The Valley of Peace

The watch showed 5.30 PM. It was a hot summer evening in Iraq. The sun was setting, painting the sky in an orange hue. And there I was, standing before the gates of a place like no other that I had ever visited.

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

That was the quote that came into my mind as I stood before the largest cemetery of the world.

'Wadi-al-salaam' or 'The Valley of Peace' as they call it!

It was my unplanned visit to Baghdad and then to Najaf that had finally brought me there. Ever since my childhood, after I came to know about that place, I had a curiosity about visiting it someday.

If you look up for images of that place on the internet, you would fail to think of it as a graveyard at the first glimpse. I felt like it was a huge city with millions of houses lying in close proximity. There are in fact around 5 million graves there but that city has no living members. It is at the second glimpse that you notice the beauty of it; which I think would be paradoxical to say since I wouldn’t expect anyone to consider a cemetery beautiful. Despite the ever-changing situations in the world outside, that place has survived the test of time and the burial processes are still conducted there since more than 1400 years!

Being a Hindu, since we cremate the dead bodies of our loved ones, there was no reason for me to ever visit a cemetery. And hence there was this strange sense of awkwardness as I stood there, watching people go in and out of the cemetery. I had this feeling of being an outsider, which was escalated by the occasional looks people would give me while passing by.

A young boy moved around selling 'talismans' which were meant to keep bad spirits away while a lady in burqa sold large empty water cans, which I didn't know the purpose of at that time.

It was getting late. I started to feel like I had wasted too much time pondering. And so, I turned around to return to the hotel room. It was when I turned back that I heard someone call out.

'Rojbas!'

After spending a few days in Iraq, I was beginning to get the hang of some Kurdish words and so I turned back.

I saw a young man possibly in his mid-twenties approach me. He was dressed in a Persian blue thawb which had white embroidery around the neck and a white and black checkered keffiyeh covered his head. He seemed like a sapphire among a bronze background.

'Rojbas!' I said as he came near enough. Though I knew I might not have pronounced it accurately but he couldn’t have expected anything better. Before he could say anything I tried to pronounce the following in the best way I could: 'Ez....kurmancî......nizanim'

It was meant to let the opposite person know that I didn't speak any Kurdish which was the major language spoken there. I expected him to just grin away at me which was the usual reaction of people. But he stayed silent for a while and then spoke. 'Eng...English?'

'Yes!'

We started to talk in English. To be honest he wasn't much fluent at it but he tried his best. He kept making mistakes in between but he was able to express what he wanted to. I feel like there will be no point in reiterating his exact words and so I will take the liberty of correcting what he said in the conversation that I am going to narrate next.

'Do you wish to go inside?' he said, with a calm voice.

'Yes, but should I? I am a stranger, an outsider.'

'Who indeed can be a stranger to death and peace? Those are the only two things which lay inside.'

I was intrigued by this and got curious to keep the conversation going on.

'But I am not a man of your religion.'

'Wrong again, my friend, for what can be the religion of dead and of peace.'

'Well said. Will you take me inside?'

The young man stood silent for a while thinking, then opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. He looked around and again looked back at me.

'Can you buy me a water-can? For I am short of money and I need to wash the grave of a loved one.’

Years of international travel had taught me not to carry too much money or valuables when travelling in strange places all alone. So, I was not scared of thefts or scams. But I do doubted if what I had was enough to fulfill the wish of the man. I took out the wallet and showed him the five '1000 Iraqi Dinar' notes I had, which hardly amounted to 5 USD. I also carried some spare coins and notes (which had lesser value) with me just in case.

'The dead don't need riches, my friend.' He said pointing towards the spare coins. 'That much will do.'

I was struck by his honesty and wisdom and so I smiled and took the coins out of my wallet to hand them over to him. But he pointed his finger to a woman selling water cans and asked me if I could buy one for him. I felt a bit humiliated by this but I thought no more. I went on to buy the water can. The woman however seemed to be a bit suspicious of me and constantly kept mumbling something while I tried to make her understand that I wanted to buy a water-can. Frustrated, I just offered her my coins and pointed at a can. She handed it to me, took a few coins from my palm and then went away.

Handing over the can to my new friend, I waited just steps outside the gate while he went to fill the can with water. I watched him and couldn’t stop wondering about him. His attire didn’t seem like that of someone poor but he didn’t have a few dinars to spend. But again, who was I to judge a man. I dismissed the thought and kept glancing inside through the gate, curious and anxious at the same time.

‘May the Almighty protect you from bad spirits!’ a voice echoed right behind me. I turned back quickly only to find that it was the same man holding the water-can.

He must have spotted the transient fear in my eyes and so further added. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Never mind.’

‘Shall we go inside?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Yes!’

He led the way as we entered. I followed him. I felt unusual the moment I entered. Maybe it was because of the fact that I was somewhere I had never been before or maybe because I wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place. The silence that prevailed inside only made the situation uncanny.

Everywhere I looked, I saw a seemingly endless array of graves. Looking up their images and witnessing them in real felt like two entirely different things. I felt like I was teleported to some other world. With each step I took, I could feel this bizarre feeling creep up on me. As the gate seemed to get farther when I would occasionally look behind, I felt like leaving. But somehow, I kept walking.

The images online usually depicted vehicles passing by, carrying gravediggers and visitors since that place is massive. But that day, I could spot no such vehicle.

Everywhere I looked, I saw nothing but graves. It made me feel insignificant and I thought of the many souls that rest there. All the lives they have had!

'May I know your name?' I asked all of a sudden, dispersing the silence as I walked up to the man.

'Maalouf.' He said turning towards me and then asked me my name.

'Anwesh.' I answered.

The silence prevailed between us once more. Now that we got off the main street which separated the entire graveyard into right and left halves, we went deeper inside. We were surrounded by graves on all sides and it was difficult to have any sense of direction.

'So who is this relative whose grave you are visiting?' I asked him as we both tried to walk within the narrow spaces between the graves trying not to step or fall on one.

'A friend.' he said softly looking back at me. 'We spent much time together. But he met a tragic death. Do you want to know more about us?' he further added, more softly this time.

'If that might help you feel good. Sure.' I replied reflexively while trying to scan my surroundings, which I then regretted because it was already getting dark and I should have been on my way back. But deep down, I also had this curiosity of knowing more and staying there a bit longer. So, I stayed silent as he narrated his story hoping that it would turn out to be something I would cherish for the rest of my life and also because he had begun already.

'His name was Zain. We grew up in a small community not far from Baghdad. We were childhood friends. I still remember the days as a kid when we used to roam on the streets of Baghdad. He always had an interest in reading books and wanted to travel the world. He also had compassion for the weak and the poor. He wanted to do something good for the people who really needed help.

It was a pleasure to talk with him and I always got to learn something new. He had always wanted to become a Doctor and help people. He had even managed to get admission into the medical college in Baghdad. And it was a matter of months before he finished his studies and started to help people. Everything was going great.

But then, the war came. It brought with it pain, suffering, misery and death. Zain was sent to camps and villages on the borders to help the wounded and I would accompany him whenever I could. He had always liked helping people and he was in face helping many people.'

It started to get dark now as I noticed that the sky had changed its colors from orange to violet and then to shades of blue. My time to go had come. We were still passing by graves and it seemed like there was no end to it. Still, it felt like we were nowhere close to either the end of the story or the grave we had come to visit.

With the increasing darkness, visibility decreased. I could spot lights in the distance. I assumed they were bulbs and fires lit up by caretakers and gravediggers. It sent a chill down my spine even to imagine how anyone can stay at this place after dark.

I could hear Maalouf narrating the story but I couldn't focus on the story. I felt weird and a bit dizzy too. Some might call it bad-vibes or negative energy or some other name but I for sure had not felt anything like that before. I started to regret my decision for going there in the first place. My mouth felt dry and I started to have weird thoughts. Thoughts like gulping down the whole water can, like resting my tired body on one of the graves, like running crazily till I was out of there!

I stopped walking, closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. That was when my mind focused on Maalouf's voice again.

'I still remember that night. The night was calm and the moon illuminated the terrain. We were in a small community, sitting by the fire when planes flew by. We hadn't expected war to come that close to us but before we could vanquish the fire, they had spotted us. When they flew over us the second time, they rained fire on us. The calm terrain was filled with the sounds of ammunition, blasts, cries and death. The terrain again went silent. But it would remain silent for a much longer time after that. It was on that night that I lost Zain.'

I had a bad sensation after hearing this. I felt grief for Zain but I also felt a bit relieved that Maalouf survived. What were the chances of surviving something like that!

‘You are very lucky to survive that.’ I said after failing to think of something to say to Maalouf that might help him grieve less for his dear friend.

He just nodded and then turned his head and kept walking. I kept following him.

My mind began to conjure up weird thoughts. How lucky was Maalouf to be still alive! What if he had died? What if he did die!

It was then that I felt a chill. I could hear voices and whispers at the back of my head. I was terrified at that moment.

We were approaching a building which seemed to be a mosque. I looked around to find just about anything. I saw light! It came as a relief to my eyes. It seemed like finding an oasis in a desert.

'I will now go pray at the mosque and then, we can start heading towards the grave. It is not much far from here.' said Maalouf in a calm, cold voice while my eyes were still concentrated on the light I spotted.

‘I will wait here while you are inside.' I said trying to be as less freaked out as I could.

'As you wish.' he said and then headed inside.

As soon as he was out of sight, my feet started to move towards the light. Thoughts crowded my mind. I started to make excuses which I could tell Maalouf as to why I left him in case we met again somehow.

While I walked away from him, I felt like he would call out for me any moment. With each thought, my feet caught pace. Finally, I came close near the source of the light. An old man sat on his porch outside his cabin, sipping on a hookah. He felt a little worried as he saw me coming towards him, which I think would have been the most appropriate response of anyone.

I was so dizzy and tired at that point. I collapsed as soon as I reached near his porch. He stood up and came rushing to me. I remember asking for water while I was semiconscious. I remember him getting me inside his cabin, then leaving me and coming back with a couple of young men.

I could hear a few men conversing outside the cabin as I lay inside. It was only after I fully regained consciousness that I went outside. A group of young men and the old man sat in a group. As soon as the old man saw me, he took out a couple of talismans from a satin pouch and handed them to me.

'Take them. They will keep the bad spirits away.' one of the young men said.

I put them in my pocket and thanked the old man. He nodded and approved my gratitude.

'Where do you stay?' the young man spoke again.

'I am a tourist and I stay at a hotel in the city.'

'Let's get you there then. We have a van parked not far.' he said as the other men stood up and we began to walk towards the van.

I stayed close to the man as we walked in a group, carrying lanterns. It was dark by now and cold too. The sky was cloudless and moon illuminated the night sky and the beauty was enhanced by the stars. The atmosphere below however had an even more eerie look which I realized as my eyes scanned the surroundings.

'Tourists shouldn't be here after dark. No-one should be here after dark. This isn't a place where you want yourself to be anywhere near to. This isn’t a tourist destination.' a man said in frustration as I guessed they might be dealing with people like me more often. I felt it was better to keep quiet.

'You were lucky you were found unharmed. Being gravediggers, we often stay here during night and believe us, this place can be dangerous.' He said as he exposed his shoulder by pulling his clothing to the side. 'Look at this. Months before, I was attacked by a spirit at night and the scar hasn't faded since.'

'This place doesn't just have good souls; it has bad ones too, waiting to feed upon the good. A few men have even spotted otherworldly creatures at night.' said another man.

I kept quiet, still spooked by the entire incident. We reached the van and I let out a sigh of relief as we started to move out of that place. I was tired, sleepy and most of all, petrified. I tried to take a nap as I saw the graves pass by. But there was just one voice, one face that came to my mind as I closed my eyes. I couldn't sleep.

I took out the talismans in my palm and looked at them curiously. Soon, we passed by the gates and I couldn't stop to think about all that had happened that day.

Whenever I think about it, I remember each and every moment as if it took place yesterday. The fact that the mysterious man will always remain a mystery still bothers me. But some stones should better be left unturned!