you pray"? "Yes". I said. The question seemed strange and totally irrelevant. But then I thought that perhaps they wanted to establish if I was truly a Muslim; a quality, which I guessed, might earn me some favour.

As days passed by, I understood the implications. Detainees charged with criminal offences or accused of immoral practices stood a better chance of early release. Pimps, drug peddlers, smugglers, playboys and gays were released within two to three weeks, because they helped the process of de-Islamization. Sameer, an Egyptian young man, looked quiet and well behaved in the cell, but his story was astounding.

He travelled with strangers in the buses, and on the way would politely offer tea from his thermos. The traveller soon went into a deep slumber, and Sameer helped himself with all the contents of the stranger's wallet. The drugs and sedatives thus used in the blend made tea all the more palatable-for both, Sameer and his victim. Here, I reckoned, was a boy who would be severely punished and detained for many years.

But he was released from the cell within a month and was seen in Baghdad by some of my friends who were brought back from freedom again, this time accused of being deserters. The Ba'thist regime does not tolerate religious leanings. Just as we sat one evening to eat the upper crust of the half-baked bread called Sammoon with tasteless curry, which had more water in it than any of its usual ingredients, young Muhsin entered. Most of the inmates seemed to know the newcomer.

He had been here six months ago, and had stayed for four months. He was then sent to Abu Ghuraib jail. They greeted him and welcomed him to the meal. He was a resident of Samarra. I found him reticent but cordial.