Operation: Dard and Devotion

20 | Gruesome & Gentle

We flog them.

Faizan's words haunted me as he told me about flogging. I've definitely heard of it, and have even seen gruesome pictures and graphic videos of flogging in my International Ethics class.

My gut wrenched inside after I processed how long it had been since I went to college. It seemed like I left campus a mere few days ago. But in actuality, the time was greater than that, far exceeding days and weeks.

We flog them.

Even though these things were primarily evident in many places, the media hardly showed signs of noticing. All they seemed to be concerned about was which celebrity decided to commit a fashion faux pas by strutting outside with the wildest and most obscene clothing.

On the other hand, the media cannot be fully blamed because in the end, some of them are broadcasting the things that people want to see. Nobody seemed to care about people being decapitated, flogged immensely, sexually abused, or brainwashed into joining extremist groups on the other side of the world.

Nope, those things just weren't worth anyone's time.

In some places, women are flogged if they were caught in adultery, and in more extreme cases, they'd be brutally punished if they were seen spending too much time with men who were not part of family. Men would be given lashes if they stepped out of line when it comes to the rules and regulations of an extremist or tyrannical group. Thieves, prostitutes, murderers, slaves, homosexuals and all sorts of non-conformists were all fated to face a dead end with a whip.

Meanwhile, twenty-one year old Hayat Ishfaq was doomed to be flogged all because she had wanted to escape and have a chance at life again.

We flog them.

Resting my head on my raised knees, I shuddered, either from the cold draft or from the fear of what is to happen, I do not know. My arms ached from carrying Saad the whole morning so I had to put him on the unkempt ground as much as I didn't want to. Tala was torn away, in both senses of the term, into another room, screaming and hollering as she was dragged out. Faizan gave me a warning look not to try anything, especially since he left me alone in the room, unguarded, with the giant hole still in the wall.

His murderous glare was just enough to keep me glued to the floor; the idea of escaping again did not even cross my mind. I wondered where Ahsan was and whether or not he knew that Faizan wanted to flog us. I had a slight hope that he would show up out of nowhere, like he always did, and whisk us away to safety. At least, he was the only one in here that seemed to care even a bit.

But that was just wishful thinking because nearly a few hours had passed and Ahsan was nowhere to be found. The last time I saw him was when he dropped me off in the room after we had come back from Palmyra.

How long ago was that? Five hours? Seven hours? Ten hours, maybe?

Judging from the sun's vibrant rays that shone through the hole in the wall, it was nearing noon. My stomach seared with pain, constantly reminding me through noises that it was nutrient-deprived against its will. My eyelids were filled with lead, and my head hung over my knees, finally deciding that it was best to get as much sleep as I can while I still could.

***

After what seemed like a few hours, Al-Tho'baan militants dragged Saad and I out of the dungeon and into the spacious church courtyard where everyone, including the civilians whom I had seen in the church earlier as well as the children who were captured along with me in the cave, was already standing in a giant circle. Faizan and a few fully covered militants stood in the center with Tala tied to the center-most column. One militant had a whip in his hand. Tala cried out loud and banged her head against the column. I peered over at her; judging from her back, she had already been whipped twice. But why was she screaming so loud? Did two lashes hurt that much?