Nights of Turkistan

“I don’t mind, but I want to listen to the story from the beginning,” I said while he was taking the cups from a young boy, perhaps his grandson. He said, “The story is a long tragedy. Pilgrims come every year to Makkah for performing the rituals of Hajj and then, they get back to their homes. But, I wonder whether Hajj has been imposed upon Muslims only to come and then get back! I don’t think so. Who will tell every visitor to this holy spot, on my behalf, the story of the miserable Muslims who fell down between the cruelties of the sickle and hammer? Well … we can meet in the evening. I’ll bring you some books and tell my long story. Though I’m here, my eyes are still in the green land and in the heavenly mountains- the Tian Chian Mountain and the Yameer Mountains- located between the borders of Pakistan and Turkistan. I still think about the women who had unveiled their faces and the anguished and tricked young people who were pushed to the new institutions where they learnt atheism, were taught lies and falsehood until they forgot their Islamic history. Yes, my mind is still engaged with the images of minarets and domes… and the crowds who are creeping at the ends of Siberia, anguished with torture and oppression. I belong to Eastern Turkistan and here’s the story from the beginning…”