ARMAN MALEEQ
In complete silence, a procession of five pristine white Mercedes-Benz cars, exuding an air of opulence, advanced steadily. Passersby would raise their hands in greeting as these vehicles glided by, a clear indication that their occupants were not ordinary individuals. Within one of these cars, it was evident that their destination was a significant hospital, as they gradually decelerated upon approaching. The procession inched its way into the hospital grounds, finally halting as they reached the designated parking area.
One by one, the occupants of the cars disembarked, except for one vehicle that remained sealed. Slowly, the car’s hood was lifted, releasing a distinct fragrance of Hugo Boss cologne, causing me to instinctively raise my gaze. Emerging from the car, a man clad in immaculate white attire and stylish white half-cover shoes began to adjust his footwear. It was unmistakable; these shoes belonged to Sarakai.
From his feet, I traced my gaze upward, finally resting upon his chest, where a pristine white cloak adorned with Golding’s torch enveloped his entire form. His face remained obscured, save for his hands, which were engaged in securing the cloak’s fastening.
With deliberate grace, he gently lowered his Alkyab hat, revealing a countenance of remarkable beauty. Even though his features were partially concealed by the turban on his head, I managed to glimpse only his eyes and a portion of his visage. Those eyes were captivating, aptly described as “Lu-lu Eyes” or “Oil Eyes,” their irises a striking royal blue, contrasting against the whites of his eyes. A subtle blink unveiled a set of dark lashes, and his eyes rekindled with a spark of intelligence before he proceeded to move with remarkable poise and composure.
The other Fadawa accompanying him followed suit, exuding a quiet confidence as they made their way into the hospital.
Their arrival coincided with the clamorous entry of an ambulance, sirens blaring. Nurses and doctors swiftly streamed out of the hospital as the ambulance came to a halt. Emerging from the ambulance were patients who appeared visibly distressed, their disheveled state revealing the severity of their condition. Some nurses shed tears, their emotions heightened by the distressing scene, whereas the doctors, accustomed to such sights, appeared concerned but not as emotionally affected.
The individuals from within the hospital emerged to greet those who had arrived, their spirits visibly lifted. However, it was apparent that the newcomers were not here for a joyous occasion. One doctor remarked, “You must join them, but there’s no sign of life left in their bodies,” intending to turn away. However, a hand firmly grasped his arm, causing him to meet the intense gaze of the man who had spoken. In a hushed tone, he said, “God help us, Sheikh Arman. This is dire, utterly grim. I fear there may be no salvation for them.” His words were laden with sorrow.
Releasing his grip, the doctor proceeded towards the car. As he approached, his eyes fell upon a young girl drenched in blood, her face concealed beneath the crimson tide that had engulfed her. She exhibited signs of distress, with injuries apparent from her head down to her face. This fragile child, no more than seven years old, possessed striking royal blue eyes. The man turned to catch a glimpse of the girl and realized, to his astonishment, that she was still breathing. He softly murmured, “Yah Subhanallah,” immersing himself in the gravity of the situation.
Without wasting a moment, he scooped up the girl and, in a melodious and soothing voice akin to a flute, began urgently calling for a doctor. “Doctor! Doctor!! Doctor!!!” he implored, his voice eventually fading into exhaustion. A doctor by the name of Dazun, visibly shaken, rushed forward. With trembling hands, he accepted the girl and signaled with his eyes for an immediate examination. Then, he hurried to the emergency room.
Inside, he carefully laid the girl on a specially prepared bed for the gravely ill. A stethoscope, placed atop a small table adorned with essential medical tools, awaited his use. With practiced precision, he swiftly unzipped the girl’s bloodstained shirt, pushed it aside, and secured the stethoscope on her chest, just over her right side, ensuring a precise listening point for her breathing. It was a moment requiring such concentration that, had he not been utterly focused, the slightest sound might have eluded him. Retrieving the stethoscope, he leaned in to auscultate the girl’s breathing, his expression growing increasingly concerned as he did so.