BE MY

BE MY VALENTINE, NOT -S Hafreth “The rose is red, the violet's blue, The honey's sweet, and so are you. Thou art my love and I am thine; I drew thee to my Valentine: The lot was cast and then I drew, And Fortune said it shou'd be you” -Gammer Gurton's Garland (1784) Soraya Jamal wondered what all the fuss behind Valentine’s day was. Why were her parents so against a little fun? Sometimes she wished her parents would be like all the other parents and loosen up a little. Besides how could dressing up in a bright colour-say red, and buy flowers, letters or chocolate be bad? Or even hope for these things? Soraya walked into school on February 14th, and was immediately immersed in the flowers and hearts theme the school had set up. Huge, swirly hearts, candy canes and flowers decked the halls, and little statues of cupids were positioned in every corner, blowing out confetti at every five-minute interval, on the gaggle of giddy students loitering below. See, all this was harmless! Besides, if you felt so peaceful and fluttery inside, how could it be a bad thing? She asked herself. Suddenly she saw her crush, Peter Ingalls, in the distance. She smiled to herself, wishing that he would be one of her secret admirers today, sending her a bouquet, a card or atleast leave a chocolate with a love note on her desk. Every year she watched her friends giggle and gasp as gifts or flowers would find their way onto their desks. This was her year, she knew it! She shut her locker and raised her hand in silent greeting but he didn’t see her. Pushing past embracing couples, she tried to inch her way along the lockers towards him, when someone put their hands over her eyes. “Hey!” she exclaimed but then relaxed when she smelled her best friend, Cyan’s perfume. “Cyan! Lemme get to my quarry! Let go, haha!” But it was as if somebody plugged her ears too for the drone of voices, laughter and footsteps suddenly stopped, as if the mute button had been pressed. Her heart skipped a beat and she tugged at the fingers prying into her eyes, only to feel that it was a thin gust of air. “Cyan?” She opened her eyes and saw darkness. Darkness in front of her. darkness to the side of her and nobody- but darkness behind her. “W…where am I?” she shrieked, pinpricks of fear igniting a flame of horror within her. She whirled around again and again, having her frightened heartbeat as her only company. But in the gasping seconds that inched by, her eyes adjusted themselves to the dimness of this unknown world, and she realized that she had somehow landed in a forest. She made out the outlines of tall trees at her side, and a long, overgrown path her feet were trodding on. And by and by, her ears too lazily wakened, and she could make out the sounds of crickets chirping, leaves rustling and a gentle wind blowing. “Hello, is anybody there?” she kept calling and finally stumbled onto a clearing. There was a huge, crackling fire around which were seated men and women chanting something. “Excuse me…” Her words died on her lips as a steely conviction pressed the heel of its palm into her heart. No, Soraya, remain quiet! It advised. She swallowed and crouched low. And as she squinted at her surroundings she made out a statue of a man nearby, nude, save for a goatskin loincloth. His hair was curly and his features strongly resembled the Cupid pictures she had always seen on TV adverts or storybooks. I didn’t know he was a near-nude sex symbol, she thought. And why is he here? And what is ‘here’ by the way? The chanting stopped and one man stood up. The light of the fire cast its glow on his tall masculine form, identical to the dressing pattern of the Cupid statue, save for a warm, furry coat over his shoulders. “Greetings, all!!” he said. “And happy Lupercalia!” “Aye! Aye!” everyone acknowledged, raising glasses of (wine?) in a toast. “Tonight we shall begin the ceremony by honouring the Lady Juno, Goddess of fever of love, women and marriage, and Lupercus,God of fertilitiy, whose statue you see here. Drink from your sacred cups, my good men and women before we cast the billets! To Lupercalia!” “To Lupercalia!” they chanted and raised their chins to quaff down their sanction. Soraya frowned, as a renewed sense of fear bubbled inside her chest. Who were these people? How did she get here? But before she could ponder further, a cry of excited cries cavorted behind her, and she turned around. Running towards her was an army of skipping, laughing, crowing girls, their heads covered in scarves, their bodies sheathed in thick robes. They raced past her, through the bushes and into the clearing hollering with giddiness as they pranced in a circle around the seated party. “Sorry, we’re late, Governer!” one of the girls laughed as she swung her skirts around. “But we had to attend normal church just like good samaritans!” They go to church but still wear hijab? Soraya mused, peering through the bushes. That was new! “It’s alright, Chelsea!” said the man who had given the speech. “At least you are here before the billet roll!” The newcomers smiled and in one deft motion, yanked their scarves off of their heads and shrugged their coats from their shoulders until even the flames sank lower in its shame to shine on their seductive red-coloured clothing. Soraya gulped. Hijab wearing girls who have hidden agendas…not unlike myself. She remembered the countless times she had worn hijab when she had left home but had quickly taken it off when she was near school. A container was passed around the seated people and a new chant rose. “The rose is red, the violet's blue, The honey's sweet, and so are you. Thou art my love and I am thine; I drew thee to my Valentine: The lot was cast and then I drew, And Fortune said it shou'd be you” The chanting stopped and the container landed on a teenage boy’s lap. He eagerly thrust his hand in, pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “Florentyne!” he said and a girl seated across from him clapped her hands and jumped up, squealing. The leader smiled. “Congratulations, younglings! You shall both be each other’s partners for a year until this date, when you shall return and switch according to what the billet decides! Go on! Make each other happy!” And to Soraya’s horror, the couple jumped up and left the clearing, laughing excitedly. The chanting resumed and the container was on its way round the circle again. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears and she stood up on shaky legs. The statue of Lupercus seemed to smile mockingly at her, and the red clothes of the enigmatic people flashed in her eyes. She turned away and began to run back in the direction she had come from. She ran and she ran until she crashed into a queue of glassy-eyed women standing before an altar. “Help me! I need to get home! Help!” she screamed, but they remained serenely looking in front of them. Soraya turned desperately, cold tears slicing down her cheeks as the evening wind whipped around her. Suddenly she saw men armed with long, furry whips run down the altar, murderous glee dancing in their eyes. “Oh saviour, anoint me!” gasped a woman nearby. “Anoint me with the salve of fertility so that I may have children at last!” The men spiralled down and swung their thongs at the women, and they swooned deliriously. Soraya screamed, clutching at a nearby woman. “What’s happening?! What’s happening!?” “This is the Lupercalia festival, celebrated from the 13th to the 15th of February every year! And those whips are the februa, made from the skin of the sacrificial animals! If we are smote with them, we shall achieve immunity from infertility and spinsterhood!” the woman whispered rapturously, her eyes beckoning for her turn. “No! I don’t belong here! I must be dreaming!” Soraya screamed but the thong arced towards her, aiming for her eyes... She screamed and shut her eyes only to realize that the chanting and the eerie sounds of the festival had stopped. She opened her eyes again. She was back in the school hall, and everyone was staring at her. looking around she saw her best friend, Cyan, ogle at her with a “Sup, dude?” expression on her face. She looked up with the tears of her fear still wet on her lashes, and saw not the cute cherubic statue of Cupid but the extremely lewd image of Lupercus. The hearts and flowers on the walls and lockers were only a disguise of the thousands of animals that had been sacrificed in the name of lust. And the love note she had been waiting for so eagerly was only a hidden billet signifying evil intentions between warped souls. She wordlessly opened her locker, ignoring the stares of her friends and her eyes fell on the edge of her hijab, peeking out like a shining knight of justice from the bottom of a pile of books. No longer is it going to hide in here, she thought, reaching out shivering fingers to rescue it and save herself. Her parents were right. Islam preached right. Valentine’s day is only a wolf clothed in sheepskin. It wasn’t wrong if somebody wanted to steer clear of it. It was not a lighthearted day of enjoyment. It was a pagan celebration steeped in unholy rituals to gratify dark desires. What will it take for YOU to realize it?