WHEN I first heard of the recent blast, the news report said the dead included a young boy. A mother myself, I cannot imagine what the mother of the boy must have gone through when she would have heard the news of the blast. Her initial prayers must have been that the boy may not have made it in time for the namaz. What must have gone through the father’s mind? Was the child their first-born? Was he the only son? Did he suffer before his death? Was he afraid of death? He might have recently given his final exams and would be looking forward to his summer vacations. What plans had he made? To captain his school cricket team? To improve his computer skills? All plans came to an abrupt end. Why, I wondered.
Just days earlier, another blast had hit another mass of worshippers. Out of the 95 injured, one happened to be my uncle. He was one of the regulars at the Hydri Mosque, which was close to his office. His injuries were minor, but the effect that the incident had on the entire family was shattering. The next day he realized that he was deaf in one ear.
He had not seen the alleged suicide-bomber, but he, along with the other regulars there, had noticed a new person join them for prayers nearly a week before the blast at the mosque. My uncle is of the opinion that he was there to figure out the timings and to get familiar with the surroundings.
What did he get out of this? No religion, no sect sanctions the killing of the innocent. No Muslim is capable of such an act. No sane person, regardless of his affiliations, can justify or understand the mass killing of the innocent.
The day, May 7, 2004, must have started as just another day for the victims. There must have been some who were the sole bread-earners for their families. One of the victims had a young child of 18 months. The child will never know his father, and will never understand the reason for his killing. He was at the right place at the wrong time, for no mistake of his own. His only mistake was that he said his prayers that Friday.
A day after the blast at Imambargah Ali Raza, the entire city came to a standstill. Zakia, a cousin of mine, narrated her trip home at half-past-eight on the night of the blast. She lives in Saddar and on her way back from her office at Sharae Faisal, was told to step out of her car, near the Lucky Star Stop, so that her car could be set ablaze. Within seconds, she saw public transport buses being emptied out. It was panic all around. Being a female, she was later allowed to go, but she was in such a state of shock that she was unable to drive for a few minutes even after she got back in her car.
Most of the Karachiites have nothing to do with these killings and blasts. In May alone, 61 people were killed in terrorist acts. How many more worshippers will be slaughtered before any concrete action is taken?
Death is inevitable. But receiving your only son’s body, who had gone out to pray is not death. It is the cruelty and brutality of fate; an innocent and happy family is destroyed forever by a masked terrorist who will never know how long the scars of the blast will last.
WHEN I first heard of the recent blast, the news report said the dead included a young boy. A mother myself, I cannot imagine what the mother of the boy must have gone through when she would have heard the news of the blast. Her initial prayers must have been that the boy may not have made it in time for the namaz. What must have gone through the father’s mind? Was the child their first-born? Was he the only son? Did he suffer before his death? Was he afraid of death? He might have recently given his final exams and would be looking forward to his summer vacations. What plans had he made? To captain his school cricket team? To improve his computer skills? All plans came to an abrupt end. Why, I wondered.
