Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 12: Bumps in the road (Mg, rom, cons, ws)

Priya and I awoke at 7:30. I was getting into the shower when Priya came and stood in front of me. After the blissful conclusion to last night, I’d forgotten about Priya’s submission. She asked in a low voice, “May I please pee for you?”

I said, “Yes you may.”

She sat on the toilet with her legs splayed and opened her pussy for my appraisal. I knelt and placed my hand on her clit and began to stimulate her. Her eyes were glued on me and she was waiting for my signal before releasing her bladder. I kept rubbing her clitty and her legs began to quiver so I said, “Pee for me, Priya, give me your flow.”

She squeaked a little when she bore down and then began to pee. She shuddered and had a mini orgasm and sputtered her finish. I brought my fingers up to my mouth and tasted her. Priya blushed and said, “Now you.”

I rose and started my stream between her legs as she looked on, holding her pussy lips open. I directed my stream up to her clitty and washed it along with her fingers and finished. Still holding my dick in hand, Priya leaned over and sucked in my cock, swirling her tongue over the head before releasing me. Looking into my eyes, she brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them in. She released her fingers with a slurp, smiled and said, “I am such a nasty little girl!”

I smiled down at her and said, “Yes, but you’re my nasty little girl, aren’t you?”

Blushingly, she looked up at me and said, “Always and forever.”

Laughing, I said, “Let’s take a shower.”

We showered, dressed and said morning prayers and then went downstairs for breakfast. Mom and Dad were already seated. We said our good mornings as we sat to eat. Dad looked up from his paper and asked me, “You’re going to the embassy this morning, aren’t you? Here’s the address and phone number of Adib’s man in Washington.”

Taking it, I folded it and put it in my pocket and said, “Thanks.”

He then said, “I think it best you go alone this time, don’t you?”

I told him that was the plan. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers unnecessarily, and he replied, “Good.”

Mom, not wanting Priya to feel left out said, We figured that Sean would probably spend most of the day waiting to be seen, so Priya and I are going to go out and spend some of our husbands’ money.”

Dad glanced over the paper and said, “Fine. Just don’t you go teaching this girl any bad habits.”

Mom scooted in her chair like a giddy schoolgirl and jokingly said, “The Lord never gives you more than you can bear.”

Dad scoffed back, “The Lord I can bear; your spending is another matter.”

Mom, wanting the last word, said, “Don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy. If I didn’t spend it, what reason would you have to work?”

Dad, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, just smiled and shook his head behind the paper. Finishing breakfast with Mom winning the war of the credit cards, Dad left for work and I made sure I had the necessary documents and left for the embassy, leaving the two women to venture out and put a dent in their husbands’ wallets.

I arrived at the American consulate at about 10:30 and after sitting for an hour, I mentally kicked myself in the ass to not anticipating this. What’s that they say about the five “P’s” of business: Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance? I should have had Adib cut through the red tape, or even done something really stupid like actually scheduling an appointment. So much for a 149 IQ! I’d been too busy thinking of demons, and a little dark skinned princess with a pee fetish instead of taking care of business. Oh well, I was here for the duration, so I thought I’d make the best of it and research Mohammad. I fired up my laptop and wireless card and began.

In my short time on the Internet, I learned some disturbing facts. Mohammad was a man with a voracious sexual appetite and a predilection towards a child. This is recounted in writings saying:

The intervals between prayers are used for quick stands "I used to wash the traces of Janaba (semen) from the clothes of the Prophet and he used to go for prayers while traces of water were still on it."

Although by his preaching, he allowed male followers only four wives, the general scholarly consensus is that he had nine wives and several concubines. His word being law provided him with a convenient exemption to this rule.

It is recorded in Islamic texts that Mohammad started having fantasies about his true love, Aisha (his third wife) when she was only four or five years old, stating he twice saw himself in union with her in dreams. He reckoned that “If this is from Allah, then it must happen.”

Mohammad asked Aisha’s father, Mohammad’s closest friend and ally, for her hand when she was six. Aisha’s father thought this improper and asked Mohammad “I am your brother,” but Mohammad quickly dismissed his and told him of his visions from Allah. Abu Bakr acquiesced and gave him her hand.

Aisha was clearly a child both emotionally and psychologically because she was still allowed to play with her toys and dolls: forbidden for pubescent girls eligible for marriage. Here is a narration in an Islamic text that recounts, in Aisha’s words, her marriage to Mohammad:

“The prophet engaged me when I was a girl of six. We went to Medina and stayed at the home of Harith Kharzraj. Then I got ill and my hair fell down. Later on my hair grew (again) and my mother, Um Ruman, came to me while I was playing in a swing with some of my girl friends. She called me, and I went to her, not knowing what she wanted to do to me. She caught me by the hand and made me stand at the door of the house. I was breathless then, and when my breathing became all right, she took some water and rubbed my face and head with it. Then she took me into the house. There in the house I saw some Ansari women who said, "Best wishes and Allah's blessing and a good luck." Then she entrusted me to them and they prepared me (for the marriage). Unexpectedly Allah's messenger came to me in the forenoon and my mother handed me over to him, and at that time I was a girl of nine years of age."

In another text, Aisha is said to have narrated:

"Then the men and women got up and left. The Messenger of God consummated his marriage with me in my house when I was nine years old. Neither a camel nor a sheep was slaughtered on behalf of me…”

It is recorded that the actual ceremony was simply sharing a bowl of goat’s milk in front of witnesses. Most scholars believe that although actually married at six, Aisha contracted a disease and all her hair fell out. Mohammad consummated their marriage when her hair had grown back. He consummated their marriage when she was nine and he was fifty-three. Aisha was the only child bride Mohammad took and also the only virgin wife he had. Aisha was eighteen when Mohammad died at sixty-two.

During the course of my research, I learned that Mohammad would get “visions” from Allah that conveniently provided reasons and allowances to contradict his own teachings with regards to his wives and concubines. Mohammad’s relationship with Aisha, although not openly admitted by Islamic scholars, was definitely pedophilic in nature.

The most disturbing fact I ran across during all of this, was a quotation from Ayatollah Khomeini’s book, "Tahrirolvasyleh", fourth volume, Darol Elm, Gom, Iran, 1990:

“A man can have sexual pleasure from a child as young as a baby. However he should not penetrate, sodomising the child is okay. If the man penetrates and damages the child then he should be responsible for her subsistence all her life.

“This girl however does not count as one of his four permanent wives. The man will not be eligible to marry the girl’s sister. [...]

“It is better for a girl to marry in such a time when she would begin menstruation at her husband's house rather than her father's home. Any father marrying his daughter so young will have a permanent place in heaven.”

To add insult to injury, Mohammad even made provisions that allowed marriage to a child so young, that she has no concept whatsoever of marriage and Radhidah: a mature sensibility towards conduct in marriage. When Mohammad was asked about a virgin’s (a very young child’s) inability to express consent, he replied, “She gives consent by keeping silent.” Whatever happened to the term “There is no compulsion in matters of religion?”

That creaking door opened and my demon whispered in my ear, “Why fight it? See, it’s legal!” In my desire to find answers to quell the beast, I was being fed infected fodder by the demon I wished to rid myself of. It was as if I was being demonically led down that spiraling staircase of depravity of my own volition.

They say that a single grain of sand added to a glass of pure water forever renders it impure. I had unknowingly tainted my pure vision of Islam as I had tainted Priya’s desire to please me by introducing an insidious, rationalized “reason” to lie to my moral psyche.

I felt sick.

Immediately, a verse from the Bible in Paul’s First Corinthians, from my Baptist upbringing came to mind: “All things are lawful for me, but not all things are expedient.” I closed that creaky door again by telling the beast, “Just because it’s legal doesn’t make it right.”

I closed my laptop, having learned what I had sought. It was now 1:30pm and I was then called into the consul’s office.

Sitting behind a desk, he rose and introduced himself as Paul Whitford, Assistant Secretary Consul for Visa Affairs. I introduced myself and he motioned for me to sit as he said, “What can I do for you today?”

I explained that I was an American businessman here in India to take over control of my father’s operations, and that I’d gotten married to an Indian national. I went on to tell him I needed to apply for my new wife’s spousal visa, green card, work permit and a permit for her to travel back and forth to the U.S. I then gave him the information on John Slocolm, Adib’s contact at the state department.

Looking at the name on the card, Paul said, “Boy! That’s a long grocery list! How long have you been here?”

I chuckled and said, “About a month and a half.”

“Jesus Christ!” he said as he sat back in his chair, “You sure didn’t waste any time, did you?”

I said, “Well, I didn’t plan on it, but it was a ‘love at first sight’ kind of thing.”

Reaching across the desk he asked, “Let me see your passport, marriage certificate and any other papers you have with you.”

I handed him my passport, our prenup and a copy of our Muslim and governmental marriage certificates. Looking through everything, he looked up and said, “Adib Haaseem… I think I know him.”

I replied, “You probably do. He’s an Indian governmental official working in the Office for Foreign Business Affairs.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I knew I recognized that name. Good man and you married his daughter?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I met Priya right after arriving when my Dad invited Adib’s family over for dinner.”

As I was speaking, Paul was looking over the documents, and without looking up said, “Hmm, Priya. That’s a pretty name. Do you know what it means?”

I felt like a fool and said, “Surprisingly, no, no I don’t.”

He looked up, smiled and said, “Beloved. It means beloved.”

Paul studied my paperwork for another moment, and said in a businesslike manner, “I see there’s a guardian’s consent to marry form attached to the marriage license. She’s not eighteen? How old is she?”

Swallowing, I paused for a moment knowing I had to ‘face the music’ so to speak and replied, “No, she’s not eighteen, she’ll turn twelve in January.”

Leaning forward on his desk and thrusting his chin forward while in open-eyed disbelief, blurted out, “She’s eleven years old?”

Sitting back in his chair shaking his head, he recovered and said, “How in the hell did you get a marriage license? No, don’t tell me: her father’s contacts in the government. You’re,” looking at my passport, “eighteen? Well, at least you’re not some old pedophile.

“Do you have any idea how close you came to being prosecuted in the U.S. for child sexual abuse?”

Holding up the marriage license with the governmental seal on it, he stated, “It’s the thickness of the paper of this marriage license! Without this piece of paper, you could be imprisoned here in India and in the U.S. for fifty years! What the hell were you thinking?”

I went on to explain to Paul the whole story and how Priya, although only eleven, almost twelve, was very mature and advanced academically, socially and emotionally for her age. She takes marriage very seriously and has a mature perspective on what marriage entails.

After listening to my explanation, he then turned to the prenup, and after perusing through it said, “Boy, she’s sure set for life! I’ve got a thirteen year-old at home, want another wife? No, no, I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for and I apologize.”

“That’s alright, Paul,” I calmly replied. “I expected to take some heat for this, but if you met her, you’d see she’s not like any eleven year-old you’ll ever meet.”

Shaking his head he stated, “Even with John Slocomb’s help, she’ll have to pass, what I think, will be a grueling interview in order to obtain a visa. If she gets the visa, the rest is all downhill from there.

“You know that today is only the beginning. I suspect that when INS back in the States starts to process her paperwork and sees her age, they’ll want her to appear here for an intermediate interview with a child psychologist present to determine a couple of things: first, should you be prosecuted - marriage license or not. Second, if she’s as mature as you say, and she does have an adult perspective on the decisions she’s made, do the two of you have a real, loving marriage? I say this because you’ve committed yourself to pay this girl ten million U.S. dollars. Is there a motive to extract both a green card and wealth from you? As far as the U.S. government is concerned, she can steal you blind, but that doesn’t mean she’ll get to spend it in the U.S. I’m not saying she is; I’m just telling you how I see it from an immigration point of view.

“If she’s not as adroit as you say, it could be a very messy experience for her. I or whoever conducts the interview will treat her as an adult hostile foreigner. She’ll have to prove to the panel that she’s mature and sincere. Do you clearly understand what I’ve said so far?”

“Yes sir, I do,” I simply replied.

Leaning over, he looked me right in the eye and asked, “Can she handle it?”

“Yes.” I categorically stated meeting his eyes.

“Okay then,” he began again. “You’ll have to fill out applications for the visa, green card, work permit and travel permit along with all the biographical data on both of your families and return them to me. I will personally send everything to Slocomb. In fact, I think I’ll call him and get the State Department’s tilt on how to proceed, all right?”’

“Yes sir,” I replied.

Paul then called his secretary to bring him all the required forms and instructions. He opened his appointment book and said, “I’m making an appointment for next Monday, a week from today at 10am. Bring all the completed paperwork along with a certified check for the fees with you, but don’t bring your wife just yet. By next week, I’ll have spoken to Slocomb about where we go from here, understand?”

“Yes sir, I’ll be here with everything completed.”

Paul looked calmly at me and said, “Sean, I’m a perpetual optimistic and I’d like to see the two of you make it. Do you know that 94% of all marriages to foreign nationals end in divorce within two years? And that is by couples of consenting age! The language differences, culture shock, and hell, even your tastes in food place stresses on a marriage most folks don’t have to deal with. Unfortunately, I do want to warn you that even though the United States is your country, the government can be a faceless, cold and sometimes ruthless entity. The government doesn’t care about how you feel about each other when considering these matters. Well, I guess I’ve done all I can for you today including the lecture, free of charge of course.”

He stuck out his hand and I took it. We shook hands and said our goodbye until next week, and I left.

I headed for home with my mind in overload and a splitting headache. I was thinking about how the proverbial feces was going to hit the rotating air device (especially with Dad) when I sat down with everyone tonight and explained what took place today. My thoughts turned to Priya. She’s never seen Dad when he blows off steam, and I wondered how she’d take it knowing she was a part of why he would be ranting.

Just then, my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it was Priya. Pressing the button to talk I answered, “Hello, Princess, how’s the shopping? Break the bank yet?”

Giggling she said, “No, Mom and I really didn’t spend much, just a lot of window shopping.”

“That’s good to hear, at least my wallet likes it,” I joking replied.

She kept it light, but in a more serious tone said, “You should trust me more, Sean. Your money is my money too. One of the duties of a good Muslim wife is to guard her husband’s wealth.”

While remembering my meeting with Paul, I lovingly said, “You are an excellent wife, Priya. I love you so much!”

Giggling, she replied, “And I love you more!”

I then asked her, “Was there something specific you wanted, or did you just call to tell me you were being a good wife?”

Priya’s tone changed to one of submissiveness and said, “Yes, Sean, there is. May I have permission to go to the bathroom?”

I started to heave into the phone and felt like I had to vomit. I quickly said, “Yes go. I think Dad’s on the other line, gotta go. Love you.”

She gave me a kiss over the phone and said, “Love you more! Bye,” and hung up

I told the driver to stop the car. As soon as we were almost stopped, I opened the car door and leaning out of the car door immediately began to throw up. Once I’d stopped dry heaving and got myself under control, I wiped my face with a disposable towelette and threw it out the window. To myself I scathingly said, “Fuck you, demon! I don’t want control of my wife’s bowels!” I sat in a stupor the rest of the way home.

I got home about 4:30 and went upstairs to lie down. I had a splitting headache and my entire body ached from the stress of the day as I tried to blank my mind and fall to sleep. I awoke to Priya’s kiss and she gasped, “My God! You’re soaked in sweat! Are you all right?”

I suddenly felt chilled, and replied, “Yeah, I was just having a nightmare.”

Concerned, she began to unbutton my shirt and said, “Quick, take a hot shower. Do you want me to bathe you?”

“Just a minute,” I said firmly to her, “there’s something I’ve got to say. If you want to continue to play pee games, that’s alright with me and I get pleasure from it also, but from now on, you go to the bathroom whenever the need arises. I don’t want control over you that way - it makes me sick! It’s abusive and I won’t do that to you! Understand?”

Priya looked at me with a tear in her eye and smiled. She swallowed and said, “I understand, and I feel very ashamed and sorry that I went so far. You accept my need and you’re a good husband for protecting me by not abusing me. I love you so much, Sean! Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I replied, “If anyone should ask for forgiveness, it’s me. I shouldn’t have tried to dominate you and taken advantage of your weakness, I’m the one who’s ashamed and sorry. Please forgive me, Priya.”

“You’re forgiven with all my love.”

Yes!!! I had, for the first time, attained victory over that fucking beast! At least for now, I had locked the door!

We hugged and kissed and got undressed to shower. Priya put her hair in a shower cap and we had a nice, warm and loving shower together. While we were dressing, I warned Priya of my father’s propensity to vulgarity when confronted with distressing news and gave her a heads up on my earlier meeting. She said she understood and wouldn’t take it personally. We dressed and said evening prayers before heading downstairs to dinner… and the ensuing discussion afterwards.

The maid had no sooner finished serving dinner when Dad asked me about my meeting at the consulate. I gave him the brief synopsis (minus the details), told him I’d obtained all the necessary forms and had a meeting next Monday. Mom sensed, I guess by Priya’s apprehensive expressions, that I’d rather talk more in detail after dinner and she said, “Let’s discuss this more after dinner over tea.” Trying to lighten things up, and get my father’s goat at the same time, she followed with, “Johnnnnn? Priya and I went a little overboard today and bought a lot of nice goodies.”

Dad looked at me and said, “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me anymore? I tell your mother to take it easy on the credit cards and I also told her not to teach your wife any bad habits. What do you think? Should we give them both a good old fashioned bare-assed spanking?”

Laughing I replied, “I don’t know about you, but mine might be little, but she’s feisty. She might have me sucking her toes and then I’ll be the one getting the bare assed spanking!”

Mom and Dad lost it! Mom got up from the table to run to the bathroom and Dad just slide down his chair crying and holding his sides. Priya looked around at everyone puzzled and then became pissed: she wanted answers.

As soon as we’d recovered and Mom resumed her seat, Priya stood up, threw her napkin on the table and looking around at all of us snorting out, “All right! That’s it! What’s so funny about all this talk of Sean sucking my toes and everyone looking at me? I want to know - now!”

Dad, while still trying to regain control said, “Oh all right, Priya. Calm yourself and sit down and I’ll tell you.”

Priya sat and looked at Dad waiting for an explanation. Dad then began to explain the whole story that took place on the night of her henna party here with the men, and Mahmoud’s joking with me about her skin color. Upon hearing the complete story, she first looked a little hurt, but then after it sank in a moment, she laughed and said, “That was a rather nice little tale; but mark my words, I will have the last laugh over my loving husband and favorite uncle. Just remember darling, 152.” Priya looked at me with a deliciously devilish smile and then began to eat. Mom just smiled, winked at her and did the same.

Dad said, “152? What’s that mean?”

I looked at Dad and said, “Her IQ.”

Dad gave a mock frown and said, “Holy shit, Sean. I do believe that you’ll be the one getting that spanking.”

We finished eating and every now and then, Priya would chuckle. I asked her “What’s so funny?”

She looked at all of us and said, “It is a funny story.”

I told her, “I hope you’re not offended. Mahmoud was only playing a harmless joke on me.”

Mom and Dad were both looking on, waiting for her response. She looked at all of us and then back at me with a straight face and said, “No, I’m not offended. In fact, I like the idea of turning you into a toe sucking pussy!” she giggled and blushed.

Everyone laughed and Mom said, “That’s right daughter ‘o mine, don’t get mad, get even!”

With that, we finished dinner and moved to the living room for tea and another awkward conversation. Dad poured himself a brandy while Priya was serving the rest of us tea when Dad opened with, “Well, Son, how about the details and what did they say?”

I started off by saying that I should have made an appointment, because I waited until 1:30 to be seen. I told them that I spoke with Paul Whitford, what his position was, and that he was personally going to handle our case. I showed them all the forms that needed to be filled out by next Monday including the biographical data they wanted.

Dad knew I was stalling and said, “This is all fine and dandy, but what did he say when he found out Priya’s age?”

Mom and Priya’s heads were bobbing back and forth looking at either Dad or me. Now, all eyes were on me. Knowing what was to come; I took a deep breath and began to relate exactly what he’d said. I told them that Priya may be required to have an additional interview with a child psychologist present and that if she is suspected of being abused, I might still be liable to prosecution in the U.S. I also made the point of Paul’s admonition about Priya’s state of mind – both psychologically and emotionally - and that it would not be a pleasant experience. I finished by telling them that Paul was going to contact Adib’s man in Washington to see what’s the best way to proceed.

Mom and Dad looked at Priya, and she sternly stated, “I can handle anything they give me. I have committed no crime and neither has Sean. Allah has willed it, and it shall come to pass.”

Dad looked at Mom, then me and then at Priya. We all could see his face get red and the blood vessels in his neck start to show and Priya said, “Go ahead, Sean’s already warned me.”

Then he started. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I was afraid of this shit! Didn’t I tell you?” Looking at Priya, he started shaking his finger at her saying, “You’ll be lucky if your father doesn’t lose his job and go to prison over this! I knew this was going to come back and bite us in the ass! Shit! Even with the license, they could still prosecute you? Did he keep your passport?”

“No,” I replied. “Paul said that it all hinges on Priya’s performance and whether or not they feel she’s been coerced, or she’s been abused and is mentally mature enough to make the choices she’s made. They also want to know, because of the prenup, whether she’s a gold digger looking for wealth and a green card.”

“Well, at least he’s not going to come for you in the middle of the night. This shit is going to give me a heart attack.” Looking at Priya, he calmly said, “Priya, I’m not mad at you and I don’t believe that you’ve done anything wrong or I wouldn’t have allowed Sean to marry you. I sure in hell wouldn’t let my son abuse you. It’s just that your age can really mess things up for all of us – for both of our families. I love you, Priya, and you’re the daughter I’ve never had, but I’m afraid for Sean and I’m afraid for your father. They won’t touch you, but worst-case scenario they could turn Sean over to the Indian authorities and prosecute him, take you away from your family and send your father to prison.”

“Don’t worry, Father,” Priya said, “As I said, Allah has willed it, and it will come to pass.”

Shaking his head, Dad uttered, “I just can’t take much more of this shit.” With that, he said, “I need to think,” and went to the study with the bottle of brandy and his glass.

Mom, taking Priya’s hands in hers said to her, “Will you be alright? Can you do this?”

Priya smiled at Mom and replied, “Mom, please have faith in me. There’s nothing to fear, all I have to do is tell the truth. Armed with that, how can they deny me?”

Mom looked down and said, “I’m just worried about you. These people can be such bastards sometimes.”

Priya patted Mom’s knee and said, “I have the strength of my convictions, my husband’s love, and the strength of two families to support me. This is what marriage is all about: facing life together and seeing things through with courage.”

I just looked at her and said softly, “I love you, Priya.”

She smiled and said, “And I love you more.”

Mom started crying then quickly composed herself saying, “Give me the papers and I’ll start on the family information tomorrow.”

Handing her the forms, I asked her, “Will you be all right?”

She smiled at both of us and said, “Taking courage from my eleven year-old daughter-in-law, I’m fine. You go on up to bed, I’d like to talk to Priya a minute, okay?

“Fine Mom,” I replied and kissing her on the cheek I said, “Don’t forget to make two blank copies of the forms in case you make a mistake.”

“I won’t, Son,” she replied. I then left for bed, leaving Priya and Mom to talk.

I was lying in bed when Priya came upstairs. She went to the bathroom and peed, washed up and jumped into bed, snuggling up to me. She was draped over my right side with her leg over my thigh. She kissed my right breast and giggling said, “Isn’t it strange?”

Stroking the side of her face, I asked, “What’s strange?”

Looking up at me, she swished her hair over her shoulder and said, “Isn’t it strange how we can grow up, sleeping alone and feeling all snug, but now, sleeping next to your lover brings a blissful comfort and peace? I can’t imagine ever sleeping without being wrapped in your arms.”

I started to cry and said to her, “I love you so much, Priya. Please, don’t ever leave me, my beloved.”

She kissed me and replied, “I am yours: now and forever. I will never leave you. Whether together or apart, I am yours.”

I said, “Your name suits you.”

“Why’s that,” she asked.

“I found out today what your name means. It means beloved.”

“I told you Allah ordained it,” she replied.

“Sleep, my beloved, sleep. Let’s hold each other and thank Him for this wondrous love.”

“All praise and peace be upon Him,” she softly said.

As I laid there holding my child bride, feeling her breathing slow down and deepen on my chest as she fell away to sleep, I pondered the events of the last few days. I thought to myself, I’ve learned more about life, love… myself, and those I love in the past few days, than I have in my entire life. Isn’t it strange and funny, in an ironic sort of way, how we all walk through life, each of us confronting and struggling with the demons no one else sees while trying to find happiness and peace of mind?

I had won a battle in the war with my demon today, and I thanked Allah for my victory. If but for a little while, I had locked him away to gain strength to fight another day; yes another day. I knew that we would be doing battle again… another day.