Firdaus – Part (1/3) Story of the middle east

Damascus, Syria

The long pebble street was filled with hawkers, local sellers, merchants displaying handmade artifacts, and a lot of pedestrians walking slowly checking every booth on their way. A loud sound of aazan coming from the archaic dome of the mosque in vicinity could be clearly heard. The man started walking briskly looking stealthily backwards and juggling through the crowd. He had now wrapped a black scarf across his face to hide his identity. Amidst the hustle of the bustling street, Omar spotted the man escaping. He noticed him running, pushing people in his way and began chasing him through every narrow alley and turns with an instinct to kill. After tracing him for twenty minutes, Omar finally got his hand over him. He held the man by his collar and pulled the black scarf off his head. In a fraction of second, Omar identified the spy and raised his hand to hit him but as soon as the scarf fell, the man hit a solid punch on his nose. There was blood all over Omar’s face and he dropped unconscious on the ground in just one rapid blow.

This is Omar, Omar Bandish – a young 25-year-old, defiant and ambitious boy living in Syria who wants to make his country peaceful, flourishing and bring people who cause havoc to justice. Omar’s parents were killed in a suicide bombing incident when he was six. Since then he is been living with an old, handicapped land lady in an equally old, handicapped house with his newly wed wife Afreen. But this story is not just about Omar, or Afreen, or for that matter of any one individual. This story is also about the few middle eastern countries which have become a war zone. This story is also about how few powerful people in the Arab peninsula are trying to establish dominance over the region. And this story is also about some of the best spies the region has seen. The story began in the 1970s with two countries and one natural resource. Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Oil. Both these countries had discovered huge reserves of oil that promised to boost economy and their position in the world. With increasing trade and commerce increased competition and greed between them to dominate the region. The two countries started making their own allies domestically and across the globe, and although they never officially declared war on each other, they played proxy warfare. To outgrow one another, both countries started planting militants, providing ammunitions, supporting terrorism in neighboring countries like Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Yemen etc. using them as puppets to indirectly overpower each other.

It was late in the evening and Omar somehow reached home. Injured, panting and bleeding, he knocked the door of his old house and then knocked again hard. He was out of patience and strength. Afreen came out running and opened the door fearfully. “What took you so long, bitch? Were you dead inside?” Omar asked his wife rudely. Afreen looked down in fear. As Omar started walking, she saw blood drops on the ground. She rushed towards him and touched his face, “Its bleeding a lot, let me see the wound.” Omar pushed her aside vehemently and began going upstairs to his room. “Send Abdul to my room with the first aid kit” he ordered on his way. Afreen was a downtrodden girl from a remote village. All her life she faced the onslaught of the war and was married away to Omar at a young age. Omar, too, was forcefully married by his uncle. He despised Afreen and never treated her respectfully as his wife.

“Stop right there!” came a loud and fierce command from across the hall. Omar was startled and froze in his spot. “Get your ass back here and apologize to your wife” demanded the old land lady sitting in a wheelchair. Fatima Amin, the house owner, was an old, handicapped lady in her 70s. She was another victim of the brutal war and had lost not just her legs but also her son in a bomb blast. Fatima had given up on the city and was just waiting for death to take her away. Her only pastime was writing letters to her daughter who was married in a far-off village and living on the hope that someday she will reply. And although Omar was her tenant, she treated him like family. He looked back at Afreen, apologized heartlessly and then went straight to his room. Omar, too, respected Fatima. After his parent’s death, she was the only one whom he truly considered as family.

“The Iranian spy escaped, that bastard!” Omar began. He had come to Fatima’s room after dinner, banded and stitched up by their servant Abdul. “I swear to kill him if I get one more chance. You have no idea how much I hate these spies. I just want the bloody Iranians and Saudis out of my land. They have been raping us for decades for their personal gains.” Contrary to his feeble physic, he had a violent streak inside him, a burning rage against the invaders. Fatima was the only one who could put a leash on him. “Have you even seen your face? A random guy has thrashed you.” Fatima interjected trying to knock some sense in him. She paused for a moment and then changing the tone of her voice said “I remember my son every time I see you talking about freedom and peace. It worries me because you have self-destructive traits just like him.” Omar was listening patiently.
“You need to understand this Omar – you are not alone now; you got a wife to protect. Secondly, you are not strong enough to fight this war. That is the truth. You many run away from it as much as you want but remember that every lesson will be repeated until its learned.” Omar’s expressions were clearly indicating his disagreement.
“You have got beaten before; and this way you will be beaten again. Violence is not the only way of revolt. You need to keep learning, keep training, and until you do that, despite your best intention, you would do more harm than good.”

Fatima Amin knew a lot about the region and the surging clashes. She knew that oil was not the only reason for this struggle to dominance. It was religion too. Iran is a Shia dominated country while Saudi is Sunni. There have been tremendous clashes between these two sects of the Muslim world since ages. Not only both these sects believe themselves to be the rightful lineage of Prophet Muhammad and disregard the other as bogus, but they have also interwoven this religious rivalry with business to establish monitory superiority. While Iran ignites Shia militias in neighboring countries against their own Sunni countrymen under the ideology of establishing one single Shiite caliphate over the world, Saudi follows suit and sends resources to Sunni militia to revolt against their own Shia countrymen. Although the war is marketed as a religious one, both Iran and Saudi secretly treat it as personal to crush the other and emerge as a middle eastern superpower.

In this crossfire, Syria was getting intensified with rising terror and instability. Everyday hundreds of youths came on to the streets, there was open bloodshed, law and order ceased to exist. The government of the Syrian Baath Party appeared to be ineffective in this gruesome period. So, amid this chaos, Jaish-al-Shabi (the People’s Army) – a Syrian Islamic organization was formed by a set of young, energetic youths. The agenda of this organization was to re-establish peace and prosperity in Syria and make it the heaven, the Firdaus, it once was. The association that started with just a few members, gained momentum, and within weeks had hundreds of youth volunteers. Omar too joined the league. The head of Jaish-al-Shabi was a religious leader by the name Ibrahim Ali. He handed guns to children, women and every Syrian who joined the organization. In his view, Syria was in desperate times and needed desperate measures. The novice youth, underage children and general masses driven by fury had now gotten a channel to vent out their rage. Very soon they started raiding government officials, cop stations and security warehouses to steal guns and ammunitions. The organization which started with a bunch of innocuous, naïve youths was now getting lethal with weapons in their hands and wrath in their minds. They went on killing almost anybody under mere suspicion. Far away from the original concept of Firdaus, Syria was turning to be more violent than before. The government under the presidency of Hafez al-Assad saw this as a disrespect and began killing these militants. The movement that was intended to be revolutionary was turning out to be a civil war.

Omar was lying on his bed, injured with a bullet in his arm. Abdul, Afreen and Fatima were all in the room and yet there was pin drop silence. Abdul, their house help, was cleaning Omar’s wounds and putting medicinal creams. Afreen was standing in a corner in her traditional black burkha gown. Sitting on her wheelchair, Fatima was just staring at Omar without uttering a word. This time the look wasn’t angry, it was of disappointment. After a while, Omar began; “Don’t look at me like that Ami. I know what you think but I don’t care. Our land needs blood today, it doesn’t matter whose, but it needs blood, and it needs sacrifices.” Omar somehow sat up straight on the bed and looking straight into Fatima’s eyes said, “I don’t care what you feel because I know you will never understand. I’m ready to take such bullets every day. I don’t care about this person you call as my wife. I have sworn allegiance to this country, and it will never change” said Omar with wide open eyes beating his chest with his fist dramatically. Fatima did not say a word. She just turned her wheelchair and began leaving the room in anger and dismay. On her way, she turned back towards Abdul and said, “You don’t have to repair things that are anyway going to break. Come down and make some tea for me.”

The revolt from Jaish-al-Shabi against the government was levelling up with time. Iran was seen supporting the Assad government with ammunitions to fight the Sunni rebels. Within the first three months, the Assad government had shot down around half of the Jaish-al-Shabi members. School and university education were overlooked, and illiteracy rate was rising. Basic amenities and hygiene had become disgusting and the government was failing its people. Jaish-al-Shabi felt that time had come to plan something big and topple this tyranny. All members of the organization were sitting next to each other in their regular meeting hall. Ibrahim Ali, the chief, commanded the meeting, “Are we going to just sit tight while the Assads are brutally killing our people outside? We need to plan something big to put an end to this mass murders. What are we going to do?” roared Ibrahim as the members started throwing out ideas randomly causing chaos. Some were saying to recruit new people while some said to arrange for more weaponry. Amidst the chaos a hand went up. Ibrahim gestured him to stand up and speak. “Kill Hafez” said the man and the meeting feel silent. It was Omar, he had said something which was extreme and radical because killing Hafez Assad, the ruling President, meant a possible on-slaught from Iranians who were supporting him. “Do you know what you are saying?” asked Ibrahim.
“The Assad government doesn’t care about its own people. All they care is maintaining power. The Iranians don’t care about Assad, they care about the President. They will support the next president once Assad goes down.” People around him started criticizing his idea and there was chaos again. “That’s enough!” shouted Ibrahim again to silence the meeting.
He took a long pause, looked around and said, “Omar is right. Something radical needs to be done. It looks like the only way out.” Leaning a bit forward in his seat, he looked at Omar and asked in a low voice, “Will you be able to execute this coup?”

The Assad government had to be kept completely unaware from this news. The Jaish-al-Shabi decided to slow down their actions for a few days in order to make Assad feel that he had gained control. When he felt secure of his empire, got comfortable and laid down his guard, exactly then, the plan had to be executed. However, besides having a fair plan, Jaish-al-Shabi faced another challenge and that was of the spies. Syria was rife with spies and nobody could be trusted. The plan had to be carried out in an utmost clandestine way and for that they killed all suspicious spies. The day was decided to execute this plan. Next public meeting when Hafeez al Assad stands in front of the people to demonstrate his victory over local rebellions, he should be shot dead.

“I am happy to see you home straight for so many days this time” said Afreen trying to strike a conversation with her husband. As per the plan Omar was staying low at home for two weeks in order to avoid any attention from the Assad regime. Omar was resting on his bed while Afreen was pressing his legs. He did not reply and continued reading the Arabic magazine. “I like it when you are home and hanging around. It feels more safe” continued Afreen. “Stop. Get up” commanded Omar to his wife. She stood up immediately and looked at Omar.
“Remove your burkha” ordered Omar.
“What?” questioned Afreen although she wasn’t new to this. Omar got up from his bed and went near her, turned her around and unhooked her burkha to loosen it. He pushed her towards the dressing table forcing her head on to the table and unzipped his pants. Pulling up her burkha he violently shoved his penis inside her fucking her vigorously. After a while, she tilted her head backwards and tried to kiss him. Omar halted, paused in his action, and pulled himself out of her. Zipping his pants, he said, “Our marriage is just a course of action, a formality. I don’t love you. So, don’t try to kiss me again.”

The execution day was getting close. Omar was getting nervous day by day with the mere thought of killing someone in public by himself. He was no fighter. Perhaps that made him even more nervous. He knew that he won’t be coming back home after that and would be shot dead on the spot by Assad guards. The day before his plan, he went to Fatima’s room. She was sitting in her room chanting. Omar went near and sat beside her on the bed. He didn’t say anything and waited for Fatima to open her eyes. She sensed his hesitation and slowly slid her hand over his caressing him lovingly. Her eyes were still shut. “You seem to be scared today Omar. Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s going to be alright Ami” said Omar in a heavy voice. Fatima finished her chanting, pressed the beads against both her eyes and then looked at Omar.
“I just came to see you Ami. I realized I haven’t talked to you properly in a while since all this began.” Omar responded.
“I’m glad you came. The only reason I don’t approve of your violent measures is because we need you.” Fatima talked calmly sensing the disturbance in him today.
“I’m scared Ami, I’m scared.” Omar blurted those words more as a whisper.
“I know there is a lot of anger and rage within you Omar, and for all the right reasons. And we all feel it too. But I want you to remember than anger usually blinds the person and paralysis thinking. Never allow anger to rule your mind. You will take revenge but when the time is ripe, and not when it is likely to deceive you.” Omar stood up to leave. His eyes were moist. As he began to leave, Fatima held his hand, pressed those beads against her eyes again and slid them in his hand.

Omar woke up early the next morning. He took a cold-water shower, got dressed in his new afghani kurta, made his own breakfast, and left the house before dawn. He reached Ibrahim’s house where others involved had planned to meet. They went over the plan, holding positions, back ups and several other checks.
“Do you still want to use the 8-year boy to hide your gun? It is very dangerous for him?” asked Ibrahim.
“Nothing will happen to the kid. The guards don’t check the kids for weapons. Once we are inside and I spot Hafeez, I will pull out the gun from the kids jacket and push him away.”

Omar reached the place where the event was scheduled. He was carrying the little boy disguised as his son with him. They passed the security clearance and got to a spot close to the podium from where he could have a clean shot. It was an open ground filled with people supporting the Baath party and Hafeez Al Assad. There were chants and victory posters all over the place. There was drum roll, people fluttering flags and chanting his name as he entered in style waving at his people from the podium. Adjusting the microphone, he began his speech “We are the biggest party in Syria today and we are big because of people like you.” A cheer went across the masses like a wave. “There are people out there, the rebels, who want us to stop but we have stopped them forever.” Another round of applause followed. He then continued with his speech when slowly Omar pulled out the hidden gun from the little boy’s jacket. He moved a little ahead holding the gun with both his hand. His hands were trembling, there was sweat all across his face and body. He was nervous. With shaking hands, he loaded the gun and raised it aiming at Assad. He had got a clear shot now. He closed his eyes, remembered God, and fired the gun. The bullet went far from where Assad was standing and hit one of his guard. He had clearly missed the shot. There was panic and people began running all over the place to escape. Assad’s guard soon made a protective shell around him to safeguard him. He was scared but alive. His tip had come true.
“Go and kill the motherfucker” ordered Assad to his guards.
The guards started firing bullets from the place where Omar was standing. He somehow ran, juggling every bullet and keeping his head low, pushing people, jumping over them to escape. He kept running but now the guards had spotted him and started taking aim particularly at him. There was no place to hide so he just kept moving forward with the crowd. He saw Ibrahim waiting in car just in front of him and began to run faster. As soon as he reached Ibrahim’s car, a bullet came and hit him on his right shoulder, and he fell down. Ibrahim somehow picked him, pushed him in the car and went off. He was lying on the car seat with blood dripping over the seat. The chanted beads hanging in his wrist had probably worked.

Ibrahim was driving the car at top speed and slowed down after a point where they were safe with nobody chasing them. “I hate myself. How can I miss such an easy shot? I deserve to be dead” cried Omar.
“Assad forces were already tipped off about this attack and he had a bluet proof jacket” replied Ibrahim.
“How’s that possible? We spotted and killed every suspect who could be a spy”
“We did. But there is someone from the inside”
“Holy shit. We have a mole?” shouted Omar at the top of his voice.
“Yes, you won’t believe”
“How can we miss it?”
“You tell me. I blame you.”
“What? Are you saying I knew the mole this entire time and still did not kill him?”
“Not exactly. But you were closest but still couldn’t figure out.”
Omar was shocked and went into a deep introspection about who could be the possible mole. He went over everyone he knew one by one, and then it struck him.
“Holy shit. Abdul – our house help! How could I not think about it?” He had seen him loitering around his room several times but never thought about it.
Ibrahim entered the alley of Omar’s house and stopped the car in anger right in front of his house.

They got out of the car. All angry, furious men carrying guns hanging on to their shoulders. Ibrahim kicked open the door and entered the house. Afreen, Abdul and Fatima all came out to see who had come in so loudly. Afreen ran towards Omar as soon as she saw him injured. She held him by his arm and guided him towards the couch to relax.
“You are an asshole Abdul.” Omar said in a low but deep voice. He was sitting on the couch with his one leg stretched forward and his right hand supporting the injured shoulder.
“What are you saying? What has happened?” asked Fatima sitting on her wheelchair.
He looked at Fatima and then looked back at Abdul and said, “He is a spy. He works for Assad.”
There was sweat all over Abdul’s face and he started to cry, “What are you saying? I am not any spy.”
“And you think I’m going to believe that?” replied Omar to Abdul’s defense.
Abdul started crying even more. He didn’t know what to say. Hands and legs shaking, he could now see his death in front of him.
“Please don’t kill Abdul. I know he is not spy. He is always in the house and helps me in all the chores” said Afreen in Abdul’s defense.
“I don’t mind having two dead bodies in this house today. We cannot spare the spies so just stay out of this Afreen” responded Omar aggressively. Fatima was shocked and couldn’t believe what was going on.
Omar pulled the gun from his back and loaded it. He pointed the gun at Abdul. Seeing a gun pointed at him, Abdul crashed down on the floor crying. 
Ibrahim and his men were silently observing the drama giving the family their time. He was standing still and then finally said to Omar, “You are such a big fool, Omar.” Ibrahim pulled the gun from his back, loaded it and without a hint of hesitation turned it and shot at Fatima. There was brief pause where the scene seemed to stop. Everyone was shocked. Fatima crashed down from her wheelchair and feel down on the floor. Omar got up from his couch struggling and ran towards Ibrahim to kill him. Ibrahim held him by his neck and threw him on the ground. Pointing the gun at Omar, he said, “You are such a big fool. You could not understand that Fatima was the spy this entire time. She was the one who tipped about you to Assad guards. They already knew that we were coming after his life.”
“I don’t believe you Ibrahim. Ami is an old, handicapped lady and she is like my mother. She doesn’t care about this, let alone become a spy.”
Ibrahim pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket and threw it open on Omar. All the letters came down falling. “The letters that Fatima said she was writing to her daughter. Her daughter was killed in that blast too. She was writing those letters to Assad about all the activities here.”
“I cannot believe this, I just cannot.” Omar rumbled flipping over the letters. He looked at Ami in shock. She looked back at Omar and said, “I’m sorry Omar, I’m sorry. We need one rule in this country. You are on the wrong side, but that doesn’t matter, I still love y” there was a loud shot again. Ibrahim had shot another bullet into Fatima’s head killing her on the spot. 
“I want to kill you too Omar. I just want to kill you. But I will not. I have something better.”
Omar lying on the floor with blood oozing out of his shoulder was wondering what could be worse than being dead.
“You will go to Iraq and train in their militant group. We need people like you to become strong and come back to Syria.”
Omar started crying. “Please, no. I can do the training here. What’s going to be different there?”
Ibrahim and his men turned back and left the room. On their exit, Ibrahim turned back and said,
“Get ready, you are going to join the ISIS.”