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My Pakistani Brother!
I'm writing this letter to you from a hospital of Calcutta, India. I have reached here after passing through a storm of fire and blood in Bihaar. What ever I have witnessed, can't be explained in words. And if I explain it, you won't be able to believe it. How would you believe that a lively town of 2 thousand people where the dawn had smiles in it, the sun set brought horrible shrieks and heartbreaking hues. Where the fresh sun rays had seen lively, smiling faces, the setting sun rays saw those faces changing into cold dead bodies. My brother, that was my beloved village, where the dwellers of Province of Bihaar have witnessed the real face of the champions of “Shaanti and Aashti”. Men and women's noses, ears, hands and other organs were cut into pieces and thrown and decorated on the floors and stairs of our local Mosque. Innocent children were tortured by knives. Young girls' dignity was abused horribly and heartlessly torn into pieces; the fathers and the brothers were forced and tortured to see that heart-tearing sight!
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| Hindus butchering innocent Muslim villagers in India. Half cut Muslim corpses and scattered around limbs, pools of blood can be seen in this rare picture. |
Perhaps you will assume us as cowards. But believe me, this was a storm we had not been prepared for. The congress government had tied us before unleashing inhumane Jackals on us. The police that had raided our houses and taken away even minute knives and nail cutters, had provided guns and ammunition to hostile Hindu forces. Government was theirs. Law was theirs. Police was theirs. Arms and ammunition were theirs. How long could we fight, with how many more could we fight? Those who stood bare handed to defend, were cut into pieces. Those who had valor, dignity and courage were torn ruthlessly. My village's 500 youthful men fought for 4 hours with sticks against those inhumane creatures who were 8-10 times more in number and all were loaded with ammunition. Later they arrived more with more pistols and grenades in the guidance of the police. The triumphed. But was it our defeat? If in the midst of bullets 500 men die, fighting against 10 thousand. Old and children are cut down, and then the entire village is left on fire. Is it the defeat of innocents? And then an old father is hung to a tree, forced to see the sight of the barbarism that makes his daughters shriek, shiver and then die out after torture. And then their dead bodies...... I have witnessed every atrocity! They left me thinking a dead body. I wonder why am I still alive? Why does the sun still rise? Why do the stars in the sky blink?!
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