Firdaus – Part (2/3) Afreen

Langley, Virginia USA

“Charlie 7, can I send message to Charlie 7? This is Neon here. Over.” The message appeared on the telescreen at two in the morning. The agent was trying to send across a message. “This is Neon here. I am moving up to the ISIS camp. Over” typed the agent again. The message was transmitted in a morse code with multi-layer protection and encoded in a way that was tough to intercept the location. 

Unknown base in Northern Iraq

The street was desolated having just racks of debris and dust all over the place. Brutal remains of structures, which were once sturdy buildings resided by lively people lay ignored on the sides. It was early in the morning and the glaring golden sun rays were piercing their way through every gap and space. An old, rustic bus came into the city and stopped right in the middle of the street with a loud creaky sound. Omar got down from the bus with two barely packed bags on his shoulders. He had trimmed his hair short, had grown his beard and was wearing a maroon Afghani kurta. He stepped out, looked around the place and was traumatized seeing the ruins around him. There were black flags with white Arabic font swirling on the building remains. He kept walking slowly observing every frame of the scene in every angle. A little over hundred meters he saw a couple of young boys coming. They were small, skinny kids relentlessly pushing a cart with something heavy on it wrapped in a blanket. As they got closer, Omar saw a corpse on the cart. The small boys had wrapped their dead father in a blanket and were taking him to bury. In the next moment, Omar saw the hard-swollen legs of the dead man and that image scarred his heart. He was petrified, shocked, and suddenly stalled in his movement. The bags hanging on to his shoulder came down gushing and he couldn’t move. Slowly, in an equally shocked condition, she placed her hand on his shoulder and stood just behind him as support. Here too she had followed him and chosen to be with him.

The reign of ISIS was growing in pockets across Iraq and Syria. They were capturing more ground with every passing day, confiscating property, violently thrashing people, and conducting merciless mass murders under the name of spreading Islam and bringing back one Sunni caliphate rule. They looked at themselves as the crusaders of Allah, their only God, and claimed this fight as a revenge to the injustice caused to them by the Shias and the world. ISIS, Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, was formed by a Jordan origin Sunni rebel named Abu Musab Zarqawi in 1999 as a branch of al-Qaeda. Al-Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden was driven by the same moto of establishing one caliphate. They saw this as a long-term mission and focused on building a strong internal Muslim support inclusive of the Shia and Sunni sects. Al-Qaeda believed that they needed to have complete Muslim backing to establish an Islamic state and Shariah law, and internal bickering would only harm the mission. However, ISIS leader Abu Musab Zarqawi saw this the other way round. He strongly felt that the Shia clan is in bed with the West and plotting against the Sunnis. In order to establish an Islamic state, they first needed to eliminate the Shiites. Very soon there were clashes between the two groups and disagreements lead to ISIS’s dissociation from al-Qaeda in 2007.

After wandering for a while, looking at the destruction remains on his way, Omar finally reached the place which was provided to him for accommodation. It was a small room on the second floor of an old building made of bricks and panel roofs. Omar entered the house with Afreen. There was intense heat and the panel roof made it even worse. There were leaks in corners, lizards crawling fearlessly, no amenities and just a small tap in the corner. It was a disastrous site for the already perturbed Omar. As he was seeing the awful state of his house, a pick-up truck came and stopped in the front. Three men having their faces covered came out and signaled Omar to get in the truck. Afreen’s heartbeat rose but Omar gestured her to keep calm and said, “I have to go now but I will be back in the evening.”

The training camp was situated in a very dense, remote village in northern Iraq. It was a huge site with hundreds of armed men standing at the periphery with AK-47 rifles. There were shooting ranges, rolled nets, mud tracks etc. all designed to train new lot of jihadists. Omar hadn’t seen such sophisticated and upgraded training stations ever in his life. There were people of different color, stature, and national origin – all subscribed to one ideology of establishing the Islamic rule. Omar was taken aback seeing the magnanimity of ISIS and its professionalism. It had its own robust IT cell with multiple servers, innumerous social media accounts and wired bank accounts that could not be traced back in any way. Truly, it was a diversified conglomeration of innumerous determined people intensely brainwashed and indoctrinated in the modernized pool of technology, weaponry, and unlimited resources. Hands tied; Omar was taken to the far end of the camp. As soon as he reached, he saw a man with well-build, huge sturdy posture, wearing nicely ironed black kurta with perfectly tied black turban standing straight in front of him. He had held his hands together at the back and just like the tough exterior, his face held undisturbed calm and deep severe eyes that could penetrate through the toughest soul. Omar looked around and was scared by seeing a gang of armed men around him.
“Who are you? And why am I being brought here?” he asked in a trembling voice.
The man did not respond and kept looking at Omar. He then came forward, put a hand on Omar’s shoulder and in a very slow deep tone said, “I am Abu Al-Masri and I run this please.”
Omar was stunned. He couldn’t believe he was standing right in front of the ISIS head and the most wanted terrorist in the entire world. 
“Bring that woman here” ordered Masri to his men.
The men went inside a room and came out pulling a woman cruelly on the ground. The woman was covered in a black burkha, had her hands tied and was crying for mercy. Omar felt pity for her.
“Kill her” ordered Masri to him. Omar was shocked. He hadn’t expected this violence on his first day.  
“Give him a knife” said Masri to his men.  Omar was petrified at the thought of killing. He had tried and failed before. And this time he had to kill using a knife which required precision. Omar had no choice. He took the knife and with trembling hands held the knife against the woman’s throat. “Slide your knife at the right spot or else she will suffer” said one of the guys. Omar looked at him and then looked down at the wailing women. He wasn’t capable of such violence. He closed his eyes and slide the knife roughly across the woman’s neck. A stream of blood burst out and the woman began yelling louder. Omar had slid the knife incorrectly. Her tongue was out, and she was shaking violently. Her yelling was unbearable, and Omar could not stand that scene. There was blood all over the place and her screaming was just getting louder. All of a sudden there was a gun shot and the women was dead.

Omar got home late in the evening. It was really cold. The weather in northern Iraq was unusual. It was extreme hot during the day and extreme cold during the nights. Afreen was happy to see him home and tried to ask him about his day. But he did not look at her and went straight to the corner where there was tap. He filled a bucket with cold water and poured it over himself. Afreen had set the food on floor and was waiting for Omar to come eat. Omar washed himself, changed his cloth and went straight to sleep. He did not say a word to Afreen and picked a corner to lie down. There wasn’t anything that Afreen could do. She wrapped up the food, cleaned the floor and went to sleep. A while later, in the middle of the night, Omar suddenly got up and sat down touching the wall. He was crying and banging his head on the wall. “I killed a woman today, Amin. An innocent woman. I am a bad person Amin” he kept repeating. The horrific episode had taken a toll on him and he was hallucinating imagining his dead landlord Fatima Amin. Afreen got up hearing Omar’s sobbing. She went near and hugged him from behind. “I’m here Omar, I’m here. You are fine. Just relax” she kept repeating. Omar stopped crying and laid down on his bed again. Afreen was still hugging him and for the first time he hadn’t pushed her aside. He was indeed traumatized.

“I feel so weak and incapable. I came here to become strong, so that I can protect the oppressed. And I ruthlessly kill an innocent on my first day” Omar was talking his heart out in a very mellow and depressed voice. Afreen had now softly placed her hand on his heart. She could feel his heart beating. “I have always wished for a free Syrian land, a Firdaus, where everyone lives happy and peacefully.” Afreen listened to him and felt his emotions. “You are not weak Omar. You are a human being in midst of animals.” Afreen was trying to console him.
“You are clever, you know your weakness, have the instinct to grow, and most importantly your heart is in the right place. You are not incapable Omar; you just need to trust yourself more.”
“I don’t know what kind of life I’m living. I am working with the rebel groups to protect the suffered, and yet I’m made to kill innocent people. It feels like I am imprisoned in a cage. It’s unfair, unfair to me, to those innocent people and unfair to our cause” Omar was blabbering sounding all confused. Afreen sat up next to him and held his hand tightly. She looked in his eyes, paused for a moment and in a low yet clear voice said, “Listen to me Omar, the only way to deal with this unfair world is to live your life so freely and independently that your mere existence is an act of rebellion and a flare of freedom.”

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. It wasn’t easy for Omar to catch up to the rigorous training of the ISIS regime and live in such extreme conditions. His right arm was still in pain from the bullet, had hallucinations, missed Fatima, and felt lonely at times. Deep down he was fighting his own battles, but his purpose was always clear. He didn’t know if he was on the right track, but he never gave up. He showed up every single day, got beaten, bruised, and buried and yet showed up with the same zeal next day.  Back home, Afreen was taking care of the everyday things. She had made those four walls into a house. It was well bifurcated into sections like kitchen, sleeping area and living space. She kept it clean and sanitized, got basic furniture, and kept it organized. Omar still didn’t consider Afreen his own, but he wasn’t disrespectful to her either. Perhaps he had subconsciously accepted her presence in his life.   

“The West has stopped funding our operations. Our funds are getting exhausted, our arsenal is drying up of ammunition and our supplies are getting interrupted constantly. We need to collaborate” said Masri. They were sitting in the ISIS meeting hall discussing their next strategy for expansion. A bruised and pale Omar was sitting in a corner listening to the discussion. It was a high-profile meeting including the most wanted terrorist and ISIS stalwarts like Abdul Yasin, Abu Bakr Al-Baghdadi and Masri himself. They were talking about a coalition with other rising terrorist groups, clandestine plans with Russia and other possibilities to bolster their economic status.
“Can I say something?” a voice came up unexpectedly and everyone stopped discussing. Masri looked sternly in the direction of the voice. It was Omar. Masri didn’t say anything, but his deep eyes and severe look was enough to convey his discontent. Taking a deep breath, he said “What do you want Omar?” Despite his obvious discontent, he was giving Omar a chance to voice his thoughts. “We don’t have to beg in front of anyone if we have our plans right” everyone looked confused. Omar stood up nervously and continued, “My point is instead of worrying about our depleting resources and making plans defensively why don’t we play on our strengths and go offensive?”
“I’m listening” said Masri giving him his full attention now.
“Let’s attack Mosul. It is Iraq’s second biggest city and have plenty of oil reserves. If we have Mosul under our dominance, we can control their oil reserves, sell oil to the world on our conditions and earn profits.” There was an awkward silence, Omar didn’t know if it was his place to comment, but then in another moment, Masri’s serious expressions turned into a smile.

The stage was set. ISIS had decided to go full strength on Mosul and capture it single handedly. All weaponry, ammunitions, manpower were brought together, and the cavalry was set in the direction of Mosul. There were pristine rocket launchers, sophisticated fighter jets, covert land mines and innumerous stock of guns, bullets, and artilleries. The first convoy of ISIS pickup truck entered Mosul at two in the morning by shooting the city’s checkpoints and killing Iraqi police force. Within the next three hours, ISIS was successful in penetrating through Mosul’s first major line of defense merciless killing five hundred soldiers. The unaware Iraqi force of sixty thousand soldiers were ambushed by the fifteen hundred ISIS fighters and within six days Mosul’s airport, helicopters and security headquarters fell under ISIS’s control. Omar’s plan was successful. ISIS now had complete control over the rich oil reserves. Masri had planned it with utmost precision involving his key fighters and not leaving room for any mishaps.  

Masri had made his Mosul’s basecamp at a very secret place underground. It used to be Iraqi army’s clandestine chamber to hide ammunitions and provide safety in case of an attack. The underground chamber was just like a regular army safehouse with long corridors, spacious rooms, dining area and party floor. All the fighters were together celebrating their victory and enjoying music, dance and alcohol. “For a layman, this war here in the middle east is mere a topic of hatred.” Masri was talking to his people in a very relaxed way. “But the truth is that entire world is involved in this war. Ammunitions supply is the biggest source of revenue for the western countries and we are their biggest customers. And do you know what our job is?” he paused for a while, took another sip of alcohol and with a smile said, “Our job is to keep that fear of death in people alive. We are paid to maintain that fear in people’s mind and that at any moment, from anywhere a missile might come in and kill them.”  He laughed looking at his fighters. There was camaraderie, connection, and emotion amongst the fighters. Omar was slowly getting accustomed to the rigorous training and he was growing stronger. He had made friends and was gaining popularity amongst the masses for his ace plans. That day, after a long time, there was ecstasy, laughter, and joy in the ISIS camp. And all of a sudden there was a loud thud. The music stopped, there were fumes and smoke all over the place. The party which was so alive a moment before had gone dead. It was a bomb blast. Omar had fell on the ground unconscious. There was chaos and commotion all over the place. After a few moments he opened his eyes and somehow managed to see around. Half the members were dead. There were people running around in panic. He was still on the ground with no energy to get up. He could not understand a word and had noise bouncing off his ears. The secret ISIS camp had been attacked.

Omar was lying on his bed. There were stitches, bandages, and bruises all over his body. Afreen was beside him nursing the entire time. Omar was having difficulty in walking, was losing consciousness and was unable to eat with his own hands. Afreen was supporting him in every moment ensuring his recovery. However, Omar had now started doubting himself more and wasn’t sure about next steps. He wasn’t happy with the way things were progressing at ISIS and although he was growing stronger, he had uncertainties about the future. Masri was dead, most of the ISIS stalwarts who ran the organization were either brutally injured or dead. It had taken United States just one air strike to throw ISIS off the plans. The question was still haunting as to who had tipped the US about their secret chamber.

The ISIS meeting hall was in session for the first time after the attack. The wide-open camp looked even more spacious with just half its population. Rest of the members had either lost their life or their motivation. There was depression in the camp. Abu Bakr-Al Baghdadi, the number two at ISIS had now taken charge. It was his show now. He was one of the few ISIS leaders who survived the attack. In a firm voice, he started, “I know the morale of our people is down and there has been a lot of suffering. But are we so weak and incapable that one attack can dissolve our mission? Are our intentions so weak? Just remember, there is no Firdaus without sacrifice!” he commanded from the stage on a mic in a loud, confident and revengeful voice. People started cheering and chanting the Arabic freedom slogan. Baghdadi paused for a moment letting people cheer up and then continued.
“We have to build ourselves back and I’m going to make some announcements today.” Omar was standing in a corner amidst the crowd. For a moment, he had forgotten his depression and was enticed by Baghdadi’s attractive speech.

“Due to the attack, we have lost many of our people. We will have to recruit more jihadist and make additions to our leadership team. One of the important positions that we have to recruit is that of the commander-in-chief.” Baghdadi was talking out his plan taking people into confidence. The commander-in-chief was a very strategic position in the ISIS as the person was responsible for planning attacks and be their spy on foreign lands. It was obvious to the masses that Usman Ali who had served ISIS for years, had been their spy in different countries will be the new commander-in-chief. “I have observed my people closely and I think it is time to make that decision. I would like the new commander-in-chief of ISIS to be”, he took a pause, and then looking at everyone said, “I would like Omar Bandish to be our new commander-in-chief.” There was shock and silence across the ISIS camp. Nobody had expected Baghdadi to give such an important leadership role to someone from the jihadist camp. “I can see everyone shocked but I feel he is our man. Omar has been a true fighter in all sense. He lost his family at a young age, has been mentally and physically hammered but what makes him different is his zeal to keep fighting and not give up on his dream for the nation. Not every hero has to be overwhelmingly attractive or an unbeatable fighter. True heroism lies in staying true to your cause not letting anything divert you from it. Omar is a perfect example. He is a little unconventional but that’s what makes him a true hero. He has managed to survive the worst possible scenarios and that is what matters in life – survival.” There was joy and celebration in the crowd. People had started congratulating him, lifting him on their shoulders and dancing. There were gun shots in the air by his fellow jihadist as a sign of victory. Baghdadi was smart. He had picked one amongst the crowd. It was his way of re-instilling hope and motivation amongst the masses and getting back more people in the camp. People were celebrating Omar’s victory as their own and had started to feel more included. “There is one more announcement. Using our morse code detector, out IT cell has been able to spot the spy who tipped about our Mosul location to the United States. It’s my word to you that I will be killing that spy today.” There was more joy and happiness in the crowd, but the news had lost steam in light of Omar’s victory. The meeting had been dismissed and people were congratulating Omar, hugging him, wrapping him with the revered ISIS flag. Omar was elated and felt like his day had come. There was finally power in his hands and ability to make decisions, something which he had always wanted. He was thinking about his struggle since childhood, memories were flashing in front of him and then he realized something. In the next moment, he became silent, asked the people to let him down and began walking.

Rolling up his sleeves he began walking briskly, taking two steps at a time, siding people in his way to get ahead. He seemed to have a sudden gush of emotion as he was walking towards his house. He entered the building and climbing two steps at a time reached his house. He pushed open the door, entered the house, removed gun from his back and dropping it on the table rushed towards Afreen. She was doing her chores and suddenly turned behind to see Omar coming towards her. In the next second Omar reached her, grabbed her by waist and kissed her passionately. He kissed her whole-heartedly, on her lips, tongue, and all over her neck. Afreen was shocked to see Omar kiss her but she began kissing him back. He had taken his time but, finally, Omar had found love. In that very second when he was coronated as the chief, he unexpectedly remembered Afreen. The sacrifices she had given for him, the way she was with him in every ups and downs, everything ran in front of him like a movie. He realized there was nobody else who had ever loved him so selflessly. He slowly slipped his hand under her burkha, unhooked and it fell down instantly. He took her to bed and made love to her like no one ever has made love to anyone before. They were a perfect couple now. Both were lying beside each other, naked, happy, and smiling.  Afreen was resting her head on Omar’s arm and their hands were intertwined. He was now playing with her, tickling her, and biting her lovingly every time she moved. Laughing and giggling she got up from the bed and began running around the room. She took Omar’s kurta and wore it casually. Her long golden hair, beautiful eyes, equally spaced nose and lips, her long fair legs and deep cleavage – Omar was stunned looking at her beauty and elegance. He had never seen her this way. Playing with her hair and giggling playfully, she started coming close to Omar once again. He wanted to be with her in bed the entire day. He was giggling too. But all of a sudden, they heard a helicopter sound coming from above and in the next moment there was a sharp bullet coming through the window. The bullet pierced through the window making a perfect hole and hit directly in Afreen’s forehead. Her eyes were raised, and she stopped in her moment unable to understand what had happened. Blood started streaming out of her head. Omar jumped from his bed and went sprinting towards Afreen. She was falling down and fell unconscious into Omar’s hand. The helicopter sound disappeared away and Afreen was lying in Omar’s lap. Dead. Omar yelled, screamed, cried loudly but his beloved wife was dead.

Baghdadi had kept his word. The spy was eliminated.