The Blue Dagger

The Afghan war had ravaged desolate mountains and shattered Afghanistan into fragments of rebel groups vying for power among which the Taliban emerged to be supreme. The struggle for survival was daunting and fleeing the country seemed pragmatic to many mujahideen* families.

“Go to Pakistan Firdaus. Marry Rafiq and he will keep you safe, I will meet you there. I promise, you will find me”, guided her father. Firdaus felt that it was the last time, she would see him. Before she could bid adieu…

There was a giant groan.

A white blinding light shined over her head and the ground beneath her feet lurched. Something fiery and dynamic struck her and tossed her in the air, Firdaus could almost see everything flying around her, landing in slow motion as if beams of sunlight through a curtain.

Waking up to Rafiq’s face in the community hospital felt comforting yet torturous. “As soon as your wounds heal, we shall leave for Peshawar. It is a miracle you survived this blast but next time we might not be lucky enough.”, suggested Rafiq.

Firdaus enquired restlessly, “What about my father?”.

Rafiq nodded his head in dejection and his eyes couldn’t meet hers.

The trauma, loss of her beloved father and the turbulent situations, caused Firdaus to lose her voice. Although she could interact through sign language, she chose to lay despondent and forlorn in her room. Firdaus felt uprooted, disoriented in her new house; four bare walls with two can chairs and kerosene burner were the only utilities provided in her refugee camp.

To cheer her up, Rafiq introduced her to a weary man from the same camp – Waseem Shaikh. He was an art teacher who was a victim of a similar Taliban attack but had escaped in time to seek refuge; he offered to tutor Firdaus so that she could pass her time and have some company till Rafiq went to find work.

Everyone had changed names and identities to stay undercover. Firdaus called herself Raza and Rafiq introduced himself as Zuhair.

Waseem’s face was patched with wounds poorly aided and scars instead of wrinkles that portrayed the tragedies of his life. He had large, round spectacles that barely assisted his vision and a gaunt body that was desperate to find someone who could take care of him.

“For my first class, you shall paint something that is most precious to you. You can start by sketching the outline and I’ll assist you further,” Waseem directed Raza.

Raza closed her eyes and began to draw something on the slate. Soon she realized that her imagination didn’t support her and she rushed in her room to get the object.

A dagger, her family heirloom that her father had gifted her. It had a Prussian blue handle with intricate floral designs in white and engraved with the initials of her fore father- ‘J.K’. On the articulate steel end, she now could see the obscure reflection of a man in dreadful state that might have resembled her father.

As his eyes set on the dagger, Waseem knew he had seen it before and he instantly ran his shaking hands on the handle to feel the engraving.

He understood.

Handing the heirloom back to Raza, he held her hand and whispered with a grin, “You found me Firdaus.”

*Mujahideen - fighters in Islamic countries, especially those who are fighting against non-Muslim forces.*