Forgiving Your Kidnappers

Yesterday Yusuf*, one of my students, told us a story he'd not told anyone except his parents and uncle. His father had been a powerful figure in the Bangladeshi government and Yusuf was kidnapped some five years ago, for over a month. During that time he was constantly tortured, drugged and kept on a starvation diet.

He showed us the burn marks on his hands and arms, from the torture, and the scars on the back of his hands from where he'd been continually stabbed with syringe needles to keep him drugged and unconscious. He does not remember how he escaped but he does remember waking up on the lap of his uncle, the Bangladeshi Chief of Police, with his father and others around him.

As he told his story and showed us his wounds, the silence in the room from the others listening was palpable. We could feel his deep pain and confusion and, at the end, he asked me a question:

"Please, Sir, should I take revenge? Should I be angry with my kidnappers?"

I was about to answer but my inner voice asked me for silence. As I stilled my readied tongue, another student spoke the sentiments I was going to, though in a stronger way than I would have done:

"Revenge is not for you; it is for God. What you must do is give it to God or it will destroy you. That is always your duty and your way to freedom."

The woman who answered is from India's Punjab state, a Hindu. I was surprised that her philosophy, her beliefs and her ways of dealing with life were identical to mine though my nationality and religion are quite different … I thought. I think I surprised her - she kept nodding and looking surprised - as I explained that, from my perspective, forgiveness undoes the pain and fear of the past and present and sets our futures free. Giving our anger and confusion over to that which is bigger than all of us, all of this, allows us to live into a future free of those things.

So you see, Horatio, there is nothing in heaven and earth that is new and, in the end, we are all the same, despite the labels - Hindu, New Zealander, teacher, student etc - we use to separate ourselves from one another. We are all one and we are all forgiven, if we but give ourselves permission to accept that … and that is one of the several lessons Arthur Bayly, hero of The Importance of Being Arthur, learns as he is hounded, beaten and thrown into a strange world of conspiracy and fear.

* Yusuf is not his real name.

 
You can read Arthur's continuing story, blog by blog, and here is the next exciting episode which continues from two blogs ago ...

If Arthur had been used to such activities and exertions, he would have been alert to the approach of the other man, sneaking up beside him. But he wasn't.

The Happy Brother
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 11.46 p.m.

John had phoned ahead to Belinda and when they arrived another room had been booked. With simple efficiency John arranged that Halee and Mary take one room and Angus and Ahmed take the third. After introductions all round they took the lift and then John and Belinda excused themselves.

"Ah, young love," said Mary wistfully.

"Tired love, more like," said Belinda as John led her to their room. Ahmed pleaded fatigue and went into the adjoining room.

"Look Mary, it's been a long day but would ye be wantin' to share a wee dram a'fore bed?" asked Angus. "I've a bottle of best malted in me room."

"Oh aye, why not, Angus," said Mary, smoothing her furrowed brow. "But you'd better fetch it out of your room - Ahmed's Muslim and doesn't drink. Bring it to our room."

"Look, Miss Collins, I'm knackered," said Halee. "You two have some catching up to do so how about I sleep with Ahmed … oh, you know what I mean, in his room and you two share the other one. They're separate beds aren't they?"

"Yes, twin rooms," said Mary. They knocked on Ahmed's door and Halee suggested she sleep in the bed next to him while Angus and Mary shared the room next door. Ahmed's mouth opened and shut and a deep redness crept out from inside his swarthy face. Mary had never seen him lost for words before, this suave, gentle, dynamic man.

"Ahmed, I'm not sure what you're thinking," said Halee with a tired smile, "but I will do my best, my very best, to resist your gorgeous body. You should be safe."

"Oh, ah, yes, of course," said Ahmed finding his voice at last, though uncertainly. "We can dress in the bathroom, I suppose, if you're alright with that."

"Actually, Ahmed, right now all I want to do is collapse into bed," said Halee. "I don't care what I'm wearing and I don't care who sees whatever it is. Angus, get your stuff and be gone will ya. Let this girl get some sleep."

Angus grabbed his few possessions and left with Mary who saw Ahmed standing there, apparently unable to move.

 "So, little brother, what prompted you to come down here?" asked Mary as she sat on the bed with her whisky in hand. "First time to the big city, aye?"

"Dunno lass, it just sort of happened before I knew it was happening, if ye catch me drift," said Angus, sitting back in the only chair in the room. "John and Belinda turned up in town. Their car was gone and they had a contact at an insurance company in London and Mr Fordyce knew you were in insurance and so I was hauled in and, hell, I dunno. Those Kiwis just sorta' inspired me to do what I've never done before. And here I am."

"What did they say to you?" asked Mary, intrigued.

"Don't know if it's what they said or what they did," said Angus, smiling through his puzzled look. He took a large sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes and sighing deeply, as if it was the elixir of life.
"They just seem to have no ties, no obligations. They want to do something and they just do it. No explanations, no excuses, they just do it."

"Sounds a bit irresponsible," suggested Mary.

"Not irresponsible, really. They care for people and are as honest as a die," said Angus, looking at Mary for the first time. "But if they need to act they just do … ah, I dunno, I can't explain it. Anyway, lass, something about them got me thinking about me life and what I've achieved."

"But I thought you were happy doing what you've always done," said Mary. "I thought you'd be welding and drinking ales and watching football for the rest of your life."

"So did I, Mary lass, so did I," said Angus, sitting back, looking at the ceiling. He quickly looked back at Mary. "John asked me what I was born for. Ye know, what me purpose is in being here. I hadn't thought of that before and I got a bit shitty with him. But it got me thinkin' and I thought …. well, I suppose I've thought about it before, a million times and kinda' pretended it didn't matter - have another drink, tell another lie, another day of work - just get on with it, getting busy …"

"But you weren't really happy?" asked Mary, feeling his rising sadness.

"No Mary, not happy at all but never wanted to admit it," said Angus, wiping his eyes and taking another sip of whiskey. "Actually, to be brutally honest, I was a bit of a sad bastard and, as John suggested, my getting shitty at him was actually me getting shitty at myself for wasting my time. He stopped talking to wipe his eyes again with his big calloused hand.

"Oh little brother," said Mary standing up. She sat on his knee and hugged him. His tears burst forth and he let the cry out - the cry so long held back from years of denial and frustration.

Mary waited till his sobs died down. "So, here you are, little brother, in this big London town, crying in the arms of your big sister. What a pair we are!"

"What? You're not happy either?" asked Angus, looking surprised as Mary got off his knee and sat back on the bed. "The big flash job, the money, the poncy flat in the middle of town - I thought you had it all."

"Well, not really unhappy, Angus, as I have my work but love keeps avoiding me," said Mary. "It sneaks up when I'm not looking and then buggers off when it gets near."

"Ye and me both, Mary lass," said Angus, smiling again, brightening up the room. "What a sad, sorry mess we've got ourselves into."

"You might be right, Angus but I suspect we're not the only dysfunctional ones," said Mary, raising her glass to him.