Confessions of a Torturer
(Naseer Ahmed)
Oh, pain is everywhere in my body. It is a bit like a Sufi’s ultimate reality and a Mullah’s powerful deity. It is there and it hurts a lot. I try to remember the good things I did, but this pain leads me to the horrible things I did.
I thought doing horrible things was my job. It was for the higher purposes. It was for the noble missions. It was a pious thing to do. It was unpleasant but jobs are seldom pleasant. I had to do that. It was inevitable. I was just obeying the order. I was just a cog in a machine. Had I not done that, somebody else would have done that.
It would be stupid to lose a job for not bowing to will of the inevitable. You know all those reasons people drum into ears of other to justify their horrible deeds.
That was then. Things have changed since then. This time I do not inflict pain upon any heap of flesh. This time I suffer it.
Nobody is inflicting any pain upon me. It is out of a horrible disease I picked on the way life. You could say I had it coming but you would be just thinking up connections just to enjoy my suffering because you hate me. The kind of mistake, we humans keep repeating over and over while increasing pain and suffering in the process.
But whatever you think is not important to a dying man. I see no point in all this pain I suffer. I don’t see any higher purpose taking any revenge upon me. I don’t see any noble spirit doing dodgy stuff to me.
There is no nobility in suffering pain you could avoid. And there is no nobility in suffering pain you can’t. I writhe, I sigh, and I cry, I holler, I weep and I beg for mercy. I enjoyed it a lot when I saw people doing it. I don’t enjoy doing all this stuff myself.
I was a trained tormentor. They called me ‘Maddy the Ego Breaker’ and I broke so many egos and so many bones. I enjoyed it because my seniors liked what I did. His Excellency the president gave me so many awards and shields for signed confessions I extracted from the people I had power upon. At times I felt like a dog but being a dog was a virtue those days. I guess it still is. And I thought it was better to be a biting dog than a whipped human those days. It still is I guess.
I think I should tell you the details of what I did but it is tough to dictate all this stuff in this ego breaking pain. It was just those people I inflicted pain upon, the people who were trying to hide light and love in the softest corners of their existence.
This was their salvation. And I knew how to break the codes of those softest corners and abuse love and extinguish that light of salvation within them. Most of them failed in hiding their lights and their love from me and after the act of de-lighting them, I liked them. They seemed quite human to me. The heroes and heroines who kept their lights and love on them, I hated. Their courage seemed a kind of judgment upon my worthlessness.
Oh I felt worthless doing all that torture I did in spite of higher purposes and noble missions. I worshipped His Excellency the President but I knew if subjected to my cruelty, he would sing like a canary and blurt out even the crimes he never thought of committing.
Oh, those strange days when all worthlessness of human existence resided in the person of His Excellency the President.
He was not the only one. All of us who supported him and all of us who failed to stop him were the parts of that universal worthlessness. His Excellency was just a sign and a symbol of our failing culture.
We knew it that time that we were failing as humans. Years have gone. I suffer pain and I think we have failed but we refuse to accept it. You know the way we try to forget the friend who is not useful to us anymore.
Forgive me for indulging too much into this cultural failure commentary, but I played a part in bringing it about, I can’t let go my experiences. I would tell you what I wanted to tell all the time. I could not but I wanted to tell you since that incident happened.
One afternoon, my seniors told me that it was my job to take care of a certain middle aged man. My seniors told me that he was a worst ever criminal, thug, tyrant and gangster. I did not ask the name but I knew he was the elected Prime Minister of our country.
Everybody knew about the devil those days. Like it happens with devils, nobody asks the questions, they just start throwing pebbles.
I did the same. It does not matter whether it is sheep or wolves; they all do the same in the herd. No individuality, no personality. We humans in a herd are even worse than wolves and sheep because we can express those feelings of worthlessness in many creative ways. And our creativity glorifies the worthlessness we inflict upon ourselves.
Pardon me doing this wise guy stuff all the time. No wisdom here, I just express my perpetual tendency of doing stupid stuff.
I entered the dungeon, I saw Mr. Prime Minister. I started to do my higher purposes and noble deeds. Oh, I am so ashamed of my worthlessness. Oh young man, write my tears down, write my guilt down, write my disgrace down; may you never suffer or inflict any pain.
I thought Mr. Prime Minister was a weak educated person like you and loads of them and I would finish my tasks in few moments. It took months and years, but that brave man never lost an iota of his dignity. I hated him too much. I tortured him too much in whatever way I could. I could not break him apart.
He kept saying,’ I am elected Prime Minister. I represent public. All I am doing is working for a better future of our country, better future of our cities, better future of our villages, better future of our people and you must be ashamed of what you are doing to me and I forgive you’.
Young man, I was proud of what I did those days but that pride did not last long. I am a dying heap of flesh full of guilt, remorse, regret, shame and disgrace.
Young man, the most disgraceful thing is that I know I am the only one who suffers from these feelings for what we all did to our Prime Minister. He was no saint, but Prime Ministers are no saints. My mother, my father, my brother, my sister, my friends and my kinsmen voted for him and look what I did to him.Oh, I am a worthless sadist. Do something to rehabilitate our Prime Minister, young man, please do something. But you can’t do it. Nobody could.
The Prime Minister was murdered in the end. I came back home on holidays after his death. My grandma, my mother, my sister and all those women were mourning him by dancing our traditional death dance. Not many dance that dance any more under influence of pretended piety.
I hated it that time, but I know we lost our traditions and our progress possibilities when he died. We are great losers as a people, oh young man and I am the greatest one.
Later I made so much money and lived a comfortable life. A good life, but I was not proud of anything. My children loved me, but they were never proud of me.
A few months ago my youngest son brought a friend with him and we started to talk about those strange days.
‘I am proud of my Papa. They whipped him all day and he kept shouting,’ Long live our Prime Minister. They brought their worst torturer Maddy The Ego Breaker. Even Maddy the Ego Breaker could not break my Papa.The boy said.
‘Son, that Prime Minister died and your Papa died too,’ I said.
Did they? My Papa won’t ever die as long as I live and Prime Minister won’t ever die as long as people live.The boy said.
I changed that topic, but that moment I began to die. I suffer pain, but please tell the world, I died in shame, in regret and in disgrace for what I did. Please tell the world I did not let the light and love go from the softest corners of my existence.