The Reluctant Mullah

by Sagheer Afzal

  “Khadija is staying with me and she asked that you deliver this letter to her brother. She said you know where he usually hangs out.”

  “That I do, princess. That I most definitely do. He hangs around with them losers outside the Central Mosque.”

  “Losers?”

  Babarr snorted in disgust. “They talk religion all the time but act like they want to mug every person that walks past. Dole layabout trash!”

  He opened the envelope.

  “Hey, that’s private. You can’t do that!” protested Armila angrily.

  “Pipe down, darling.”

  He read the letter and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “This is what they call a letter bomb.”

  Armila was not amused and stormed out just as Suleiman arrived. Babarr showed him the letter and repeated the joke.

  “What about her father? What’s he like Babarr?”

  “A huge hairy bastard. About six foot six with a really long beard. The guy gives me the creeps. He never says anything, just looks at you out of the corner of his eye like you’re a bug that he’s about to squash.”

  Suleiman groaned. “An asshole who got religious and became a bad ass. I seen plenty of them.”

  “This guy ain’t your garden variety bad ass. He really freaks you out. He is gonna be a problem.”

  “What can we do about it? If the fucker wants to take Musa on, let him try. I’ll show him some of my own freakiness,” said Suleiman.

  “Yeah well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. What about your parents? What were they like when you told them?”

  “They were OK. Aboo did his parent-who-has-worked-so-hard-and-then-been-let-down-by-his-son act. But that’s his standard response to every crisis that involves one of his sons. And they’ve fixed up to meet Khadija. After that Dadaji will give the final say. I’ve gotta go and pick her up this evening and Shabnam’s coming with me.” Suleiman grinned. “I wonder if she shares Musa’s curse?”

  Babarr laughed. “It’s not a curse it’s a law. Whatever can go fucking wrong will most definitely go wrong.”

  Musa and Khadija walked through the park together. Cedar trees filled the air with a sharp wet smell that seethed with magic and hope.

  “Musa, I am due to visit your family tonight. Isn’t there anything you want to tell me?” she asked.

  She was so gentle and modest. He felt a strange lightness when he walked with her as though the aura of her nearness unshackled him from the gravity of all earthly fear. He smiled and walked on.

  “Musa!” said Khadija, annoyed. “What is the matter with you? You have to tell me what to expect.”

  “They expect you. Only they don’t know it yet,” replied Musa.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  “Well, Aboo is mostly quiet and keeps himself to himself but he loves to give orders and throw his weight around and he is a bit of a drama queen. A lot of a drama queen actually. Amma is patient, long suffering. She’s cleverer than Aboo, but she keeps that to herself.”

  “That’s it?” asked Khadija.

  “Not quite. Above everyone is my grandfather, Dadaji. Everything rests on his word. He is the one person who will tell it the way it is. You’ll never have met anyone like him.”

  He held out his arms and whirled around.

  “You need to take things more seriously.” said Khadija, laughing.

  “It’s not the time to be serious. You know, there comes a moment in life when you are so happy that you can almost walk on air. That time for us is now and we have to enjoy it while it lasts. Do you see those roses over there? They suffer the burning heat and the violent wind and then the bounty of Allah arrives and they revel in their good fortune. For now, let us do just that. Events are like waves. They can lift you up high or smash you down. Well, now they are carrying us up high and soon we’ll be home. Let’s enjoy the ride.”

  “What do you mean by home?” asked Khadija.

  “Home in every sense of the word. Our home in this life and our home in the hereafter.” But that does bring us to an important subject: our marriage. When do we get married? We can have a Nikah ceremony at the Central Mosque. Babarr and Armila can be witnesses. Let’s do that soon. And next year we can perform the pilgrimage to Mecca together and the year after that we can do Iraq and see the shrine of Imam Al Mahdi and then we can go to Qom.”

  Khadija laughed: “What about enjoying the moment? In any case your plan, like many of your plans, is rash. First, your parents must be reconciled to our marriage.”

  “What about your father?” Musa asked anxiously. “Will he listen to reason?”

  “Never.”

  “Is he educated?”

  “He was a major in the Pakistani army before he came to England.”

  “Have you ever heard of Khalil Gibran, Khadija?”

  “The poet?”

  “Yes, the poet. He wrote something about parents and their children. I can’t remember it exactly but he said something like, ‘You may give them your love but not your thoughts. You may house their bodies but never their souls. For their souls live in the house of tomorrow which you will never visit.’ Write a letter to your father with those words.”

  Khadija laughed. “You’re insane.”

  “Sometimes, Khadija, insanity is a necessity if you wish to enjoy all that life offers you.”

  Khadija shook her head. “You need to start thinking like a provider instead of a poet. How are we going to make ends meet? What are you going to do for a living? That sort of thing.”

  “I have been raised to be a Holy man. A cleric. The salary of a Holy man is not much. But there are the benefits of a life simple and pure, graced by Allah, like Adam and Eve before they were expelled from the Garden of Eden. They had just one goal and that was to earn the pleasure of Allah. Their chemistry must have been unique, just two people, innocent and trusting. Completing each other and complimenting each other. No power struggles, no debates over who wore the trousers because they were content with the way they were. That is what our life will be like, happy and pure. Secure in the knowledge that we have nothing except that which is given to us by Allah.”

  31

  Shabnam held down her kameez to prevent it flapping in the wind. When her scarf flew from her head, she gritted her teeth in exasperation. She thought wearing this outfit would help her in what she had to say but it was becoming an unbearable pain in the ass.

  Leroy was waiting and her sense of guilt increased when she saw how pleased he was to see her.

  “Hey Shabnam, am I glad to see you. Listen, if this is about last night, don’t sweat. You don’t have to give me an answer straight away. You take your time because I know what a big step it is for you. I know I went over the top but when I see something I want I go all out trying to get it. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, honest.”

  He looked her up and down. “What’s up baby? Why you dressed in them things? You always said you hated women who dressed like that. And why are we meeting here in the park? I don’t see you as the outdoor type.”

  “Do you remember when we first met at Andy’s party?”

  “Sure I do. You looked like a real hot number then. Plenty of guys were heading towards you but they all got stuck in traffic.” He laughed at the memory.

  “That was the first party I ever went to and while I was sitting there I said to myself that was the last I’d ever go to. All those people drinking and laughing. I just couldn’t be like them. And it’s not because I didn’t drink. It’s because when I looked at them dancing I got the feeling that they all looked like they were on the moon and I was watching through some telescope. That was when I met you.

  “And you talked shit to get me to go out with you and all I was thinking was that you were like a racing car. You know some guys are like that. They got this vibe about them like they know where they’re going and they’re getting there damn fast. Funny thing is half the time them kind of guys don’t eve
n know they’ve got it going. At that party there were Pakistani guys and they were all trying to be like you and they were hitting on me as well. When I looked at them I saw a bunch of fucking losers but with you I felt like a winner.”

  “You are a winner,” said Leroy earnestly.

  “No I’m not and I’ll tell you why. One of my friends once asked me about you. One of these veiled Muslim-type girls that we used to laugh at? And I couldn’t tell her much. Do you know why?”

  Leroy shook his head.

  “I don’t know how many brothers or sisters you have. I don’t know where your parents live and what they do. I don’t even know what you do except that whatever it is you make a lot of money. Did that never bother you Leroy? That I never asked you any of these things?”

  “No! It never even once crossed my mind. And to tell you the truth it wouldn’t have mattered much to me anyway. I ain’t ever seen my father and the less I see of my mother and brother, the better. The only thing I could think about when I was with you was you.”

  “But didn’t it matter to you that I stood you up so many times? That I got you to give me money? There must have been some part of you that said this isn’t right?”

  “No. I used to stand girls up a lot. The money ain’t no big deal. If you got it spend it. You’re my girl, Shabnam. Spending money on you goes with the territory.”

  “Doesn’t me wearing these clothes tell you I’m on different territory?”

  “They’re just clothes,” he said quietly.

  Shabnam tried to explain. “The reason why I wore them is to… Do you know I fucking hate them half the time but I still wear them. I hate the things around me but they are still a part of me. I don’t want to be at war with myself. I want to make peace with the things that I hate because I can’t throw them away like they’re a bunch of clothes.”

  “What things?”

  She sighed. “My culture, my fucking religion, my dad and…myself.”

  “What you saying Shabnam?”

  “When we used to go out I felt excited and happy because you were paying me so much attention and I liked the fact that I had this power over you. That I could treat you like shit and you would still come running. Did you never wonder why I didn’t let you drop me off at home?”

  “Because of your folks,” replied Leroy.

  “Yes, Leroy. That’s it. My folks. I can’t stand them and I don’t ever want to be like them but I would hate myself if they think less of me. I hate my fucking culture but it would kill me if someone said to my mum I saw your daughter with a…with a man. I don’t want to lie to myself anymore.

  “Men look at my face and their hearts stop. I’ve been getting that from men for as long as I can remember. I used you and sometimes I humiliated you and it kills me that you don’t realise that because all you see is my face.

  “My brother told me that only Allah knows best what a man deserves. And you don’t deserve someone like me, I’m not decent. You deserve someone decent and you’re gonna find that person and make them feel special just like you did with me. You must hold on to her because not everyone can be happy like that…”

  Titty Soups burst into Babarr’s office.

  “Hey Titty! Someone’s looking pleased with himself. Who’ve you pulled this time?”

  He pulled out his mobile phone, opened the flap and showed it to Babarr.

  “Yes I will marry you you bastard. Shabnam.”

  “Man you actually did it. You actually went and tamed the tiger. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.”

  Titty Soups shrugged modestly. “It was a challenge, but not an impossible challenge. I just let her play herself out. You know, beneath all that fire and fury, I think there may be a sweet girl. I’m surprised that you doubted me, even for one second,” said Titty Soups.

  “Doubted you? Man they should erect a statue of you some place. Or carve your face into a mountain. You’re the bee’s knees!”

  Titty Soups bowed with a flourish.

  “What you gonna do now? You can’t tell me you’re actually gonna marry her!” said Babarr.

  “Of course I’m going to marry her. I’m not gonna throw this fish back into the sea.”

  “She ain’t no fish,” warned Babarr. “She’s a shark and when she starts hunting you had better start running!”

  “It won’t be like that,” said Titty Soups with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “What will it be like then?”

  Titty Soups winked at Babarr, “It’ll be a whole new game…”

  32

  Khadija had thought long and hard about whether or not to veil her face. Armila had strongly objected to the idea saying it wouldn’t help in front of people she needed to win over but in the end she decided that it would be more effective if she let her words convey the needed impression rather than her face and so had opted for the veil.

  She sat in Aboo’s leather chair facing Musa’s parents. She thought his father looked sad and his mother weary. They viewed her in silence for a time and then Musa’s father began to laugh.

  “What is the matter?” asked the mother.

  “I was just thinking, we never saw Musa for what he is and now his choice is in front of us and we cannot see her for what she is.”

  “It is just a veil,” said the mother.

  “What is clearer without the veil? And what does it matter? We no longer have eyes that can see the world around us,” remarked Aboo. He pointed towards the door which led to the kitchen. “My father is through there. You must go to him.”

  Khadija nodded and walked through the kitchen into the garden where the old man sat on his prayer mat on the grass. One hand was raised and he moved his finger as though tracing the line of the moon. She felt an immense sense of awe as she watched him.

  Dadaji brought his hands together.

  “You are the choice, are you not?”

  “Assalaam-u-alaikum,” she said nervously.

  The old man pointed at the grass next to him and Khadija sat down. He turned and peered at her with his shoulders hunched. Khadija kept her head bowed, waiting for him to speak.

  She had met many aged men who were renowned for their piety and learning. Normally they were disdainful of women and had little or no personality but this old man had an overwhelming presence. As he watched her, she felt as though he was reaching into her heart.

  “What is your name?”

  “Khadija. And you are Dadaji?”

  He nodded slowly and smiled.

  “Tell me of Musa,” he whispered.

  “Musa is…Musa is himself. He is not owned by any fear of what other people may think. He often speaks without thinking. He is passionate and he is excited by life. His dreams lead him and…” Her voice faltered.

  “Does he bring you peace?” asked Dadaji.

  “At first he did not. Now he does.”

  “How?”

  “He is innocent and so like an innocent child in the way he is excited by life. When I am by his side I feel as though my footsteps are lighter.”

  “Innocence is not the same as purity.”

  “Yes, I know, but we can make a life together that will be pure and simple,” said Khadija.

  Dadaji smiled: “No one owns the life they lead.”

  “I know. I told him that but I don’t think he understood what I meant.”

  “Knowledge will not always lead you to the truth.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Dadaji.”

  “The will of Allah will unfold through pain and joy. Have you surrendered to the will of Allah or to the whispers of your heart?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Had you been obedient, you would have been assured that Allah is with you. Now you have lost that certainty.”

  “We have committed no crime, Dadaji. To love someone is not a sin.”

  “But the passion of such love can often lead to sin.”

  “Dadaji, as Allah is my witness, we will live for His approval and
good grace. There is no evil in our hearts.”

  “Yes, I can see that is true.”

  Dadaji laid his hand on Khadija’s head and said,” In your eyes there is pain and in your heart there is a great weariness but your footsteps are steady and the light in your eyes is the reflection of a greater light. Be happy for as long as the will of Allah allows you to be. Go in peace and return in joy.”

  Khadija smiled shyly and stood up. Though Musa wasn’t by her side, as she went back into the house she felt as if she was walking on air.

  Abdel stood just inside the front door. His hands were clammy and his heart raced. He thought about leaving the letter, yes that was what he would do; he would leave the letter and come back later. He took it out of his pocket along with his keys which dropped noisily to the floor. As he bent to pick them up his father screamed his name and he froze.

  His father walked heavily down the stairs and stared at the letter in his son’s hand.

  “Where is she?”

  Abdel’s terror deprived him of speech.

  “Where is she?” His father smacked him hard across the side of his head, knocking him sideways.

  “Where is she?” he repeated in quiet fury. He dragged Abdel to his feet, pushed him against the door and placed his huge hand against his throat, moving his thumb to the side of his son’s neck and pressing gently to feel his racing pulse. He trembled with excitement as Abdel began to beg.

  “No, no, no, please, no.”

  His father struck him repeatedly with his fists. Abdel was dimly aware of falling to the floor and trying to cover up his face but it was no use. The kicks began and finally he escaped into unconsciousness.

  Blood stained his sister’s final words which their father now read. And her words were simple.

  Father

  I am relieving you of a burden just as I am relieving myself of a burden. You will probably think I am just like my mother and in a way you are right. That is why you never gave me your love. And now I ask you one last request. Abandon the God that you pray to. Your God asks too much in the way of sacrifice. You have given your humanity but I will not give my sanity.