The young Captain and his crisis

An extract from ‘He Who Summoned the Magpie Robin’ by Nirjhor Barua
(Not for the under-aged and the faint of heart)
A work of fiction, inspired from real events. No pictures have been added, as they would be very graphic in nature.

Captain Hamid Persoudi left for East Pakistan Rifles(EPR) headquarter in Pilkhana at around four in the morning. The retaliation by East Pakistan police and EPR Jawans against the Army had died down already, and all major police and EPR compounds and installation were under military control. As Persoudi drove his jeep through the burning city, he noticed the dead bodies lying around, dead bodies being stacked in large heaps, bodies of men, women, many them naked and mutilated. Bodies of police and EPR jawans were dragged through the pavement and loaded into trucks. As he drove through the University, he looked straight towards the road, in his denial and horror, he tried throwing the images he had seen and he was seeing, away. Let it not get to him. He was a soldier and his humanity must be kept locked away when he donned on the uniform; that was the way it was. The famous Dhakeshori Temple was in ruins from being mortar shelled and the floors of Jagganath hall was showered in blood. In the bullets and the bayonet, the students and the teachers, the archenemy, the ones who created all this mess, were treated and dealt with. The university was the spawning ground of all malice; it was here the process of separating Pakistan was planned, harvested and grown into the full-blown fantasy that is Bangla Desh. And in all its vicious wrath, the Pakistan Military Junta had taken revenge on the University.

The Persian-Baloch-Captain-from-Quetta drove into the EPR head quarter, disturbed and in a furious tug-o’-war with himself—No hanky Panky, you are in uniforms!  He set himself straight and got down from the Jeep to find Captain Amir and some other Officer of Major rank, smiling at him welcoming him in. “You are here in right time my favourite commando”, Captain Amir said loudly, cajoling, “I know you are the quiet type, but let’s have some fun before dawn breaks shall we. Loosen up a bit. I heard the ‘scum’ got caught. Did you hear about it? They should have put a bullet in his butt or two.”

“There were strict orders not to harm him,” replied Persoudi, disinterested, not wanting to divulge the fact that he had been personally involved with the capture of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the ‘famous traitor’. He always felt that other officers were suspicious of his achievements, as if he was not worthy of it, as if everything was just the result of the so-called accident of birth. Thus, he avoided any statement that would portray any form of gloating from his part. He himself did not like showing off or feel special. “and anyways I am supposed to take my unit back to Cantonment.” To him duty was important.

“Oh never mind. Never mind. You SSG commando-bastards are always so serious. You had a long day, relax.” Amir spoke as he put his arms around Persoudi’s shoulder and led him into the back of the compound building. In the back was a little garden-like field and a truck was driving in as they walked in. The Unknown-Major followed them outback with lesser steps and over-the-top pelvic movement in his gait.

Persoudi shook Amir’s arm off his shoulders and walked forward for few steps, “what’s all this?” he asked. As the truck-end flap opened, a line of girls were hurried and pushed out into the field by guards. Some of them were wearing saris with blouses torn and some without any. Others were wearing the salwar-qameez with the top or pantaloons missing. Out of the ones that had tops or blouses missing covered their breast with arms folded, while one of them simply let it all out, their faces hung downwards, with faces showing nothing, like the dead. Almost all of them showed signs of severe assault. In total, there were twenty girls, some as young as twelve it seemed, children. As the girls were being lined up in the field-garden by habildar-ranked soldiers, six officers of various ranks from colonel to mere lieutenants came out, howling, some with bottles in their hands, Marhaba! Marhaba! Like dogs, they howled and danced in drunken madness. Then from the line of girls, two girls, who were not very badly bruised and beaten, were chosen and sent into the compound building to the two Brigadiers that were resting inside.

The mix of officers and common jawans became wild, they danced around the line of girls singing an Urdu song, Jab Raat hey aisi matwali—when the night is so intoxicating, they sang. They taunted the girls. Amir came close to the surprised Persian-Baloch-Captain and whispered into his ears, “you are young, I don’t think you know the touch of a woman, you don’t know how to sink your cock into them.” He then walked towards the girls and as soon as he clapped his hands, with highly choreographed military synchronisation, eight of those girls were taken inside to get locked up for later use and the rest were bound in the hand in a single line around a steel horizontal pipe, “Today you can learn something young boy.” Amir called out. Even in the dim porch lights surrounding them, Persoudi could clearly make out his thick-moustached face, wickedly smiling. “These are mostly snotty university and college bitches, our guests; they had been sleeping when we went in. We don’t want to be rude to our guests, now no, no.” He went closer to one of the girls and touched her rear, with her bent forward; she was crying. “Don’t be scared little wretch, you will like us”, he continued scratching her rump, “Persoudi, we will show you in a minute how it is done”. Everyone clapped and hollered. He then tore her pantaloons away from her hip; her already naked breasts were hanging.

Persoudi was frozen; he had never seen anything such as this, before in his life. His knees started shaking. As one of the star pupil of Special Services Group (SSG), as a top achiever, trained to kill in cold blood, it was indeed rare for a commando of his calibre to be in such a state. In a state of anger and fear, fear of the reality that was piercing into him. He was anticipating something that was about to happen.

“We must fuck them. Not for the cunt only, no-no, we will change them completely. We will change their entire biology! These bingo vegetable-eating niggers will be wiped out! Sodomise the boys if need be! We will put salt in their fields, make their women our whore and give them our seed. We will take their damn tongue away, ban it and give them ours. Make their men eunuchs and our slaves they shall be for eternity. Then they will not oppose us ever.” Amir said prophetically, almost rehearsed, prepared for such an occasion and everyone around him stood motionless, watching his demonstration. He then grabbed hold of the girl’s hair. “Look at them,” he pointed at her with his other hand, “all bent like bitches, waiting for us. Look at them, look at them.” By ‘mock salivating’ with his mouth, making a slurping sound, he grinned. He then took out his already half open, hanging belt, bent it like a whip and started hitting the girl. The groans, God-is-great and ‘Marhaba’s (splendid!) by the surrounding men drowned out her muffled cries, cries of pain and shame. He threw the belt away and dropped his trousers. It was like a green signal and everyone joined in. Each taking one girl for themselves, stripping them, and they entered the poor girls in all force. Penetrating the unwilling girls like beasts. The girls, who had already been spot-gang-raped, were being raped again out in the open.

The screams and cry for help filled up the air around the compound. They wailed for Allah to help them, to take them away from this hell, and kill them, save them from the supposed spawn of ‘Iblis’. But, no celestial being intervened. “No one can save you, you cunts!” one of the officers growled, who was carving, mutilating a girl he just finished violating, cutting off her bare breasts with a not-so-sharp knife. Her writhing body soon gave out; her screams died out as blood gushed out into the garden. She died in the process and the officer stabbed the girl in her sex and kept the knife hanging from the flesh.

The young captain after witnessing such horror, horror that cannot be compared to anything in the world, felt sick and vomited right on the ground. His legs gave in as he fell forward onto the grass, regurgitating his last meal. The rolling waves of hatred, revulsion towards his companions were boiling the inside of him. He could not stomach the billowing stench of blood either. This was not the first time he had seen death, he was responsible for many, but this was different, it was like a scene from hell. How in the name of the Lord was he initiated into this perverted institution of death?

Amir walked up to Persoudi, in little steps, holding his trousers up, with his penis still hanging out. With one hand caressing his moustache, “I am done”, he said. “Looks like a lot of us are done this quick.” He continued, somewhat proudly and jokingly. “Couldn’t hold it much longer, they finished before I did though, these fickle impotent chaps.” He laughed, trying to insult the others. As he came closer to the young Captain, he kicked him slightly, keeping his foot hanging, “hey it’s your turn. Have one of our seconds, now!” He commanded rudely. Although Amir was junior to some of the officers present, he seemed to be acting as the leader among the men.

Scores of eyes looked into Persoudi’s face, as he was crouched into the ground. He then shoved Amir’s legs off and got up, while wiping his chin he barked, “Get away from me you sick bastard!” As he walked away he threatened, “I will report this!”

“Are you a faggot? We will get little boys if you want”, Amir laughed as he spoke, looking around at others for some humour appreciation. Others laughed as well. “Come back here! Do you think you are better than we are? Do you think the bloody superiors will care about your report? This is war! These are our prisoners. It is our god-given right to do anything. You don’t know what’s happening you naive little shit!” Amir called out, shouting at the top of his voice, his previous playfulness changing suddenly. He looked back at a Major behind him still fiddling with a girl and said, “Major, order that Baloch bastard to come back.”

Having heard the last few words, the young now-angry Captain came back a couple of steps, a bit closer and in anger thrust his words with his utmost fury, to be heard, his veins popping, threatening everyone present, “Do not fuck with me! I, Iskandar Bin Hamid Ulfa Persoudi, will see to your very end! So do not fuck with me.” He was from a very influential family, few MLAs and ministers came from his family branches. He walked away finally out of site. It was the first time he said his full name out aloud in public.

“Get out then, you rich rascal! Go suck your daddy’s tits! You spoiled shit!” Captain Amir Gul of the Punjab regiment called out, swearing, shouting profanities at the hurrying young Captain. “You are spoiling the fun anyway,” he murmured the last words under his breath, trying to recover from his rejection, caressing his moustache with his fingers, still holding up his trousers. It was true; one word from Persoudi’s family, Amir could end up sweeping blood and semen off cantonment floors all his life, and he knew it.