Unable to sustain the perpetual darkness caused by the...

Unable to sustain the perpetual darkness caused by the leather cover before my eyes, I kept on pushing it upwards, and then finding that the Haras was not attentive, surveyed the corridors and its inhabitants. Carefully, I placed the cover back to its position before he noticed. "Ya Allah Raham Kar.... Ya Allah...." , I heard. It was in my own language, the dialect seemed familiar. As he found his place in the corridor I managed to steal a view.

He was middle-aged, with a luxurious growth of beard. I drew closer and asked: "Are you from Pakistan?" He was taken aback, for he least expected anyone who could speak Urdu. With a sigh of relief, he said: "No, I am from India." "Your name?" "Ali Husain." "Why are you here?" "I came for Ziyarat of Arbaeen." "So you are Shia?" "Yes I am." And then we had a brief exchange of information, all conducted in soft whispers.

Rooms lining the corridors were either single cells for solitary confinement, or 'Red Cell', "Ghurfatul Hamraa", where more than twenty would be squeezed in at a time. Murmur of Tasbeeh, Dua-e-Kumail, and Adhan could be heard from these rooms. For six days, I was in this corridor, every hour expecting a release, which I hoped, was imminent. With the passage of time, hope denuded. The uncertainty was now indeed frightening. The only solace was the company of fellow humans who had shared my plight.

It was common suffering. Then one day, my name was announced along with many others. Six of us stood up. We were asked to line up, holding the shirt of one in front, so that "blind would lead blind." Ali Hussein was not to come, so he felt miserable. "Where are you going?", he demanded. Not knowing what destiny held in store for me, I conjectured "I am being released-hopefully.

Khuda Hafiz ." Ali Hussein raised his shackled hands and prayed: "0 Allah, send me where this man goes!" We were taken to a cell, which was on the fourth floor. As the door opened, our blindfolds and handcuffs were removed, and the Haras pushed us all in. In spite of the cold outside, the cell was warm, and heat inside was stifling. There were more than three hundred unfortunate detainees swarming in this place, where hardly seventy or eighty could be accommodated.

Two days later, Ali Hussein appeared. He suffered from myopia, with a limited visual acuity. I advanced to greet him. "Salaamun Alaikum, Bhai Ali Hussein," I said. Recognizing my voice, he looked up and then after a pause, said: "So my prayer was answered!