“Will all great Neptune’s
ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand?
No, this my hand will rather
 The multitudinous seas in
incarnadine,
Making the green one red.”
– (Shakespeare, Macbeth)

A great crimson tide is rising from the East, bathing this land of ours in the rich colour of blood. Snarling like a wild beast, the tide is drowning feeble walls of resistance and silencing the cries of the meek. Its thunderous roar heralds a terrible end for those who stand in its way. They too shall be bathed in blood.
When the brave fall, the weak run. Such a brave man was swept away by the crimson tide on Saturday evening in Peshawar. He knew the tide was coming. He had seen its fury and heard its menacing roar. He had warned us, even as he stood facing it, a lone man looking fear in the eye and never blinking. But we did not listen to him. We did not want to.
Who killed Bashir Bilour? We did. All of us.
We killed him because when he faced the crimson tide, we did nothing. We killed him because when he warned us, we did nothing. We killed him because when he stood firm and asked us to stand beside him, we did nothing.
We killed Brave Bashir Bilour.
Yes we are cowards. All of us. We did not lend him a shoulder when he was alive, but now we will lend him a shoulder when he is dead. There could not be greater cowardice.
The crimson tide swallowed Brave Bilour, just like it swallowed Benazir Bhutto, Salman Taseer, and forty thousand other Pakistani men, women and children. The tide turns redder as it soaks up more blood. It grows stronger. It grows redder. And yet we do nothing.
Except cry like frightened children. Oh yes, crying comes easy to us. Our blood may have gone white but our tears are still salty. So we wring our hands in helplessness because we are relish being helpless. The politicians among us shower tributes on Brave Bilour because words are easy. The leaders among us issue formulaic statements empty of substance and full of rhetoric because statements require diluted courage. The media among us air sad songs over Brave Bilour’s slow motion footage and do the usual coverage because they cannot think beyond this.
Everyone is sad. No one is angry.
It’s almost as if the nation has resigned to its fate; a fate at the mercy of the rising crimson tide.
Soon the sky will turn red. Then it will rain blood. And death. Soon this land will reverberate with cries of our men and shrieks of our women as they lower their toddlers into freshly-dug graves. Soon bullets will snuff out life across the land and blades will slice flesh and bone. And when this happens to us – like it has happened to Brave Bilour and others – we shall weep for those no more. But we will do nothing more.
Cowards.
The crimson tide will not stop. Fresh blood makes it stronger. And us? We prefer to live in a self-constructed world of denial. In this world, the crimson tide is only seen on TV. In this world, the crimson tide swallows Brave Bilour and others, but never us. No, never us.
Even a cat fights back when cornered. But not us. Forty thousand dead, but we will not fight back. Forty thousand dead but we will not close ranks. Forty thousand dead but we will not acknowledge the mighty roar of the crimson tide.
What will it take for us cowards to wake up? Eighty thousand dead?A million dead? Is there a critical mass which will turn mice into lions? Is there a price – any price – which we are not willing to pay? What will it take for Pakistan to stop running, turn around, and face the crimson tide like Brave Bilour? How many more graves will we have to dig before cowardice transforms into valour?
Is there then a point beyond which the State of Pakistan will take off its bangles and pick up the gun?
Not till our leaders realize they cannot surf the crimson tide and reach ashore. Not till our politicians cease hiding behind the façade of an illusionary ‘consensus’ as a justification for doing nothing. Not till our people stop believing the crimson tide is generated by distant forces out to harm us for their nefarious designs.
Not till we look in the mirror and see a monster staring back.
They kill our people, and we want to talk. They slay our babies, and we want to talk. They decapitate our soldiers, and we want to talk.
They bomb our mosques, and we say sorry. They attack our bases, and we say sorry. They obliterate our schools, and we say sorry.
They will cut our heart out and hand it to us, and we will say thank you.
Cowards.
The crimson tide is rising, but we are not. Tears are all we have. Nothing more.
Goodbye Brave Bilour. We killed you. We do not deserve men like you.

The writer is the host of “Tonight with Fahd” on Waqt News.  Email: fahd.husain1@gmail.com Twitter: @fahdhusain