by Bushra Naqi
The virus stomped its foot, manically, from pillar to post, into every crevice, parish, city, country; an inanimate virus, audaciously dug deep into our human bodies, stirring a cytokine storm. Millions were felled like trees in a storm; death became a number only. The dead piled up in morgues, too quickly, too loaded, to get a decent burial. A lull suffused on the earthly landscape, a ghostly hush, bereft of time to pay tribute to the dead, to extol their deeds of valor, endured in a lifetime, their untiring allegiance to singular, meaningful lives. The air paled in contrition in these gory moments. The earth donned a deathly shroud of silent, empty streets, empty hallways, echoes whining through still air.
A panic arose in the air, sounds muffled in terror. The earth groaned, pain erupted, and disease scuttled to all corners of the globe. Paranoia grew as the virus mauled healthy bodies, roiling their blood. Our bodies, in panic, opened up to its onslaught, and turned accomplice overnight. No body part was spared, under its siege, as bodies geared to fight or die.
Death struck human lives in millions. Daily broadcasts were aired of the numbers dead, that multiplied daily. Terror struck the hearts and minds of people. It was a death-driven calamity in which the dinosaurs of death, gigantic creatures that instilled terror, in an earlier age, returned like ghosts. Initially, when news of a pestilence spread, people said, “This time will be different. We are too advanced in science and technology for it to strike at our human base-line, we will survive it.” But the virus thought differently. It pointed fingers, and said, “I will teach them a lesson they will always remember. They have made a mockery of my power.”
The generic opinion was disbelief in the lethal power of the virus and stoic denial of our own fragile, naked, tender bodies that suddenly morphed into victims. Conspiracy theories were afloat and became reality shows. “It is an American concoction, produced in a lab, to destroy the world.” Others suggested, “It was produced in a lab by the Chinese, to dominate the world.” Both theories distilled an alloy of hate and fear, turning unwitting denizens blind and deaf to reality. Lies have a special flavor and fly faster than the dry salt of truth and reason. Latent hate, simmering racism, primeval emotions long-embedded, surfaced and uncapped; sick, warped minds sought scapegoats and resolutions in personal despair.
Desperate minds seek not reason or logic, they merely want an escape. This has come to light in the scenario of recent riots worldwide against racism. Black Lives Matter against dictatorships, state controls, state institutions. Erstwhile, such people slumbered, lulled in warm, inertia-inducing waters. Others, dispossessed, disaffected, had lain low in fear of the powerful. Now they poured out on the streets, spoke fearlessly, out of great despair. They were stakeholders, who flung discretion to the winds. They had, in a startling short period, known great fatality, disease, job loss, home loss and now there was nothing further to lose.
The pandemic has been a great leveler. The rich, poor, black, white, brown, have all fallen victims to death, loss, grief, economic woes. In their shared pain, humanity bonded with empathy, togetherness. Many stood by each other, in sheer solidarity of the human spirit.
The scientists, the scholars, the men of letters, knew the reality at the outset and preached caution. “The virus is a mutation from the bat and probably the snake as well, and originated in a livestock market in Wuhan, China. Our modern lifestyles are perilously close to the ecosystems; preying animals in the wild can easily infect us.” They urged people, “Distance yourself from others, wear masks, stay home to remain safe. The virus is everywhere, highly contagious.” The Chinese did not contradict, they were silent; they knew otherwise. They quickly shut down the livestock market to prevent further spread. They hushed it up; the state was mute, but by then foreign travelers, became transmitters, and disease reared its ugly head on the global stage.
In the global underbelly, skepticism and disconnect mushroomed,hungry for fodder. Divided camps, racist and political antagonists hurled blame, shifted loyalty, allegiance, East and West colliding. Collisions surfaced on fronts between rich and poor, black and white, state and citizens. Meanwhile, pillars of healthcare and the economy were on the verge of collapse. The world was in the grip of hysteria and people craved respite. Philosophers and intellectuals studied human trauma, its fall-out, and searched for solutions.
Old family structures crave revival, as we return from the brink. In many ways, the pandemic has brought us together in our collective suffering. Individualism has proved too lonely, too crippling, to sustain. The desire for empathy, unity, compassion, is ever more urgent and compelling. The loss of dear ones, dying alone, suffering alone, leaves an indelible mark on our tortured psyche. The lessons we learn from the pandemic, mirrors our ability to ponder deeply and embrace our human condition, resilient in the midst of fragility. The lessons learnt will be varied, but, as after every great catastrophe, great change will follow.
Childhood is a period of gestation. Such was Bushra’s. Parental mentoring swirled through her pliable mind, polishing it. Her father was an erudite man and cautiously selective in the books his children read. Bushra grew up with a romance for books, especially the English Classics. Growing up in Pakistan, where the language is Urdu, this was an anomaly, but it opened up the windows of her mind.She constantly honed her skills by taking up creative classes at NYU’s continuing education. Thus, she dug into her mind’s inner treasures, and turned to writing and publishing poetry and short stories.