Death's Life

by B Latif

  “Good. Haider, narrate it for me.”

  The child began to repeat verses from the holy book.

  I noticed a small girl wearing rags, but with a clean face, who was standing behind a wall outside the school, watching the students.

  “Okay, good, Haider. Now, who will tell me about death?”

  Nobody answered or raised their hand. I became attentive, after all, I was being discussed there.

  “Osama? Zainab? Fatima? No one? I told you yesterday!”

  The mentor was becoming angry, twisting the stick he was holding in his hands. How cruel of humans to punish others for not knowing something! The Lord didn’t punish them for not knowing medical science or anything.

  OBSERVATION No. 4

  “If something isn’t known by somebody, they ought to be told about it, not punished for their lack of knowledge.”

  I remained stoic. I can’t feel. It’s not my fault.

  When the teacher was going to punish the first girl, someone spoke very loudly and clearly.

  “Master?”

  All of them turned their attention to the nine-year-old girl standing outside with her hands on the chest-high mud wall.

  “Death is belief,” her innocent words touched me.

  “What?” the question telepathically transferred from my mind to the docent’s mind.

  “If you had believed in death, you would’ve believed in answering Allah one day. And you wouldn’t have refused me when I begged you to let me sit in the class as I have so much love for learning. Would you tell Allah that you expelled me for not paying the fees? I’m poor and I believe in death, which is why I’m telling you the right thing. Otherwise, what would I have said to Allah when he asked why I didn’t give you the right answer?”

  I stared.

  If I were a human, I could have said my heartbeat stopped. For the first time, after centuries, a human surprised me.

  And I learned two facts from this stranger who was being stared at by everyone.

  First, death is belief.

  Second, no invention or discovery can impress a person as much as words do.

  I concluded the second one by the look on their faces.

  The riot.

  I wanted to see the girl clearer, but she ran away as soon as the British arrived. All I had was a glimpse of her small feet running away down the street.

  I took lives in a dazed mood. Her answer was right.

  And there was a third fact, if people believed in death more than they did life, this world would be a happier place.

  No one would commit a sin. They would believe that they had to answer to the Lord.

  So, this was my preliminary introduction. I might have bragged about certain things, but humans do that a lot.

  My life had just begun.

  Chapter 2

  Aisha.

  Her name was Aisha, and I had waited for two years before learning her name. Coincidentally, by that time it was no longer concealed from me.

  Wait – did I tell you I learnt?

  Well, it was the first human attribute I unknowingly did, and at that juncture, I had no idea what I had done.

  I had learnt.

  I noticed that humans learn names first after they begin to talk. Isn’t it so? I’ve seen some toddlers, when I take their soul, they call me by different names. So, they grasp the skill to ‘learn names’ shortly after birth.

  I was also born.

  Once again.

  I had to take a soul of a Hindu, a slave in the subcontinent and I saw her there. It brought back a memory, a deep-rooted memory in myself, which began to flash in my eyes as I saw her.

  Pity. Pity. Pity.

  OBSERVATION No. 5

  “Death destroys all memories humans collect, even the most precious ones.”

  Cruel, aren’t I?

  But I have billions of memories, perhaps trillions, even a greater infinity than the humans’ numbers create. And I, unlike humans, don’t forget. All these memories are as fresh as the moment they first occurred.

  Wearing torn attire, hair in a straight braid, running away from the riot breakers and the hungry British eyes…

  And I can picture it, even now.

  The man’s hungry eyes and her wide-eyed gaze, staring in fear, as if in a lost state, there she was that little guileless human, standing like a slave at a side, shoulders shrouded inward.

  I wanted her to say something.

  I wanted her to say anything about me because every man in that palatial room seemed to have forgotten me.

  I know.

  OBSERVATION No. 6

  “If a man believes in death, he will never look at a woman with hungry eyes.”

  Also, he will believe he has to answer to the Lord for this.

  I know because Aisha was thinking the same thing. Her eyes told me that. The only person in the room who believed in me was her.

  And I can’t believe it. No, not the quantity of people, but the quality of faith she had in me.

  She never even looked at the most handsome man there.

  The Hindu was shot in the head due to some indictment of high treason or other.

  I had to leave. But after that, I kept an eye on her because a small girl like her had understood life and death too early. She had gone to the end without living it and concluded something that even the oldest and most experienced didn’t.

  I’m not saying that I was a big fan of hers, I’m just trying to convey my message of ‘belief in death.’

  I won’t mention how I took the Hindu’s soul because I’ll explain later the demise of an oppressor.

  Yes, Aisha was made a slave. She did little things, simple chores as she was just a child and lived in the servant’s quarters. As she was a lieutenant’s slave, she learned English.

  That riot cost her a lot. She had run as far as her little feet could carry her, but alas, she was captured and taken to the lieutenant. Her parents had protested, and it was at that time she became an orphan.

  I had to take the souls of poor people who had been shot. They were pious so I showed leniency. First, her father and then her mother. I didn’t talk to them about their daughter but treated them as I always do.

  After all, I was given a life to kill others, right?

  And then again, I am the beginning of new life that never ends. What a paradox, I end a life and begin a life.

  It is an invidious arrangement as it is all opposite for me and humans. They have a mortal life on Earth, and I have immortality. Once they die, they’ll live forever, but once I die, I won’t even live again.

  I’m not jealous, of course, I can’t be that. I can’t feel that. Only humans can.

  Now, Aisha was mostly silent. She never talked to anyone, so I heard fewer wise words from her, but the wisest words I heard from a human are too simple to convey and yet too difficult to understand:

  “You are going to die.”

  Got it?

  All the people with all their dreams of achieving their destiny, listen: all of you have one common destiny and that’s me, Death.

  So, I ask you, why do you think and walk on Earth as if it’ll never turn into dust?

  So, why do you pass through the graveyards as if the ones in the graves never lived once? As if you won’t be joining them one day?

  So why does it surprise you when someone dies? Don’t you know it’s your fate too?

  I think a sensible person would shiver if he heard those words.

  He didn’t.

  The one who heard them first.

  Her childhood faded and her skin glowed, her eyes gaining sparkle and her hair beautified, she was in her teens now, but that head cloth never left her body. It stayed there together with her self-respect and silence.

  But men noticed her beauty now. She was forced to wear emblazoned garments and dance, but she refused boldly.

  Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, as the man ordered her to get ready, she listened, gazing downward. I thought
she might be afraid now and would obey, becoming the same as other humans, but as soon as the man turned to leave, she looked up and said clearly, “No.”

  Just that.

  He turned back.

  “How dare you refuse me?” he said calmly in a sonorous tone, “I’ll kill you.”

  For a moment, she stared at the man. Satisfied, he turned to go.

  “You’re going to die,” she whispered, “Trust me.”

  “Great discovery,” he laughed sarcastically, “Everyone is going to die. The thing is… you will die at my hands.”

  I sat on the chair wishing he could hear me mock him. You’ll die at my hands, just wait, dear.

  “I won’t do anything for you or your ostentatious guests!” her voice full of fury.

  “You wish you had a choice, dear, but you see, you’re my slave and I’m the man with the gun.”

  I saw her grit her teeth so hard I thought they would break. At first, her eyes full of embers stared at the floor, but then she looked at him for her final verdict.

  “My mother gave birth to a free human being, who are you to make me a slave? I’m the slave of my Allah and believe me, you’re not him!”

  I stared at her dry-mouthed, her gaze purely meant to provoke the barbarian, and so it did.

  I wished I could slam him to the wall, scare him as I always did when I killed people, as he began to whip her. He whipped her hard, but again…

  I felt pity for her because she only cried harder and repeated stereotypically like a machine, “I am only my Allah’s slave!”

  He whipped her harder for that. Her clothes began to tear away in places, her head cloth slipped off and her hair strands escaped the braid as she covered her face with her arms.

  “I am only my Allah’s slave!”

  I can tell with full surety, if it had been any other person, he would have blamed his god for all that was happening. But not her.

  No. rather, she still… what should I say? She still loved her god?

  She still accepted his decisions?

  Or maybe she still had patience?

  Whatever it was, it was rare. I have seen this kind of faith in Muslims before as well. Hundreds of years ago when they were dragged onto the burning sand in the desert, and they still believed in Allah.

  On hearing her cries, the door opened and in came a group of men.

  They saw her weeping, wounded, and that inhumane creature standing with a whip, breathing heavily. Thinking she was adamant, he sold her to a man who took her to England.

  After that, I saw her often because I wanted to, I needed to. She was in even crueler hands now. His name was Jason and he was a drunkard. Rich but vulgar, obnoxious and despicable. Ah – take all such words from your dictionary.

  Aisha was extremely upset at having to leave her homeland and live with a man she had never met in her life. He kept her locked away in his house, torturing and abusing her physically and mentally with ways only he could come up with. He wanted her to stay with him without marriage and change her religion, to dress the way he wanted her to.

  No matter what he did, Aisha didn’t lose the dignity and pride of her religion and remained herself.

  Everybody sets certain rules for themselves. For some, going beyond the limit is like the death penalty, and for others it’s like a game where you can always start all over again. The weak ones often break their rules and call it compromise, but the strong ones don’t.

  And I must say, Aisha never compromised. Even if he would slay her, she would never live according to his rules. She had her Holy Book, the Koran.

  He took it away too, but she had already learned all the principles by heart. Even if he took away her book, he couldn’t take away her heart.

  Could he?

  And for this, I smile. There he was now, totally helpless. And to prove he wasn’t, he used to beat her, abuse her, mock her.

  But again, I say – she never compromised herself.

  Sticks and stones may break her bones, but she was never tainted by him.

  I know it’s long gone and that she isn’t here anymore, but I want to tell you that I felt sympathy for a human after centuries, and for that, I am grateful to her.

  Why?

  You see, only humans feel sympathy for each other. Do lions and beasts feel sympathy for their prey? No.

  There I was again that night, roaming the world in my leisure time when I came across that wild demon yelling at her again.

  “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, YOU BITCH!” he was snatching her hair, “YOU WILL DO AS I SAY!”

  “I won’t!” her painful voice, accompanied by a slight scream. I stopped at the door.

  If I had the option to take whoever’s soul I wanted, I bet on my graves I would have taken Jason’s first, with pleasure.

  My graves. That’s an expression for all the graves that humankind possesses.

  Those were tears.

  I wish I could know what it’s like to cry, to have tears on one’s face. Of all the expressions I have seen on humans’ faces, tears fascinate me most.

  They only come out when a person is in deep physical or emotional pain. Smile is ordinary. People smile a hundred times a day, even at strangers!

  Weird.

  And he slapped her and began to kick her with his leather boots. I wanted to tear apart his mustache.

  He crouched, taking her hair in his fingers again, “Then believe me, I’ll be your death!”

  I glowered at him. Yes, go on, be me, wear a mask and black hood with a scythe.

  You would look like a cartoon to me.

  Poor Aisha. She just cried.

  I wondered why she didn’t want to be his wife. Being so old, I suggest she should have married him on the very first day and saved herself from the whips and the kicks.

  But procrastinating over the marriage for no reason was an incomprehensible enigma for me. She grew weak, tired, and sick.

  Waiting for me, just me.

  But I never come before time. She had to wait and so did I. I couldn’t see her for a year but when I did, a shock was waiting for me.

  She had given up. She was his wife now. I stayed there for a while to look at the poor girl. Had she changed her religion too? But for the first time in forever… I was wrong.

  She was his wife but was never Mrs. Jason. She remained Aisha. From head to toe, from heart to soul, she was a Muslim.

  Now, he abused her for not changing her religion even when she was his wife. Such is the faith of the pious who are pious human beings, they truly deserve Eden.

  And now I realized the answer of ‘incomprehensible enigma’ as well. When her little girl was born, Aisha wanted her child to be a photocopy of herself, but Jason wanted her to be only his daughter.

  Who won?

  Cheers. Nobody.

  I’ll explain later. Patience is your weakest point, I know. But have a little here.

  A father loves his child and takes good care of her. He didn’t. He was the same obscene drunkard, a ribald man who hadn’t even visited the church once in his life, not even accidently. His erotic nature never changed, and that is the thing I hate about humans: they are driven by their libidos.

  They don’t understand each other. They don’t even understand themselves. Their life is just enjoyment, and they teach this in schools: life is like a big examination hall.

  So, I ask you, what is the role of enjoyment in an examination hall? Do you have a party when you are taking an exam?

  When the priest was called from the basilica for the ritual to baptize the baby, Aisha protested.

  “She is my daughter! You can do anything to me but leave her alone!”

  Wrath on the faces of the baby’s parents.

  “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Jason slapped her hard and she fell. He began to take the baby from the carriage when, to my surprise, Aisha pushed him away, grabbing the front of his shirt.

  “LEAVE US ALONE! LEAVE US ALONE! WE DON’T NEED YOU! YOU RUINED MY LIFE AND I’LL LET YOU RUIN MY
CHILD’S LIFE!”

  Jason’s eyes widened at his wife’s sudden, unexpected reaction, so did mine. What was it that made her stand up against her cruel and abusive husband? She hadn’t dared to when he had whipped her or almost broken her bones.

  There was blood of such indignation and warning in her eyes that I saw even Jason shiver for a second.

  But just for a second.

  Then his satanic nature overwhelmed his mind and he pushed her so that her head hit the corner of table, tearing her skin, blood oozed.

  After beating her, he left. As soon as he was gone, Aisha quickly took her daughter in her arms and began to kiss her cheeks.

  So. It was love, a mother’s love for her child. Oh, how I sighed and wished I could feel for someone the same way she did. But I am alone…

  How unfortunate.

  Two years later, I had to take a soul. As I traveled to that place, I became excited and full of vengeance because it was Jason’s soul.

  How would he die? I wanted to see that. Would Aisha kill him?

  Chapter 3

  When I saw the situation, I was extremely annoyed. Following Jason on that cold December’s night, I thought about how I would scare him and inflict pain upon him. So, I covered my head with my hood, appearing the way humans like to draw me.

  Soft pebbles of snow were falling, and Jason was accompanied by three muscular and barbaric men who were similar in appearance to him.

  He unlocked the door of his house and walked inside with the men, unknowingly letting me in too.

  Without a word, the three men settled on the couch in the dark sitting room. So much had changed since I had visited it last time. Now it wasn’t palatial and looked run down, almost destitute.

  As was the whole house.

  When Jason went upstairs, I followed him like a shadow, then into the room where Aisha held her daughter so close in her lap she looked as if she was part of her body.

  “Everything is arranged, you have to go,” Jason said calmly.

  “Please,” she whispered as the silent tears rolled down her cheeks and she sat on the floor, “Please, Jason, don’t do this. We can solve this together! Please…”

  “How?” Jason replied with a frown, “How, huh? I need money and there’s no other way. Those men are going to give me enough to pay my loan to those profligates!”