Who can say why how who; but the grenade was certainly thrown. In that last instant of his un-bisected life, Shaheed was suddenly seized by an irresistible urge to look up … afterwards, in the muezzin’s roost, he told the buddha, “So strange, Allah—the pomegranate—in my head, just like that, bigger an’ brighter than ever before—you know, buddha, like a light-bulb—Allah, what could I do, I looked!”—And yes, it was there, hanging above his head, the grenade of his dreams, hanging just above his head, falling falling, exploding at waist-level, blowing his legs away to some other part of the city.
