The blind-fold never allowed you to see their faces...

The blind-fold never allowed you to see their faces; you could only count the pairs of shoes visible from beneath the fold-or hear the footsteps. The Haras would stand by you, or, when directed, leave the room. And then the volley of questions would begin, questions being shot from here, there and everywhere. There were several Muhaqqiqs, each assigned to a room, and each room had a number. So apart from remembering our own numbers, we were required to remember the number of our Muhaqqiq's room.

It was common to say, for example, that "I belong to No.9, or 14, or 21". Each Muhaqqiq was known for his notoriety and cruelty, and if one was in the hands of a Muhaqqiq known to be the least humane and merciful, one earned our special sympathies. "So you belong to No.14 eh? That Muhaqqiq is the most notorious one. He never lets his victims out"-one would be told. The questioners were specially trained to cause maximum damage, physically and mentally.

The most commonly adopted tactic was to ask several question consecutively, and then pause. This pause, which at times extended to several minutes, left the detainee uneasy, unsure and staggered. What next? The pause seemed eternal. Are they looking at you, or are they no more interested in you? You never could tell. It shattered the nerves, and cold sweat would begin to settle on the forehead. And then it began all over. "Tell the truth", meant admit your guilt.

Contrary to all measures and standards of justice, you were guilty from the minute you were accused. My Somali cellmate, Abdul Qadir, tried to defend himself. A burning matchstick introduced to his beard burnt the hair and the chin. He came back to the cell with a peculiar smell of the scorched hair emanating from him. This was the beginning, he was told. "Go and think over it-and tell the truth when we call you again". Previous…