A new Dawn- Short Story

There was so much smoke of guilt; you could hardly see any faces. Though the large room was filled with men, it was still empty of life. Men of all ages wore different attires, mostly traditional Afghan clothing, sitting in a circle. At the center of the room was a faded brown and navy rug. The room had no windows, but an old wooden door that connected to a passage.

There was no life of prosperity and morality in this room; an overwhelming scent of bitterness pervaded. Despite loud talking and laughter, a feeling of depression was in the air.

The wooden door opened, and everyone fell silent. A tall, bony young man in a perahan tunban and wearing a bright traditional hat entered the room. His smile was angry; you could see the pain in his brown eyes, and the greedy audience welcomed his presence.

Hassan knew that he had to deliver pleasure to this sexually deprived group of men. He also knew the fear of a child being touched and watched by strangers. Those feelings of indecency and insecurity were familiar to him. As a young boy, he had gone through severe physical and sexual abuse, and as an adult, he knew all that violence and abuse manifested in his mind and corrupted his character. Even though he watched and helped his controlling stepfather provide boy dancers to ill-minded men for years, he never enjoyed being an enforcer and such a provider. Now that his stepfather had died, passing on to him the business, Hassan knew full well the enormity of vileness, and he also was fully aware the pain this experience could inflict on a child.

After his stepfather’s death from a heart attack, Hassan did some soul searching, considering changes to his way of living. On the darkest days when he felt unloved and unworthy, he would remember himself as a ten-year-old boy whose young- widowed mother had to remarry a stranger, a battered man from northern Afghanistan in an Afghan refugee camp in Peshawar, Pakistan—a man who made a living by child exploitation. For him, a man of no importance with a demeaning character, it was easy to use desperate children and unwanted preteens around the refugee camps for making a profit. He was a man whose heart was drained of love and compassion. A man who faced misery all his life, now as an abuser himself, he felt powerful beyond measure. It seemed the abuse could contradict one of the most fundamental principles of life.

Soon after the marriage, Hassan’s innocence was stolen by his stepfather. And every Friday night, he was taken to an unknown village in Peshawar to dance in front of strangers. Hassan had to perform his duty with no complaints. The man made sure that little boy understood his job well. As smart as he was, Hassan did exactly as his stepfather asked of him. He knew the man had a cruel and vicious character, and any mishap or mistake would inflict hostility. So, he practiced how to please his stepfather to spare himself and his mother any more pain.

His stepfather, who was raised in poverty, was abused as a child. He did not know any other way of living but to do precisely as he had been taught. Even in the deep part of his damaged soul, he had sympathy for his ten-year-old stepson, yet he continued treating the child the only way he knew how.

Hassan, holding his stepfather’s hand, entered an old two-story house. The house, which his stepfather owned, was located in a quiet neighborhood. There was no sign of any wrongful activities. The house seemed deserted. Any movement sent up clouds of dust. The unfurnished front room led to passage and the basement.

The basement was cold and foggy, thrumming with loud music and the odor of cigarette smoke. Unpleasantness was in the air:  the room was packed tight with men. Hassan’s mind, working quick and furious, was full of unasked questions. He looked around him wildly. He couldn’t focus. His mind and his heart rejected this reality. He kept a firm hold on his stepfather’s hand, anxious to avoid his surroundings.

Suddenly the noise stopped. The audience applauded. Now, Hassan could see the room clearly. Several oil lamps brightened the room, illuminating men of many backgrounds and ages. A hint of mischief hung in the air. Hassan’s exploring mind flooded with fear. The fear numbed his senses. His body realized a danger awaited him, and he gripped his stepfather’s hand for support. But the man gave him an angry look and dropped his hand, pushing the little boy in the center of the room. The laughter and the excitement of the depraved men rose into Hassan’s young heart. Even though he knew what to do—as his stepfather had coached him how to dance—it seemed he forgot everything in the midst of conflicting emotions.

As innocent as he was, he knew this was wrong. His mother told him once to be strong, try to carry the pain of unwanted feelings like a man. And when you grow out of your pain, you will become the kind of man that you wish to be. Despite his mother’s plea, Hassan felt nothing but humility. The physiological pain penetrated his mental anguish. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be with his mother. But a voice as loud as thunder woke up his senses. “Start, boy; why are you waiting? The music is playing!”

His body was rigid beneath his white perahan tunban.

With his hands resting on his waist, the little boy closed his brown eyes and started to spin left and right. The spinning dancer finally felt at ease. He couldn’t hear anything. With his shoulder-length hair that floated in the air, the little dancer was focusing on an imaginary dove finding his way home…

The tall, bony man in the gray perahan tunban paused, looking around. He knew this crowd was all about finding a weakness, sniffing out vulnerability, and using it to their advantage and pleasure. He also knew that poverty, war, desperation, and illiteracy dulled people’s minds. And one’s life problems and emptiness don’t give particular insight into anyone else’s pain and issues.

The man behind all the pain and mischief, twenty-four-year-old Hassan, was broken. He always knew he was deceived by life, but he never thought he would become anything like his stepfather. In his heart he knew that he supposed to rescue children—not a child predator and abuser. And now, he had a chance to prove his real worth.

The audience grew jittery and loud. They wanted entertainment. They wanted to bury their unhappiness, guilt, and feelings of unspoken desire into a young dancer’s spins.

Standing in the center of the basement that once was the ground of all his misery, Hassan spoke nervously:

“I never thought I would admit defeat, but my heart is not into this. As I promised my dying stepfather that I would continue running his business, I also promised my mother to bring prosperity to home and my surroundings. I don’t think I could ever steal anyone’s childhood. As I well remember the indignities I had to suffer in the early years of my life, I could never hurt a child or steal anyone’s innocence. Let me tell you—when abuse occurs during childhood, it remains uppermost in the child’s mind. So, I have decided to close this hole of misery once and for all. I will make amends for my wrongdoings and for helping my ill-minded stepfather for years. I used to be a coward about facing my fears, but now I am excited to help others.”

Angry clients began to scream. The large room, filled with a frustrated audience, became a rotting war zone. The raging men cursed and swore at him, throwing things in the air. Hassan took a breath to collect himself, and with a commendable effort, he tried to calm them.

“Listen! I know that I have co-managed this place for five years and gave you physical and visual entertainment, but I can’t bear it any longer. Let me tell you: I can’t hurt children any longer. I know that you all might find some other ways to feed your addiction, but exploiters will be permanently banned here. Now, go and don’t come back!”

The angry men scowled and muttered profanities, wanting him to give in to their demands. They still thought of him as a dancer—and a weak person.

Hassan was terrified of bad things that would happen to him. He knew some of these men were more dangerous than he realized. Despite the pounding in his fearful heat he had to look forward, not back. He knew Significant life changes were on the way, and he had to move on cautiously. He had already planned to take his mother and move out of the city. The first weeks and months ahead would be the hardest, he knew since he didn’t have any backing and support, but he trusted his judgment. And he was sure for every dream washed away, new dawn can rise.

Shahla Latifi

01-13-2018