Waseem reappeared...

Waseem reappeared, crestfallen arid bent from his waist, plodding heavily forward. The shirt he wore stuck to his back, showing clear bloodstains. It had been the most terrible day of his stay. The interrogators first served him with the blows, and then whipped him with "Sonda" till his flesh showed, and blood trickled all over his back. Later they tied him firmly with chains around his wrists and ankles and onto an iron frame.

The hands were then pulled on either side till he felt that they were coming out of the shoulders, and so were the legs till they seemed to dislocate from the hips. And then the frame was hung and turned so that he lay upside down. "Speak the truth else you will die!" The words which were meant to elicit from him a confession. Waseem threw himself to the ground, unable to walk or talk for three days.

In his half wakeful state, droplets of tears rolled down his cheek, with a weak voice "What have I done, mother-what have I done?" He woke up after three days, this time surprisingly alert and sane. "You belong to Kashiful Ghitas?" I asked. "Yes", he said, I was surprised, for I knew that one Ali Kashiful Ghita was acting for the Ba'thist under the guise of an Aalim-a Mujtahid.

In fact, Ali Kashiful Ghita brought disgrace upon his revered family by joining hands with the infidels against Syed Muhsin El-Hakim. Waseem understood this implication. "Please do not mention my uncle Ali. He is a traitor". For two more months, Waseem was in the cell, each day waiting for his fate. His mind was now split between hope and despair. He sometimes anticipated his release-talked about his marriage and settling in life.

And then suddenly turned round to ask: "But I am useless; look at my features-I am so ugly. Who will give me her hand in marriage?" Waseem felt so concerned about his lower jawbones, which jutted out conspicuously. He would show me his teeth, and observe that the upper row stood behind the lower ones when he shut the mouth. And when hope welled up, he would say: "Never mind, I 'will visit my dentist first and tell him to mend my jaw"! A ripple of laughter followed.

My Iranian friend Jabbar asked: "What did he say? -a dentist? Why a dentist? Tell him to knock this door and ask for Muhaqqiq. He will mend his jaws in the Ghurfa Amaliyyat" Laughter again. One day Waseem signed before Qadhi, and was consigned to Abu Ghuraib for sentence. God only knows what befell him. Previous…