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Bakhtiyar Ali

208

experienced moments like

this, where they have slain

their own creaturewithout

hesitation. They have no

regrets. They simply don

their old masks once more

and carry on, even, after a

while, forgetting.

I, Mullah Gharib-i Hajar,

however, with one foot

in the grave, must now

confess the truth and tell

you that I could not kill

as others do. Though the

killing would have been

justified. Failure to kill

him results in guilt and

a multitude of sins. I do

not know what stayed

my hand but I do know

that there were countless

nights when I held a

dagger or a gun and could

have drawn the dagger

or aimed the gun at that

damned

apparition.

I

need not have followed

his debauchery and yet

that is a lie because his

pull was too great for me

ever to think of resistance.

Like an ocean of secrets, it

worked its endless effect

and swept me away; often,

neither my hands nor my

mouth worked, and by

the time I had recovered

consciousness and realised

how dangerous were the

fantasies he harboured,

neithermy lashnormystick

were of any use. Each time

I took the lash to that vile

man, it was my own soul

and body that I whipped.

No matter how much I try

to explain this to you now,

it will avail nothing. But

the history of man is the

history of the apparitions

and ghosts escaped from

man’s

imagination.

I

swear to you that I spared

no effort in punishing

myself constantly. And

still I was enamoured of

your bewitching mother,

and I had to make sure my