Regrets of A Suicide Bomber

I was not a man, neither an angel nor a demon. I was doing everything I could, to survive. I didn’t know these all will end up this way. I had no idea; consternation in me would result in squanders of others. I literally had never imagined what it will wreak innocents when one’s consciousness is wiped clean. I did not intend to harm others, neither had I needed to but I was told that I had to take this harsh step for the rectification of this world we live in and it is my very responsibility.

 When I pushed the red button, it was sudden gale and everything turned into ashes. I could see my body parting from my soul. Just after the second there was storm of dust, I was shocked to see my head separating from my body and went up to the sky but I didn’t feel anything, I saw everything happening. I closed my eyes when I saw my legs and arms tearing apart; my heart could be seen naked from my ripped chest but still I didn’t feel any pain. My right eye was lying in front of me, but it was not a ball, it was flat. It was not usual for me. There, where they trained me, they used to say that I will be rewarded after I blew myself up; it was the way they’d taught me. 

It was silence. I closed my eyes and stood there. I knew what I had done and I knew it too that it couldn’t be undone. The silence as I had never encountered before. The mourn in the air, the darkness everywhere and there I was standing searching my own bits and pieces, but it was really difficult to do so because there were lots and lots of scattered body parts. They were all distinct in their sizes, genders, colors and all. At first I thought that I might be hallucinating but no, I was not. 

I was standing between the corpses and body parts. Multitudinous living men were searching for their loved ones and numerous were kind enough to help wounded. Still I was standing inert. It seemed senseless to me that I had done this all. I was deeply ashamed of my deed; I wanted to kill myself if I weren’t already. That piece of land looked like a slaughter house where herd of bull are slaughtered, street was turned red and buildings were destroyed. Killer of all those innocent and harmless people was me and it was the fact which cannot be denied.

 I prayed to God that what am I thinking could be false but unfortunately it was not. It was a part of history which will always start with my name on it, reminding others about a brutal man who bore this name, about me. I wasn’t actually part of it completely, but partially. I died that day but not completely but partially. I died the day when I saw my dead family members, and then they captured me and raped me and tortured me. They trained me, lusted me for girls. They destroyed my consciousness and built a new edifice on bootless foundation. They built a lethal weapon, whose affectees are going to be innocent people. It came to me as a bombshell as I realized that I was that lethal weapon and when I realized it was too late. I hoped that everything turned to ashes might reverse itself into their original state; I could not do anything but hope.


A pool of blood, bits and pieces of body parts, men, women, children and old – all dead and I am the reason. I could not bear it anymore so I left. What I saw than was worst. I saw fear and terror among the locals. It wasn’t silence anymore, but blacked out everywhere. Cries, shouts for help, horns of ambulances and curses which air has brought with it. Killing someone is another sin, but seeding dread in the heart of guiltless people is worst kind of feeling, I just experienced and I could not bear the pain. I was in loss from every facet.

 I remember the time when my father used to teach me black and white. My brothers were fast learner, but I learned ultimately. My grandmother told me once that being a cause for pain in a simple man is like being the reason behind the wrath of the nature. My grandmother was a great humanitarian, she was killed by one of the attacks, God knows from whose side the death angel came from but the conclusion it produced was I lost my family, my house and my future and my half life and the rest I lost on the day. I did not blame anyone then why am I being responsible for the vengeance if I had died too. Is it because I killed loved ones so I had lost my loved ones too? Had I destroyed houses, what if I had lost mine also? Did I kill innocent people? My father, my mother, my infant sister, my human loving grandmother, my brothers and I were innocent too, weren’t we? Some say that majority has voice instead it has noise. When I lost everything I was nothing and when I am a reason than I suddenly become a criminal, a brutal killer? Wasn’t my life worthy enough to be sympathized? Weren’t I living my life happily? Didn’t my life cost anything? Perhaps it was unfortunate for me to be born in Waziristan because I was just a boy from Waziristan. If I had born in any other part of the world, I would be a human being, respectable citizen, a respectable member of a respectable society where life would be worthy enough to be considered in counts after being killed from missiles. May be it was all a dream, but the truth has always been bitter. It has always been this way. 

Indeed, this irony does not justify my actions and I am demeaned too. Whatever I did was not in any good for me or for anyone considering the fact that I had done it, I am fully responsible for the loss because I remember my grandmother saying that revenge is a tool of the devil this way it keeps the cycle of human destruction rolling.


Author: Kashan Aqeel


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