#TDAworldview *A Sufi at War- Part I* September 13, 1944 A flock of afraid birds flew over Dachau Concentration Camp in Germany as the loud sound of guns echoed. Four lifeless bodies lay on ground. The bullets had entered right from the back of their heads. A German soldier went near one of the bodies and examined it for any trace of life. There was none. He nodded to his oficer. The tale of another Nacht und Nebel prisoner had come to an end along with three others. Or perhaps not yet, because the last word that left her mouth before she fell dead was Liberte. For Nazi power, this faint whisper coming from a falling body was even louder than the sound of bullets. They could never have crushed her soul, despite torturing her in every way they could imagine. The disfigured bodies were carried away to the crematorium. The uncountable wounds on them, all the cuts and bruises, they would all be gone soon. But the story they had left behind written with their blood would be imprinted in history of world for ever. **** Earlier, between October 1943 and September 1944 I need to close that door. Im going to bathe. Nora Baker could not get a chance better than this. The severe oppression had not yet weakened her spirit. Dream of free France still blossomed under her eyelids everynight. She looked all around the bathroom. The brave heart would certainly have escaped German clutches had the sudden air raid by England on occupied France not made them extra alert. Before she could make her way far from the Nazi control, they had her again. Another attempt to flee and fight for the freedom of her beloved France had failed. M..- her nails were not strong enough to carve the letter on iron. Her pale, weak hands trembled while she held the mug in them. But her still, strong gaze was fixed on the base of it. She looked around. There was nothing in her cell which she could use. The heavy shackles clinged her body like an undetachable companion. She started scratching the bottom of mug again, this time with the iron link that tied her legs and hands. Often when free moon was sailing in vast sky, the girl would sing and her voice would break the monotony of otherwise silent, mysterious night. she would sing the story of a hero who fought for freedom. The ballad would turn into loud wails and then die slowly into pressed sobs. Domination had certainly suppressed her body but whenever her soul bled, it only demanded freedom. Tonight was different for the solitary prisoner in Pforzheim prison. Her song was still there, but it was accompanied by the rustling sound of metal. As she scratched the back of her mess mug, the sound produced seemed to be in exact sync with the ballad she was singing. She stopped. Blood oozed from her wounded fingers. On the back of the iron mug was carved Madeleine. **** 1943 Jeanne-Marie Renier spent whole summer hiding in France. The Nazi power was at its peak and there was always risk of getting caught. Armed Forces were on round everytime. Mobile Vans to detect any kind of radio signal were always in motion. Her British superiors had advised her time and again to leave the place immediately. But she refused. The sight of streets filled with dead bodies and walls painted red with blood sickened her. Same streets of France she had grown up in. Places where she learnt Music and Philosophy had turned into battlefields. She was the only radio agent active in the whole region. Bravely she continued sending signals. There was a time she had to change her appearance and location many times a day. It only made her more firm, more determined. There was a lot going on in the mind of this brave girl. She knew what responsibilities she had on her shoulders. She would do anything to win back her beloved city from the tainted hands of Nazis. Contd. ~Avinash
Posted on: Sun, 25 Jan 2015 14:30:29 +0000
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