It has been 237 days since I had taken off my hijab.
From the time when the new government had stepped up, all those months ago, covering of the head and face were strictly prohibited. During the winter times, women could not wear scarves around their heads and faces. So, we lunged our fabric around our necks, but never higher than that. The new constitution said this was for our own good.
‘The hijab is a sign of oppression’ said the Richardson & Co., the new leaders of our nation, ‘they are to be eradicated at all cost.’
For liberal minded hijabis such as myself, the new law did not create a big enough dent to interrupt my life. But for staunch hijabis such as my friend, Aloki, the law turned her life topsy-turvy.
‘The men are staring’ she would hyperventilate to me, ‘I see their lascivious eyes following me everywhere I go…I can’t live like this anymore.’
I would try and reason with her, saying all kinds of lies and half-truths, ‘No one is looking. God will understand…this is out of our hands…it is dangerous to not follow the law’ etc. I knew in the meanwhile that the lusty eyes of hungry men had their fair share of pleasure, now that all the women of the country were hijab-less. Aloki was one of the most religiously devoted women I knew and with each passing day I could see her spark dim. While our nation grew abundant with the wealth of a foreign land, Aloki’s eye crease deepened with the loom of an uncertain future.
With each passing month, a new rule to the constitution were being added by the company. There was the prohibition of any public call for prayer. This deeply disturbed the religious leaders of the country. The mosques of the city went barren for lack of the prayer call. Nobody dared to visit the mosques anymore, it wasn’t safe.
‘This is for your own good’ the company chanted, ‘A public call to prayer disrupts the equilibrium of the society, it excludes the other religions. Any religion which excludes the others cannot be a good thing…remember, this is for the best.’
Aloki would visit the mosque at least once a week. The women section of the mosque would lay barren, along with a scanty few in the male section. I strongly protested against her going to the mosque, after all, it wasn’t safe.
‘It’s all I have left, please don’t take this away from me’ she would plead. But even she understood that it wasn’t a practice she could afford to continue for too long. Slowly but surely, Aloki’s frequent visits to the mosque halted. Her eye creases deepened after that and her smile slowly faded with passing days.
By that point, I had gotten rid of all my hijabs, since I did not have a use for them anymore. But Aloki kept them neatly stacked on the darker side of her wardrobe. I could sense that it brewed trouble, and I imagined her peeking over them from time to time. There were rumours going around about an organisation that sought to bring back religious practices in the country. People were calling them the ‘anti-Company.’ Me and Aloki would read about them in different online secret portals.
‘This is nothing but trouble’ I would say, ‘A handful of people can hardly stand against the bulk number of leaders that we have.’
Aloki would silently stare and say nothing. It was as if she was hatching a plan in her head and it scared me. I tried to reason with her, but she always denied being fascinated by the organisation. I could tell she was.
One day Aloki and I went out to get some groceries. I spotted a maroon hijab wrapped around her neck and a sensation of uneasiness spread around me.
‘Is this new?’ I asked her.
‘Oh this?’ she replied, ‘This old thing? No, it’s not new.’
‘You should really get rid of your hijabs, Aloki.’
‘Why? I’m not wearing them on my head.’
As time went on, the landscape of the country turned increasingly violent. There were women-led groups all honing the hijab who took to the streets to protest the unjust law. Richardson & Co. didn’t hesitate to shoot them, marking them as extremists of the state. Different images of women in bloody hijabs emerged on the social media platforms. They were all neatly kept out of the newspapers. There was a huge divide among people regarding these groups. Some believed them to be extremists and others silently admired them for their bravery. I could tell that Aloki admired them by the way she talked about them. This also filled me with dread.
One day on my way back from a walk, I spied a small gathering of women on the side of the street protesting. They all wore colourful hijabs and had different placards and cards with slogans written on them. A little distant from them people watched with quiet anticipation as these fearless women protested. I quickly turned against them towards home until a sharp sight caught my eye. I caught Aloki between the protesters, with the same maroon hijab around her head. In a moment of confusion, my first impulse was to call out her name, but then I steadied myself. I went near the protesters with a quiet fear in my heart. As soon as my eyes met Aloki’s, a sudden anger replaced my fear. She seemed unfazed seeing me. I was speechless. The only words I could muster were,
‘Aloki, take off the hijab.’
She stared at me with noiseless indiscretion. In the next moment she shouted out in protest, ‘No Company or common men can take my hijab off of me.’
Something in me growled in anger. Without a second thought, I yanked the hijab off of her head and shouted,
‘I told you this was dangerous!’
The mob of protestors around her seemed to communicate to each other in symbols. One of the protestors suddenly hit me in the head with what seemed like a hard wooden stick. I felt a gush of blood escaping the side of my head. It was an uncanny situation. My hand soon turned bloody from the rush of blood on my head. I felt myself blacking out. The last image I saw before all turned dark was a wide grin at the side of Aloki’s face as she fixed her messy hijab.
DoubleSpeak 