I was rather inspired by knowing that this book was written by Fatima Bhutto than knowing what the story of the book was. In fact, not just Fatima Bhutto but any of the bestselling book by any Pakistani writer, I’m aspired and inspired to. It’s a quick read but one simply can’t finish it sooner cuz it simply doesn’t let you.
The Shadow of the Crescent Moon is one of those books which is most difficult to decipher. The writing was, very extraordinarily unusual and difficult to access. The idea and thoughts behind the simple words and story, was much bigger and far intriguing than one had assessed. The whole story reveals itself in the last of the pages of the books so you got to have patience and courage to read it till the end. I didn’t understand the book completely. What Fatima Bhutto has illustrated about the Waziristan, Pakistan tribal areas, the war engaged between Taliban, Afghanis, Army, Politicians squeezed the mere people of the area in between recklessly, puts you in deep reverie about where you currently reside; sitting on comfortable sofa, warm family to welcome, food on table and most of it, a safe house to live in. What I understood is, I’m one of those luckiest people.
Anyone can tell you what the story of the book is: three brothers and two girls, having different perspectives about life, going through some chaotic times, engaged with a war with themselves, freeing themselves from themselves. But what it really is about, what I felt along the ride of obliteration of people and their homeland in the name of peace. It hurts to read everything and it’s even worse in reality but nothing comes out other than a silent sob and a wet tear rolling down your cheek cuz you’re helpless like the people suffering, you simply have no power to overcome the situation, you say that you share the consequences and suffering and understand and feel how they feel but you never can, it’s obvious, that’s what it hurts the most; being helpless. Imagine yourself in that position, in fact it’s even impossible to imagine yourself in those destructive and anytime-bombarded streets. And the killing in the name of Shia Sunna; one cannot deny the simplest of the fact. And that kind of killing has grown much worse in Syria, a massacre, which is slowly creeping its way in Pakistan and soon will rule its place dividing the country into two. From the outside looking in, you can’t understand it; from the inside looking out, you can’t explain it.
Whenever I’ll look at the sight of the crescent moon I’ll come up, every time, with the same question until I have the answer: “What steps one can possibly take, what can I do? Can I give my all of me?”