Nameless Gravestones…

She ran, carrying her 7 months old baby. Her face had bruises from the beatings taken from the unknown men, who called themselves the volunteers of God. The city is being plowed upside down, by the clashes between the warriors of God, in the name of God, for the sake of God. But were they fought by the God, Himself? Thousands of lives and dreams have been shattered.

She had dreams of not been bombed, not been kidnapped and raped, all she dreamt of was to lead a peaceful life, where her kids got a basic education, food and shelter. She had not dreamt about planning family holidays to exotic places or owning the latest cool gadgets which just hit the consumer market.

The definition of better life changes drastically, especially when you are fleeing a war zone. Now, her only dream is to save her baby, she had already lost her beautiful family, that too before completion of the days of fasting for the holy month.

When you are pushed to the limit, then you are no more frightened. She had her own plans to kill – at least two of them – those who had made her helpless. For that, first she had to make sure her only daughter was safe, or at least transported out of this chaotic city.

She moved through the clusters of the crowd, most of them injured, and looking for assistance to get out of this mayhem. She spotted the blue bus, which was leaving the city, the last one which will transport some blessed souls. Blessed in a way if they could get out of this maniac state. The sight of the blue bus gave her hope, even it was paining between her legs, and she just focused her thoughts to reach the bus, over shadowing the thoughts of being raped by many men, in front of the dead bodies of her family.

She looked at her baby, she was having a peaceful sleep, which gave her the courage to keep moving, until she reached the bus.

Once she was outside the bus, she looked hopefully with her tired eyes, to check whether any known person had boarded the bus, so that she can gave her baby to them, the search went in vain. Then she saw two hands, waving, gesturing her to hand over the baby, so that she could also board the bus. It was a family of five, middle aged parents and three daughters. They took the kid through the window, and shouted that baby’s mother was stuck outside. They pleaded the conductor to help that mother, get inside the bus. In that chaos no one was listening to anyone. The woman, let the crowd pull her back, as she was sure that her baby will be safe in the company of those angelic looking sisters. The bus started to grunt through the crowds, who had been abandoned and left to count the last days of their lives in this ill-fated city of Yarmouk, the most dangerous place on the planet to live, where the IS had taken over and civil war was taking lives.

epa04101663 An undated handout picture made available on 26 February 2014 by the United Nation Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) shows Palestinian and Syrian residents of Yarmuk Palestinian Refugee Camp crowding in a destroyed street as food is distributed, in Damascus, Syria. EPA/United Nation Relief and Works Agency / HANDOUT HANDOUT EDITORIAL USE ONLY/NO SALES

Source: Google Image

Two men rushed to that woman, and shouted to stop the bus, but the bus didn’t stop and she fainted into their arms, with a smile and bleeding nose. Those two men stood there, holding that woman in their arms and looking at the dust created by the trails of the bus.


Seven days earlier,

Calais, Night

Before redialing, he checked the mobile. The battery was about to die. In frustration he hit the redial button again, the waves were making noise which created a panic inside, but he was strong or the events had made him strong enough. Not one to give away to fear, and let that stop his mission.

Hello” he got the line connected.

Hi, sister Zia. This is Mustafa.”

Brother, what is happening? Where are you? Mom and Dad are worried, hello??”

Yes, tonight will be the last day of chaos, we will finally find our way through sister, we will get justice!!“ Mustafa replied, standing near the shores, watching the ascending crescent.

Mustafa, are you safe? Please don’t endanger yourself; you are important to the family..” Before Mustafa’s sister could complete, he cut in.

Listen, sister, nothing to worry about me. I am confident and this is the only way I could, we could make it, and you will receive the laptop in a week’s time, which will help you to leave that cursed city, even I fail to make it, I’ll make sure that, my sisters and parents are safe, to lead a peaceful life, in a country, without the label refugee attached.”

His sister interrupted, “But, Mustafa, swimming through English channel to get into Britain will be a grave decision. It is too risky. Why don’t you try some other options?”

Before she could complete, the battery of Mustafa’s mobile went flat. The word “Options” sounded so funny to him, he smiled, if he had an option, he wouldn’t have taken birth, not at least, in that part of the world, where thousands get killed and the world or the so called social platform only cares for the people who get killed less in numbers, but the region where they get killed matters. Why the double standards? Life is equal or has to be given even values, irrespective of geographical bias.

He just tried to jog his memory, it all started from Damascus, after 11 years of imprisonment, when his dad was out, they decided to leave their motherland. He, Mustafa, was determined, to give a peaceful and a decent life to his parents, and three sisters. They took asylum in Amman. Mustafa planned to complete his education and find a job, to gave his family the required support, so he decided to leave Jordan and reached Turkey. Fate had the other things in store for him. They rejected his application. Now he couldn’t go back to Jordan. He decided to travel to England. His only hope, to sneak in and get settled. Months passed, he made his journey through, Algeria, Libya, Italy, Dunkirk, and finally he was at Calais. If only he was successful, to swim across the English channel! The hope of starting a new life was instilled in him..

Mustafa got into his swim suit (Cheap one), looked at the sky, and smiled. Filled with hope and dreams, he jumped into that cold waters, the crescent was ascending.


The Seventh day, Yarmook.

When the two men arrived, there were clear sign of an outbreak of civil war, all they have to do is to track Mustafa Gadafi’s Family, hand over the laptop, and give the instructions as received from Mustafa. They reached the given address, found the street was abandoned. They saw an old couple who was making their tiny steps through the streets.

The two men followed them. The couple looked terrified. Without further introduction, the two men asked about Mustafa Gadafi and his family. The old couple looked at each other and pointed at the blue bus, at a distance, submerged in the chaotic crowd. The two man thanked the couple and started picking the pace towards the direction of the blue bus.

In the distance they saw, a woman, handing over a baby to a young girl inside the bus. One of the men pulled out the photograph. It was a group photo of Mustafa’s family, Mom, Dad and his three sisters. They matched. The two men started running faster, through the cluster of the crowds. When they reached the woman, she fainted into their arms, with a smile and bleeding nose, those two men stood there, holding that woman in their arms and looking at the dust created by the trails of the bus. The very next moment, a deafening sound resonated, scattered human flesh, fresh blood, and other metals, filled the atmosphere. The two men along with the woman were pushed backed by the flash of the explosion, the blue bus was blown, it was thrown up in the air, sky rocketing. Everything, inside the bus, and the bus now lay, surrendered to the globe of fire.


The Eight Day. Calais

The Norway Police official was informed about the body washed over the shores. The body in the swim suit was unidentified, The tracking system of Norway investigation system, was so efficient, it never failed to track the whereabouts of the missing cases, but, this one, was one among those numbers tagged under the term refugees, and hence they won’t find the identity of this dead body too. For us, refugees are numbers, once we get into those camps, we will find people from all walks of lives, highly educated, living their life’s in these camps which had limited resources of water and food, living with a dream and hope that, some day, they could sneak into an English speaking country, to restart their lives.

Today, another body will also be buried, when they fail to identify the person inside that swim suit, and another invisible life, will be taken to a nameless grave. 

Guest Post by Josh from Chai & Biscuits

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A passionate film maker & writer that’s what really I want to be in my life, and people who are real close to me know it. I Love Life ( I love myself, unless you love yourself you can’t love others, so i love myself to love others😛 don’t believe in all that i say😉)

The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.

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20 thoughts on “Nameless Gravestones…

  1. Pingback: Blog Posts, un weekend de succes – Blog Posts, a successful weekend | look around!

  2. I went to Africa for President Clinton. I learn in some places. Life had little value. Which is very sad. This is a very sad story. She was someone daugher and human being. I pray she found a better place to rest.


  3. This is incredibly sad but as I say…as long as one person remembers you, you will never be forgotten. Now, everybody who reads this post….will remember not only the body in the bathing suit…but all the bodies in the bathing suits.


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