Suddenly he heard a door open. His father, dressed in a string vest and white dhoti, came down the stairs. His thin frame trembled with fury as he grabbed Suleiman and shook him.
“You come to my house stinking of alcohol! Have you no shame? Coming to my house after you have been fighting in a pub! Piss off, bastard! I say piss off!”
“Aren’t you going to ask what happened to me, Father?” Suleiman laughed hard at the irony.
Infuriated, Aboo closed his fist and struck his son hard on the chest. Suleiman, already deprived of his sense of balance, fell back against the front door, still laughing.
“You are a curse to this family. You have turned my honour into mud! Get out of here and never come back! You are a disgrace to me and your mother!”
As Aboo raised his hand to strike him across the face, Suleiman did not flinch.
“Itrat, that is enough!”
Aboo froze and slowly let his hand drop. Dadaji stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked past his son at Suleiman and severity melted away from his face.
“Leave us Itrat.”
Aboo nodded and returned to his bedroom, his head down, and Dadaji beckoned his grandson into the living room. He took off his white shawl and placed it carefully around the young man’s shoulders and then sat down cross-legged on his prayer mat, motioning Suleiman to sit facing him.
“Why did you do that?” asked Suleiman in slow halting Punjabi.
“You are naked.”
Suleiman nodded slowly in understanding.
“On your face are the marks of fear and anger…” he reached forward and placed his hand on Suleiman’s heart, “and here are the marks of hate.”
“He has always hated me,” replied Suleiman.
Dadaji smiled: “No he has not. And it is not the scar of his hate you carry. It is your own.”
“I know. I have done bad things. I know I am a bad man.”
“Suleiman, listen. A man dirtied by his own evil will continue to do evil. His face will become black but still he will go on. Then that day may come when he looks at his hands and sees what they have earned. He feels ashamed and wishes to be pure. In that instant he sees that his hands are clean and his face is radiant. Such is the mercy of Allah.”
“Dadaji, today someone said I was a good man, a brave man.”
“No man is chained by their deeds, Suleiman. Those who do evil have hearts that are harder than rock. Allah in His Mercy has softened your heart. The pain that you feel is the burden of truth. Only decency can ease that burden.”
“What is decency Dadaji? Obeying your elders? That did nothing for me!”
“Decency is fear of Allah; kindness to your family, helping others in need, acknowledging mistakes, confronting evil. Decency is a hard path.”
“What do I do?” Suleiman again asked the question which he had first put to the Catholic priest.
Dadaji stood up and told Suleiman to do likewise. He placed his hand over his grandson’s heart and felt a seed sprout within as blood flowed anew, constricted no longer by memory but flowing to a chamber where the light, although dim, was increasing.
“You have already begun what it is that you need to do.
You have made the first step. No one can ever despair of the Mercy of Allah which embraces all creatures on earth and today you too have become a part of it. Go now and live in peace.”
As he left the room Suleiman did not notice that his grandfather was smiling proudly after him.
The kitchen door opened hesitantly and Amma, seeing Dadaji alone, asked anxiously,” What has happened?”
“One of your sons has come home.”
27
Musa woke when the day was hovering between the ether of the possible and the realm of the real. For as long as he could remember this had been his favourite time. Even at the Madrasah, while his brethren continued to sleep, his eyes would open and he would finger the furry warmth of his quilt and rejoice in his snug state of being. Then his eyes would close and he would summon some choice fantasy or refine a curious whim. A blissful foray into his own inner world that would only be shattered by the call of the Muezzin for the morning prayer.
But now he could no longer slip into that place of peace. Things were different. As Khadija had said, no one had control over what happened to them, there was no master plan. It was all a game of chance. And he had woken with sweat on his forehead, the consequence of a dreadful nightmare.
As his eyes adjusted to the dawn light he realised that he was still in the Central Mosque where he had gone to offer the prayers made between the twilight and dawn, the Tahajjud prayers, and then had fallen asleep.
There was a loud banging on the main door. It was too early for the imam and as he was alone in the Mosque, Musa opened the door to a tall, powerfully-built black man dressed in a grey vest and white running shorts. He was drenched in sweat and his face shone with vitality as he brought his hands together and bowed.
“Assalaam-u-alaikum…brother,” he said carefully and slowly.
“Waalaikum assalaam.” Musa smiled at the man’s deference.
“May I come in bro?”
Musa nodded and led the man through to the main hallway where the shoe racks were stacked. Two chairs stood outside the entrance to the prayer hall. Musa beckoned him to sit down and then did so himself.
“How can I help you?”
The man, clearly agitated, began.
“You see, the thing is bro, I got a bit of a problem and I can’t get my head around it. It’s driving me up the wall so I decided to find out if someone here could help me get a handle on things. If you know what I mean?”
“What kind of problem?”
The man flashed him an embarrassed glance. “I’m in love bro!”
“You’re in love?”
“Sure am,” replied the man proudly.
“Do you want advice on how to convert to Islam?” asked Musa.
“Oh no, none of that stuff. I ain’t the type to convert. But I’m in love with this beautiful Muslim girl. When I say beautiful, boy do I mean beautiful! She is like a Supermodel. She is like…man…. she like walks into a room and everyone’s tongues are around their ankles. And when she gets in a strop, oh man, it’s like you’re seeing fire but you don’t wanna run away from it. You just wanna get in closer and closer. And when she cusses you…it’s like someone’s giving you an ecstasy pill. You cannot imagine what this girl does to you. It’s like being on one of them roller coaster rides. You just feel you’re on a high all the time!”
Musa could see that although his eyes were alive with excitement and hope his voice was strained: he was trying to reach for the stars. Just like Musa himself. A great feeling of compassion came over him.
“Listen my friend, I understand what you’re feeling. Do you want me or someone at the Mosque to talk to her or her family about the prospect of marriage?”
“Nah, not yet anyway. What I need from you is an idea of what makes her tick. Because to be honest fella, I don’t have a bloody clue. I can’t tell what she’s gonna do from one moment to the next. I ain’t saying it isn’t exciting because it is but you get to the point where it drains the shit out of you. That’s kinda like where I am.”
“May I know her name?” asked Musa.
The man looked wary. He twisted his hands awkwardly.
“I don’t mean to be rude but I know you lot are into marrying your first cousins and all of that. That suggests you are all related somehow or another. So if I tell you her name, you might know her. And I promised her I would keep it all confidential. No offence.”
“None taken, but you have to realise how lucky you are.
You waited for the fantasy and now fantasy and reality have become one.” The answer came to him straight away. “The best thing I can do is point you in the direction of someone who, unlike me, has vast experience in these matters.”
“OK. What’s his name?”
“No, don’t ask…Only he can tell you how you can
get your woman to do what you want.”
Babarr looked speculatively at Shabnam and Armila’s eager faces. Swivelling around in his chair he put his meaty hands behind his head.
“It could work. It just might work. What do you think Sal?”
His head still aching, Suleiman nodded gently.
“I’ll see if I can set something up tonight,” replied Babarr.
“Can you arrange it so that we can be there as well?” asked Armila.
“Are you out of your mind? What do you wanna do? Hide under the table?”
“You’re forgetting the two-way speakers, Babarr. Don’t you remember you connected them to all the rooms?” reminded Suleiman.
Babarr tensed his arms.
“I get the feeling that something serious is gonna happen tonight. All of you be here at ten.”
Leroy was wearing a dazzling single-breasted white tuxedo with shiny black trousers. In his hand was the bunch of notes that he had written while Titty Soups was giving him a tutorial.
He smiled. That Titty guy was one hell of a nice bloke (even though he was definitely gay, what with the way he dressed and all) to have spent as much time as he had carefully explaining everything he had to do.
Leroy had not wanted to reveal Shabnam’s name but Titty was such a charmer! He got him feeling so relaxed that her name just slipped out. True, he was a little put off when Titty Soups suppressed a laugh but as soon as he recovered his composure he was as nice and helpful as before. No, he was even nicer. Very carefully he had told him exactly what he had to do to win Shabnam’s heart.
He looked at his watch. Where was she? Perhaps she was expecting him to pick her up? That would be it. He left the restaurant in a hurry and jumped in a taxi.
Within ten minutes he was at the flat. Armila peered through the spyglass and whispered,” It’s Leroy.”
Shabnam looked blank. “You know, Leroy your boyfriend. Have you even told him that he has a rival?”
“No, I keep meaning to but it went straight out of my head, what with Titty Soups and all. Leroy left me a text message saying that he wanted to meet me at eight. I texted back saying that he had to book us a nice restaurant because there was something important I wanted to discuss. He was over the fucking moon.”
Armila looked at her watch. “It’s now nine o’clock.”
“Oh…shit. Does he think I’m one of those people who have photographic memories and can remember everything? I mean come on!”
The doorbell rang several times in quick succession.
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Armila urgently.
“This is going to be one of those fucking days. Let him in.”
Armila opened the door. “Good evening Leroy. Come in. Do make yourself at home,” she said hospitably.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
Armila grinned. “Shabnam just doesn’t stop going on about you. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week.”
Leroy laughed delightedly before giving Shabnam a smile that had more wattage than the National Grid.
“Listen, Leroy, about tonight, I’m really sorry, I only just remembered.”
Leroy raised his hands in the air as if to say “shit happens”.
“You know, Shabnam, while I was sitting there in the restaurant musicians started playing and all of a sudden I felt myself floating to a place where it was just you and me. It’s like I closed my eyes and you were there. Then do you know what happened? I opened my eyes and I was smiling like I’ve never smiled before. Then one of the musicians comes over to me and do you know what he says? The cheeky bastard says to me ‘I’m really glad you’re still smiling because your lady has obviously dumped you.’ I wanted to hit him.
“But do you know something? I don’t care one little bit. Do you know why?”
“Because you’re itching to get inside her p–” Armila did not complete her sentence as Shabnam, with tremendous force, smacked a cushion into her face.
“Go on.”
“Um, where was I?”
“You were trying to get–” interrupted Armila again, giggling, and as before she did not complete her sentence as Shabnam smacked the cushion into her face with even greater force.
“Just what the hell is going on?” asked Leroy.
“Nothing. You know how girls love to play fight. Carry on,” said Shabnam. She glared at Armila.
“The thing is the reason I didn’t care is very simple. It’s love.”
He sat on the arm of the sofa next to Shabnam.
“Do you know what I want to do now?” he whispered.
This time Armila remained silent and Leroy began to read from his notes.
“My ancestors came from Uganda. They were from the tribe of Alur. The tribe of Alur have a custom amongst the men. When they see a beautiful girl, they go crazy.
“I have decided to do what my ancestors did whenever they saw a hot mama and will prove my love to you by doing something you will never experience again.”
Shabnam groaned. “Listen, Leroy honey, now is not really the time. I have got to be somewhere in about forty-five minutes.”
“It will have to wait. Because I am telling you, I can’t wait. Baby, this is Runyege-Entogoro, the ritual of love, the marriage dance.”
He stood up, his face a study in concentration. Slowly he unbuttoned his tuxedo and threw it by the door. He undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor. With one powerful movement he ripped off his shirt and threw it in the corner. He then took off his moccasins and socks and kicked them away. He was left standing in a pair of bright red boxer shorts covered with little hearts. Shabnam and Armila stared, spellbound.
And then Armila broke the spell. “I knew it! That’s what I was going to say before. All you want to do is get naked.”
“Shut up!” said Leroy fiercely.
He threw his arms in the air and began to swivel his hips. His head began to jerk violently from left to right and then from right to left. Shabnam and Armila watched the bobbing boxer shorts as they slipped down a centimetre. Leroy lunged backwards to such an extent that he was almost horizontal and the boxer shorts moved up again. He leapt into the air, his muscular body glistening with perspiration and a devilish smile on his face. He finished the dance by rolling head over heels and standing up. In his hand was a gleaming diamond ring.
“Shabnam I would like you to do me the honour of being my wife. You are the most beautiful thing on this planet. I want to spend my every waking moment with you. My sun sets and rises with you.”
Seeing Shabnam’s alarmed face Armila decided it was time to take charge. She ran her hand through her hair.
“Leroy, you can’t just propose to an Asian girl on the spot and expect an answer. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because of our culture. It has to be done through the family. We can only say yes to marriage after long consultations with our family.”
“Are you telling me that I have to do this again in front of her mum and dad?” he exclaimed.
Just picturing that filled Shabnam with horror but before Armila could reply the doorbell rang.
Leroy opened the door.
“Titty! What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to talk to Armila about one of our friends.”
Leroy frowned. He then threw his arms wide open and said, “Welcome to the party. It just got going. Come on in. I’ll introduce you to the girl I was telling you about.”
“Can’t wait!” grinned Titty Soups.
“Shabnam this is my friend Titty Soups. Titty this is my fiancée Shabnam.”
Titty Soups inclined his head politely. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.”
“How is it you two know each other?” asked Armila curiously.
“We met through mutual friends.”
Leroy gave Titty Soups a high five of the greatest goodwill.
Shabnam was speechless.
“Listen Lero
y, why don’t you and me go outside for our little chat?” said Armila, tying her hair into a bun.
He nodded his head and as soon as they had left the flat Titty Soups doubled up with laughter.
“You bastard,” hissed Shabnam. “You put him up to this. You humiliated him just to get at me.”
“I did no such thing. He asked me the best way forwards and I told him. You’re the one who humiliated him by standing him up at the restaurant.”
“You took advantage of him!” shouted Shabnam.
“And you haven’t? You knew from day one that it wasn’t going to work out with him. But you liked him making a play for you didn’t you? You liked the attention and the money and the presents. You used him because you were angry at the way your culture and your family treat you. He is just one way of saying fuck you to your parents.”
“Who are you to judge me?” she snarled.
“I’m not judging you. I’m telling you the way it is. Listen, there is no parallel universe where you and me can live the way we want to and not suffer the consequences. You can have your fun just like I’ve had mine but at the end of the day you’ve got to accept who you are and make do with what’s in front of you. And at this moment I am in front of you. You hate your life and I can take you away from that. I’m the future. Leroy is revenge. And you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you’ve treated him.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” sneered Shabnam. “How many women have you treated like toilet paper?”
“It’s not like that, Shabnam. It’s a game. Boys chase after girls. Girls chase after boys. There is no girl who would not dump her guy if she found a better option. The same goes for the guys. There is no loyalty. I played that game just like you did.”
“I hate you and I never want to see you again. Get out of here!”
Titty Soups looked at her tear-streaked face and smiled.
“Go easy on Leroy when you end it. Apologise and admit the things you’ve done. If you don’t it will gnaw away at you forever. I’ll leave you to it.”
28
Musa was surprised to find the place empty. Suleiman had ushered him into the car telling him that Babarr urgently needed to see him at the Islamic Centre. He had noticed Babarr’s van outside so he must be around somewhere.
The Reluctant Mullah Page 25