ভূমিকা

Shiavault - a Vault of Shia Islamic Books I Was Saddams Prisoner Chapter Nine "Dawaam" started in the early hours of the day, and halted temporarily in the afternoon. It resumed in the evening and continued till midnight. These were the hours of Tahqeeq , when detainees were called in for questioning. Weekend began from Thursday afternoon, and ended till Saturday morning. Things were usually quiet during the weekend.

Friday was a good day, because each of us was given 'Baidh', a boiled egg in the breakfast. Usual breakfast consisted of Shorba, a thick paste with an offensive smell, and two half-baked Sammoon which was definitely unfit for human consumption. The crust seemed to be brown and baked enough for eating. The inside of the bread was a sticky blend of flour and yeast, which choked as we tried to swallow. A boiled egg on Fridays was an invaluable gift of God, treasured and valued.

I remember when on a particular Friday, we were only eighty-six in the cell, and the Haras opened the window and asked: "Kam Wahid" - How many of you? And our headman, gathering all the courage retorted: "Mitayn Wa Thdashar-Wallah". Two hundred and eleven. By God. The Haras gave two pales full of eggs-and we had enough each to last us for three days. Our ears now turned to the outside noises.

When the trolley carrying lunch approached, someone would announce-"Ghaza, Ghaza" - and ask us to arrange ourselves in the Majmooa of tens. Plastic bowls were then distributed to each Majmooa. It was the same diet everyday. Oily, half-cooked rice in big plastic containers which resembled bath-tubs for babies, and a slimy pungent curry which sometimes contained large square bits of tough meat. The headman and his aids then filled our bowls.

Bones in the meat, quite rare though, was an essential raw material. We washed it and then set down for hours and sometimes days rubbing it against the hard floor till it assumed the shape of a glossed round pin. Then we flattened one tip, and with a nail from the shoes on the rack, we bore a hole in it. This was the needle. It was prohibited item just like the rosary, but it could be conveniently concealed.

And then we pulled out threads from our tattered shirts and threaded the needle to stitch our torn shirts and pyjamas. It seemed Time had travelled backwards, for we were using implements of the 'Bone-Age'. It was beautiful, this needle.