The Celebrity of Third World
Muhammad Nasrullah Khan
Neeha Roomi was only twelve when she was raped for the first time. She was a famous model and she used to dance on Arab T.V. This is how I came to know her, though I didn't really know her personally.
Abdulla had come to take me to the bar where there was going to be a special show of Neeha's dancing. She was a good friend to Abdulla and Abdulla had come to tell me something he knew I would want to write a story about. He knew I was a writer and I knew he was a good storyteller, so he spoke and I listened.
Pouring the wine and passing the cup to me, Abdullah slowly mentioned, "Rape is a very common thing in our country."
"So, what is strange in that it's common in our country? Some are dropping bombs in mosques and others are raping poor girls. Above all our leaders are raping the whole land, while we are exchanging talks about our fatherland like a volcano vomiting. Let us drink and forget our aching prayers " I replied indifferently while clinking my glass with his.
The unmistakable theme song from 'Magnolia Girls' snaked through the resounding beat from the one of the most reputed Arabian nightclubs.
I stood looking out at the sunset that was disappearing behind the fast shut eyelid of the ocean, like a golden ball growing smaller. "Did you not hear what I just said?" asked Abdulla with a sound of anger in his voice, thinking I wasn't listening or that I cared not to what was happening in our country. He set his glass down heavily, seeming very annoyed.
"Yes, I heard you. Speak, I'm listening."
Abdulla stared at me then added, "Neeha left home. She was sold to a Brothel house and was exposed to endless rapes." Abdulla walked toward the window where I stood, with both hands in the pockets of his pants, as though in thought. He then turned his back toward me. I could tell something was not right as he walked toward the table.
"We all know this thing has been going on for ages." I said, "Once a girl is sold to pimps, they are endlessly raped. What great stuff to write about, huh? What do you people think? Can such plain hurtful stories be converted into literature?" I frowned.
"She was raped by her father." Abdulla revealed the fact
"Yes, facts are always strange, my dear writer."
"No, Man could not do a thing like that, nor beast," I cried.
Without a smile Abdulla spoke words, which were hard for me to believe. When he told me that Neeha was raped by her father I could scarcely believe my ears. "No, no!" I shouted. "Her father could never do that."
"Believe it, my dear writer." Abdulla stood, staring at me.
"Shall I continue?" he asked.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear more or not but it seemed Abdulla was giving me a good story to write about. Neeha seemed to be a good person. Why would anyone want to rape her- especially her father? I knew Abdulla wouldn't lie to me because we had been friends since college, and I had never known him to tell me anything that was not true. My heart developed feelings I never thought I had.