ভূমিকা

Shiavault - a Vault of Shia Islamic Books I Was Saddams Prisoner Chapter Seven The modes of chastisement varied. At times it depended upon the Muhaqqiq. There seemed to be a long list of punishments, and he would prescribe any for the detainee. From Mosul, there was Husain, an old man who was a farmer. For six days on end no morsel of food or sip of water was allowed to him. He had a bulky, beefy frame, and perhaps this helped him survive.

When he was finally allowed the first meal, he could hardly open his eyes to see what went into his mouth. He had been denied sleep as well. When sleep stealthily took the better of him, he was slapped and kicked by the ever attending Haras. His speech became incoherent, his eyes blank. Sitting next to me, he showed some sign of recovery after weeks. What was his offence? "I used to go to the mosque fairly regularly.

They thought I was religious, and therefore affiliated to Hizbud-Da’wah." Then, with an admonition he said "Do not mention Da’wah here. They will strangle you." The detainees came and went. From the first three hundred, our number fell to around one hundred and eighty. And it dwindled still further to eighty-six. What a relief! We were now able to stretch our legs and sleep. It was not so before. Our chief had contrived an ingenious method for our sleeping cycles.

Everyone was a Badeel to his mate. While my friend slept, I stood upon his body for six hours or so. No movement was possible because of congestion, nor could I sit because of the feet interlocking each other's. And then he woke up to allow me to sleep. He stood over my body as if to prevent me from escaping. But our room soon became crowded as scores of Egyptian and Jordanian young men were brought in. We were nearing the three hundred mark again.

The cell now rang with Arabic dialects, punctuated with hilarity so characteristic of the Egyptians. There were other companions who stuck to us so faithfully. They were the overgrown black lice, which skipped from one person to another, causing intolerable rash, irritation and pain. These parasites never left us alone.

They were to be seen everywhere on our bodies, on our torn and slit shirts, in the buttonholes, and hundreds of them crawling in the plaited curly hair of the Sudanese, the Somalis and other Arab friends. Killing them became a good pastime, and we soon obliged each other by picking up a stray louse crawling on the ground, or on the other fellow's clothes.