They came towards him, carrying hearts heavy with hate. An army of two thousand men. Two thousand men who had long lost the innocent sparkle in their eye, given up their tears for weaponry and forgotten what it felt like to be held in the arms of their mothers. He was helpless as their blood thirsty hands pulled him out of his cell and set him ablaze. His screams of anguish were met by even louder screams of anger. They watched his body quiver in pain, fall to the ground and turn to dust. He had ripped the pages out of a book and they had ripped the life out of his chest. The madman, brought down by an army of madmen.
My maid wears a burqa every time she goes back home to visit her children in Orangi town. She says she wears it for safety concerns rather then religious beliefs. I understand that. I wear a burqa every time I step outside this blog. As long as I wear my burqa, I'm alright. As long as people are unable to connect a face or a name to this blog, no angry mob will chase after me. I still can't help but wonder: what if they knew? What if they knew about my views, my sexuality and my lack of religious belief? Would I be dubbed a madman and be roasted alive? Or is my burqa actually an oven of silence, where I slowly roast away till all that's left of me is a lifeless pile of flesh and bone?
I see the man in the picture and wonder if this is my ultimate fate.
Mob kills mentally ill man for blasphemy
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