The night is a soft whisper in my ears and the air is a heavy shroud, pressing hard against me, adding to my anxiety. Even though the air is a chilly breeze; howling anthems of my end that is imminent, my palms are sweaty. Nervous jitters zip down my spine like lightning tearing apart the dark sky. My death is not far, I can feel it taking steps closer to me. The God is everywhere and there is nowhere to run or hide after breaking his rules.
The ancient scriptures speak volumes about the ways to please the dead. Chapter VII of Volume II of the Book of Sustenance states that the wrath of the dead can be far more powerful than the Lord of the Fire’s punishment. The time-honored hymns narrate that the Lord of the Fire even has greater mercy on the dead than on the living humans. Legend has it that one of the sons of the Lord of Fire loved a human male that ignited the Lord initially. He cursed him to an eternal sleep and buried him between thick layers of sand. The worms were permitted to suck his blood and feed on his breathing soul.
It is said that the earth used to quiver with all the pain the beloved’s soul felt when the creature of mud bit him with its sharp fangs and sucked his body free of any ethereal life. The Lord of Fire was deeply grieved that this son of his couldn’t love the feminine gender. What he did not comprehend was their depth of love. His son cried day in, day out after the loss of his beloved. And one day he buried himself in the same mud in which his lover’s soul faded.
Since then the Lord of the Fire hasn’t been able to forgive himself. He particularly cursed the female folk of the Ilk Seera, the clan whose woman failed to seduce the Lord’s son and he ended up resting with his male lover under the sand.
Annually, after the disappearance of 6 moons, the witches on Earth have to bury all newborns of the feminine gender. I was among the ilk of witches blessed to conduct these sacrificial rituals. I had always been very fond of my duties and believed in fulfilling the order of the pre-eminent first and foremost.
But the foundation of my foremost beliefs came crumbling down that hour when my daughter was born in the cover of the dark night. The fateful day gave me a daughter the very night the sixth and the last moon of relief died. The Lord of Fire isn’t the one to make exceptions. But my little cherub won my heart the instant she cried her first in this world. All sense of duty shattered. I couldn’t and would never be able to sacrifice my angel by burying her alive in the sand.
The ritual of sacrifice is perfunctory when it comes to other small girls being buried alive. But when it comes to your own sweet pea, the sacrifice is a dagger to one’s heart.
For now, I’m a fugitive seeking shelter in the dense woods of Agrabaan with my little girl but I know his reach stretches far and wide. It won’t be long when we will be found. To begin with, my wife could be the traitor who reveals the trail of our first steps in hiding. She tried to stop me, tried to speak some sense into me but love is blind and I still cannot feel anything besides my little angel’s tiny, beating heart. My girl’s breath is dependent own mine. Giving up now is akin to losing her to the sands.
-Masooma Memon
