All this began with an incident in school. Imama was then a student in the
Matric class; Tehreem was one of her good friends. They had not only been
together in school for many years, but their families knew each other very
well. Amongst all her friends, Imama was closest to Tehreem and Javeria, but
she was upset that, despite their friendship, these girls shrank from visiting
her home. Imama would invite them to her birthday and also to other events
at home, but they would always decline on the pretext of not being allowed to
go out. On a few occasions Imama herself spoke to their parents, but they still
did not allow their daughters to visit her. Finally, she complained to her
parents about this.
‗Both your friends are Syeds. Generally, they do not approve of our sect and
this is why your friends' parents do not allow them to come to our house,'
explained her mother.
‗What's the meaning of this? Why don't they approve of us?' Imama was
surprised at her mother's words.
‗Only they can tell you why they don't like us. They even call us non-
Muslims.'
‗Why do they say that? Are we not Muslims?' retorted Imama.
‗Of course we are Muslims…but they do not believe in our prophet,' said her
mother.
‗Why?'
‗Now what can I say to this ―why‖? They're just very rigid in their beliefs.'
‗But Ammi, they never talk to me about religion, so how come religion
becomes the problem? What difference does it make and how does it involve
visiting each other's homes?' Imama was confused.
‗Who can explain these matters to them? They accuse us of lying and harass
us. If they knew more about us and the teachings of our prophet, they
wouldn't do this. Anyway, if your friends don't visit you, there's no need to
fret—you shouldn't go to their homes either.'
‗But Ammi, their mistaken notions about us should be corrected,' said
Imama.
‗You can't do this—their parents are constantly brainwashing them against
us, filling their hearts with poison.'
‗No, Ammi! They are my best friends—they shouldn't think this of me. I'll
give them some of our books to read…maybe then their minds and hearts will
be cleared of these misunderstandings.' said Imama with hope. Her mother
fell silent.
‗Don't you like my idea?' asked Imama.
‗It's not that… give them your books but not in such a way that they think
you're trying to preach your faith. Just tell them that you'd like them to know
more about us so as to be able to understand us better,' said her mother.
Imama nodded quietly.
----------------------
A few days later, Imama took some books with her to school. When they were
together during recess, she brought the books along.
‗I have something for you.'
‗Really? Let's see what it is.'
Imama held out two sets of books from the bag, one towards Javeria and the
other towards Tehreem. They quietly glanced at the books. Javeria said
nothing, but Tehreem reacted.
‗What's this?' she said coldly.
‗I brought these books for you,' Imama replied.
‗Why?'
‗So that some of your wrong impressions about us can be corrected.'
‗What sort of wrong impressions?'
‗The wrong impressions you have about our sect,' Imama explained.
‗Who told you that there are any wrong impressions about your ―religion‖ or
your prophet?' Tehreem asked very seriously.
‗I can judge that myself: that is why you do not come to my house. You think
perhaps that we do not read the Quran or that we do not consider Hazrat
Muhammad, peace be upon him, a prophet although that's not the case—we
believe in all of these things. It's only that we say that after the Prophet
Muhammad (PBUH), we have another prophet of our community who is as
revered as Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).' Imama explained with great
seriousness.
Tehreem handed back the books she was holding. ‗We have no
misunderstanding about you or your religion. We know more than enough
about your religion, and there's no need for you to give explanations,' she said
brusquely. ‗And as far as these books are concerned, neither I nor Javeria
have spare time to waste on this pile of foolish claims, fanciful ideas, and
misguided beliefs that you call your books.'
Tehreem snatched the books from Javeria and handed them back to Imama,
whose face was crimson with embarrassment. She had not expected Tehreem
to react so violently or else she would never have made the mistake of
bringing the books or showing them to these girls.
‗As for this reverences that you have, you should know that there's a vastdifference between a prophet ordained by God and a self-appointed prophet.
If you truly believed in the Quran then you would believe in every word of
it—it's one thing to be a prophet and another to become one.'
‗Tehreem, you are insulting me and my faith!' Tears welled up in Imama's
eyes.
‗I am not insulting anyone—I am merely speaking the truth and if you find it
insulting, it's too bad. I can't do anything about it.' Tehreem spoke in an
abrupt and sharp manner.
‗But we do believe in the prophethood of Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH),'
Imama stressed.
‗We also believe in the prophethood of Jesus and that the Bible is a divine
book, so does that make us Christians? And we believe in the prophets Moses
and David too…are we Jews?' Tehreem queried in a mocking tone. ‗Our faith
is Islam and we are the followers of the Holy Prophet, and though we respect
other prophets and their teachings, we remain followers of Islam. we are not
followers of their faiths. Similarly, you follow your prophet thereby denying
the finality of the prophethood of Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) but yet you
insist that your faith is also a sect of Islam. Your prophet and the leaders of
your community claim that whoever denies Mirza as a prophet is not a true
Muslim—in effect, we've all been thrown out of Islam.'
Throughout Tehreem's harangue Javeria remained quiet.
Tehreem continued firmly, stressing each word. ‗It would be better for you
not to discuss your religion or mine. We have been friends for many years. Let
the friendship continue as it is.'
‗As regards us not visiting you at home, you're right…my parents don't
approve of it. Being friends with you in school is another matter—one can be
friends with many people and religion is not an issue, but visiting each other's
homes is different. I don't think my parents would object to my going to the
homes of my Christian or Hindu friends because they follow their own beliefs
and do not call themselves Muslims. But in your case they would disapprove
because the reality is that your people have changed to a new faith —yet you
pretend to be part of us.'
Tehreem finally rose to go.
Watching her go, Imama turned to Javeria who was sitting beside her. ‗Do
you think the same way about me?'
‗Tehreem said all this in a fit of rage—don't get upset by her words,' Javeria
tried to pacify her. ‗Just ignore it. Let's go back to class…the break's about to
end.'
Imama got up and went with Javeria.When Imama got home that day, she locked herself in her room and cried her
heart out. Tehreem's words had really hurt her.
Hashim Mubeen got back from work earlier than usual that day and his wife
Salma told him that Imama was unwell. He went to her room to see her. He
was taken aback to see that her eyes were swollen.
‗What is it, Imama?' he asked, coming closer. She sat up in bed and without
saying anything, she burst into tears again. He sat with her on the bed. ‗What
happened, Imama?'
‗Tehreem was very rude to me in school today,' she said between sobs.
Hashim was a little relieved. ‗So did you have a fight again?'
‗Baba, you don't know what she said to me,' Imama said. ‗Baba she…'
Imama told her father all that had passed between her and Tehreem.
Hashim's face began to change color.
‗Who told you to take those books to school to educate them?' he scolded her.
‗I wanted to correct their impressions about us,' she responded weakly.
‗What is the need for you to go around correcting people's impressions? They
may not visit our home; they may think we are bad—so what? Let them be:
what difference does it make to us?' Hashim tried to explain. ‗But I wonder
what she'll think of you after this…what you were trying to do by giving her
those books. Her family will also be very angry. Imama, you should know that
you do not have to tell others all about yourself or your community. Even if
someone pulls you into an argument, just agree politely with them, otherwise
they will make unnecessary and unwelcome comments and will become
needlessly suspicious about us,' he counseled.
‗But, Baba, you yourself preach to so many people. Why are you stopping me
from doing it?' Imama was puzzled.
‗It's a different thing with me—I talk about religion only with those people
with whom I am close and friendly…when I feel they are ready to accept what
I have to say. I don't go about distributing books to mere acquaintances,' he
clarified.
‗Baba, they are not just acquaintances—we have been friends for years,'
objected Imama.
‗Yes, but they are Syeds and their families are very orthodox . You ought to
have remembered that.'
‗I only wanted to tell them about our sect so that they do not think we are
non-Muslims,' said Imama.
‗Even if they think of us as non-Muslims, what difference does it make? They
themselves are non-Muslims,' said Hashim very piously. ‗They are the
misguided ones, on the wrong path.'u‗Baba, she said that you receive funds from foreign missions, that they pay
you to convert people to our faith.'
Hashim Mubeen shook his head with disdain. ‗I get money only from my
community—money that our community collects at home and abroad. We
have enough finances of our own…haven't we got our own factories? Besides,
if foreign missions were to finance me I would accept it happily—what's
wrong with it? If Christianity can be preached in this country, then why not
our faith? After all, we are another sect of Islam trying to bring people on the
path of real guidance,' he elaborated.
‗Don't talk to others about this issue,' he continued. ‗There's no point in
argument or discussion. We are a minority now, but when we become the
majority then such people will not dare to speak up like this—they will be
afraid to insult us to our face. However, you should not get involved with such
people now.'
‗Baba, why have we been declared non-Muslims and a minority in the
constitution when we are a sect of Islam?'
‗All this is the handiwork of the mullahs—for their vested interests, they
ganged up against us. When our numbers increase, we too will bring in laws
that favor us, and all such amendments to the constitution will be abrogated,'
declared Hashim forcefully. ‗And you need not lock yourself up like this and
cry,' he said as he got up. Imama watched him walk away.
That was the last day of her friendship with Tehreem . Imama was so heart-
broken by Tehreem's diatribe that she could not bring herself to continue
their relationship. Tehreem too did not try to bridge the silence between them.
Hashim Mubeen was one of the influential leaders of the Ahmadi community.
His older brother Azam was also an important Ahmadi leader. Barring one or
two people, his entire family had converted to the Qadiani creed many years
ago when Azam had begun this mission; those who had not done so had
severed ties with the others. Following in his brother's footsteps, Hashim had
also converted, and like his brother, he too worked towards its propagation.
In about ten or fifteen years, both brothers had made a name for themselves
in their community. They were amongst the elite of Islamabad but despite
their affluence, their homes were very traditional. Their womenfolk observed
purdah but there were no undue restrictions placed on them.
Imama had also grown up in this environment. Indeed, she was one of those
born with a silver spoon in her mouth , and though she knew that her father
was actively propagating the Ahmadi faith, she accepted it as a matter of
course. She had grown up seeing her father and her uncle preaching their
faith and to her it was something being done in the service of Islam.
Imama regularly attended religious listened to the lectures by their leaders transmitted via satellite from London.
Before the showdown with Tehreem, she had never really pondered over her
religion—for her, her sect was just another one of the different sects in Islam.
She had been brought up to believe that her community was the only one on
the true path of Islam and would be the only one to enter paradise.
Very early Imama and her siblings had been instructed not to divulge
anything about their faith in school. In school Imama had learnt that in 1974
the Constitution had been amended by Parliament to declare them to be non-
Muslims and their community as a minority community. She believed it was a
political decision taken under pressure from other religious leaders. However,
the argument with Tehreem compelled Imama to think more deeply about her
community and her faith.
This brought about a change in her: she began to read literature and the holy
writings on her faith as well as other books. Initially, there was much
confusion in her mind, but as she studied this in greater depth, it cleared her
mind. Soon after her matriculation exam she was engaged to Asjad, her uncle
Azam's son. Although this was not a love match, Asjad and Imama were
happy with this relationship and after the engagement Imama developed a
soft spot for Asjad.
‗You seem to be quite worried for the last few days—is there a problem?'
Waseem asked her that night. Imama had been upset and quiet lately.
‗No, it's nothing. It's your imagination.' Imama tried to smile.
‗It's not my imagination: there is something wrong. But if you don't want to
share it, then it's a different matter,' said Waseem, shaking his head. He was
lying on one side of Imama's double bed while she sat away from him leafing
through her notes in a file. Waseem waited for her reply and then said, ‗I was
right, wasn't I? You don't want to talk about it.'
‗Yes. I don't want to talk about it at present,' she admitted with a sigh.
‗Tell me—perhaps I can help you.' Waseem tried to goad her.
‗Waseem, I'll tell you myself but not now. And if I need your help, I'll ask
you,' she said, closing the file.
‗Fine, as you wish. I just wanted to help you.' He got up.
Waseem had figured it out correctly: Imama had been withdrawn and quiet
since the day she had an argument with Javeria. Even though Javeria had
apologized to her the next day it had not helped Imama's distress and hurt—
Javeria's words had confused her. They brought back memories of the
showdown with Tehreem a year and a half ago, and the doubts and questions
about her faith that arose in her mind when she began to study it in detail as a
result of the argument. Javeria had declared that her life's dearest wish was
for Imama to become a real Muslim.
She was in state of strange uncertainty. ‗Am I not a Muslim? Does my closest
friend too not accept me as a Muslim? Is all this simply the result of the
propaganda about our faith? Why is it that only we are being targeted this
way—are we really on the wrong track? Have we adopted the wrong creed?
But how can that be—after all, why would my family and our entire
community do such a thing?'
And perhaps to find the answers to these questions, the next week she bought
a copy of the Quran with translation and notes by a well-known Islamic
scholar. She wanted to know what the stand of other sects was concerning her
sect and their faith. She had read the translation of the Holy Quran earlier
too, but it was one recommended by her community. She did not believe,
before studying the translation and notes by the famous scholar, that the
version she had been reading had changes in certain places, that the
translation of the Quran read by her sect was not the same as the original.
One after another, she read the translations of the Quran published by
scholars of various other sects—none of them had the changes that she found
in the version read by her faith, although they did differ in their
interpretations. As she continued the comparative study of the various
interpretations, her concern and confusion multiplied. Every translation and
interpretation confirmed that Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) was the last
messenger of Allah; nowhere did they mention or even hint at another
successor or prophet to follow him. Even the truth about the promised
messiah was all too clear to her. The contradictions between the prophecies of
her religious leader and the real events that had taken place became all too
evident to Imama. Before staking his claim to prophethood, their leader had
used the most objectionable language to malign the Prophet Jesus yet went on
to state that the spirit of Jesus had descended into him. Even if this claim were
to be accepted, then according to tradition, Jesus would have lived for another
forty years after his reappearance by which time Islam would have been
ascendant in the world. However, when the Ahmadi prophet died, then far
from Islam being spread across the world, even the Muslims of India did not
have the freedom they yearned for. Imama was further surprised by the tone
and language used by the Ahmadi leader against his opponents and other
revered prophets—could a true prophet ever employ such vocabulary about
anyone as this claimant to prophethood had done?In a very subtle way, her faith and interest in the literature and holy books of
her religion declined. Let alone her faith and belief, she even began to doubt
their veracity. She did not mention to Javeria that she had moved away from
the literature of her sect and had started reading other books. At home too no
one had a clue about the kind of books she was bringing home to read; she
had hidden them very securely in her room. Only once it so happened that
Waseem came to her room, looking for some book and the first one he laid his
hands on was the interpretation of the Quran she had been reading—he was
stunned.
‗What's this, Imama?' He turned to her in surprise. Her heart stopped as she
looked at him.
‗It…it's…it's the interpretation of the Holy Quran,' she replied, trying to
control the trembling in her voice.
‗I know, but what's it doing here? Did you buy it?' he enquired seriously.
‗Yes, I bought it, but why are you so concerned?'
‗Do you realize how furious Baba will be if he comes to know?'
‗Yes, I know, but I don't find it to be such an objectionable issue.'
‗Why on earth did you need to get it?' Waseem replaced it on the table.
‗Because I want to know how others interpret the Quran and what their point
of view is about us in the light of the Quran,' Imama replied thoughtfully.
Waseem looked at her steadily. ‗Are you in your right mind?'
‗I'm very much in my right mind.' She was quite composed. ‗What is the
harm in my getting to know about other sects and reading their interpretation
of the Quran?'
‗We have no need of such things,' Waseem reacted with annoyance.
‗You may not need to, but I do,' said Imama sharply. ‗I am not in favor of
accepting any beliefs blindly,' she made herself clear.
‗So reading these interpretations has removed your suspicions?' Waseem
inquired sarcastically.
Imama looked at him. ‗Initially, I had no doubts about my faith—now I do.'
Waseem exploded. ‗See—this is the result of reading these kind of books! This
is why I am telling you that there's no need to read these books; our books are
quite enough for us.'
‗I have gone through so many translations and interpretations of the Quran,
Waseem. It is amazing that there's no mention of our sect in any one of them!
In every one of them ‗Ahmed' is used in context of Hazrat Muhammad
(PBUH) and nowhere in terms of our prophet. Even if our sect or our prophet
is mentioned, it is as a false claim to prophethood.' Imama's perplexity was
reflected in her tone.
‗Who else other than these people would say such things about us? If theywere to accept our prophet then the problem would be solved, but they'll
never write the truth about us in their books,' Waseem explained bitterly.
‗And what about our translation and interpretation—have we written the
truth in them?'
‗What do you mean?' He was taken aback.
‗Why does our prophet use wrong terms and poor language for the other
prophets?'
‗He talks of them in his own context—they did not believe him to be a
prophet,' Waseem replied.
‗So should they be abused for not believing?' Imama asked.
‗Yes,' he shrugged. ‗Anger does find expression one way or another.'
‗Anger or helplessness?' she asked him. He looked at her, shocked.
‗When people did not accept Jesus as a prophet, he did not abuse them. When
Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) was not believed in, he did not abuse the
disbelievers—in fact, he prayed for those who stoned him. The Divine message
revealed to Hazrat Muhammad does not contain abusive language, whereas
that collection of verses which our prophet claims was revealed to him by God
is full of vituperation.'
‗Imama, every individual has a different personality and reacts differently,'
Waseem replied sharply. Imama shook her head—she was not convinced.
‗I'm not talking of everyone—I'm talking about the prophet. How can one
who has no control over his anger lay claim to being a prophet of God? How
do you expect someone who is so abusive to say words of truth and
righteousness? Waseem, I am confused about our religion and its principles!'
She paused, then continued. ‗Reading all these interpretations and
translations, I found that the only prophet of his community was Hazrat Isa.
And I do not believe that our prophet is either Hazrat Isa or the promised
Messiah. No…he is not the one who has been prophesied in the Quran,' she
reiterated.
‗You'd better stop your nonsense now—you've said enough.' Waseem
snapped at her.
‗Nonsense? You think I've been talking nonsense?' Imama looked at him with
surprise. ‗If there's a Masjid-e-Aqsa in our city, then what about the other
Masjid-e-Aqsa in Palestine? Would God want to confuse Muslims by having
the same sacred mosque in two separate places? And never mind the Muslims,
what about the Christians and the Jews—they too believe that this mosque
was the very first qibla. Isn't it odd that we should not believe this?'
‗Imama, I can't argue with you on these matters. It's better that you discussed
them with Baba.' Waseem was tired. ‗You know, you're not doing the right
thing by getting into this pointless argument. I am going to tell Baba all thatyou've been saying and also what you've been reading,' he threatened as he
left the room.
Imama was perplexed—she walked about her room, biting her lip. She was
afraid of her father and feared his reaction when Waseem would tell him
about her—and she knew he would.
...…..
Waseem did tell Hashim Mubeen about his conversation with Imama but he
censored much that would have provoked his father. Despite that, Hashim
Mubeen was shocked into silence.
‗So Imama told you all this?' he enquired after a long pause. Waseem nodded
in assent.
‗Call her.' Waseem hesitated as he left the room, but instead of going to
Imama himself he sent a servant to do his father's bidding and returned to his
own room. He did not want to be present when his father confronted her.
Imama knocked at her father's door and entered. He and their mother were
seated there in absolute silence. The way her father looked at her made her
tremble.
‗Baba, did you…send for me?' in spite of her effort to control herself, her
voice faltered.
‗Yes, I did. What's this rubbish that you've been discussing with Waseem?'
He asked angrily, without any preliminaries. ‗What did I ask you?' he
shouted again. ‗You should die of shame! You are sinning and dragging us
down with yourself!' Tears sprang to Imama's eyes.
‗We are ashamed to call you our offspring!' He was livid. ‗What are these
books that you have brought here? You will return them tomorrow to
wherever they came from—or I'll throw them out!'
‗Yes, Baba,' replied Imama, wiping away her tears.
‗And if you see Javeria again or talk to her, I'll put an end to your going to
college.'
‗Baba, Javeria did not say anything to me. She does not even know any of
this.' Imama protested in a more firm tone.
‗Then who is it that has filled your head with this garbage?' he thundered.
‗I did so…myself…' Imama tried to explain.
‗Who do you think you are? Look at your age and you dare to question your
faith and the veracity of your prophet!' His temper flared again. ‗Look at me.
I have spent all my life preaching his religion—am I blind to have done this or
are you wiser? You hardly know anything and here you are questioning our
faith.' Hashim Mubeen rose from his place. ‗You were born with a silverspoon in your mouth because of this prophet whose infallibility you are
questioning today. If it were not for him our family would have been out on
the streets today; yet you are ungrateful and are denying the very source of
your prosperity.'
Hashim Mubeen's voice grew hoarse and Imama's tears flowed faster.
‗No more education for you! All this learning is leading you astray!'
His words left Imama speechless, stunned. Even in her wildest dreams she had
not expected to be denied education.
‗Baba, I am sorry!' she pleaded. Her father had brought her to her knees.
‗I do not need your apologies or excuses. I've made myself clear—you will
stay home from now.'
‗Baba, this is not…what I meant. I…I don't know what Waseem has told you.
I'm telling you that in future I will not read anything you don't want me to. I
will not say anything you disprove of. Baba, please!' She was crying, begging
with her father.
Her entreaties and pleas continued as she kept apologizing to her father for
the next few days. Eventually, by the end of the week, he softened his stance
and relented: Imama was allowed to go back to college. But for all those days,
she was at the receiving end of taunts and barbs from everyone in the family.
So, though Hashim Mubeen, with very strict warnings, had allowed her to
return to college, the attitude of her family further distanced her from her
faith. She did not stop reading the books that had provoked her thought: the
only difference was that instead of bringing them home she read them in the
college library.
After making it to the merit list in the F.Sc. examinations, Imama got
admission into medical college. Javeria also got admission into the same
institution and now their bonds of friendship were stronger than before—the
main reason for that was the change that had come in Imama.
----------------
Imama's first meeting with Sabiha was purely by chance. One of Javeria's
classmates was Sabiha's cousin, and it was through her that Imama came to
know her. Sabiha was associated with the student wing of a religious
organization and delivered a weekly lecture in class on any one aspect of
Islam. These lectures were attended by about forty to fifty girls.
When Imama and her friends were first introduced to Sabiha, she had invited
them all to the lecture.
‗I'll definitely come—you can be assured of my attendance,' responded
Javeria.
‗I'll try, but I can't promise,' said Rabia, with a sheepish smile.‗I won't be able to make it. I'll be busy that day.' Zainab excused herself.
With a smile, Sabiha turned to Imama, who had been listening quietly. ‗And
what about you? Will you come?' she asked her. Flustered, Imama exchanged
a glance with Javeria who was looking at her.
‗By the way, what is your topic this time?' asked Javeria—maybe to turn
Sabiha's attention away from Imama.
‗This time we'll talk about squandering money. This trend is pushing our
society into decline—we'll talk about what measures should be taken to
control it,' Sabiha explained.
‗Imama, you didn't tell me if you'll come to the lecture.' Sabiha turned to her
again. Imama paled. ‗Ill let you know,' she stammered.
‗I'll be very happy if the three of you come to the lecture with Javeria. We
can't do it everyday, but we should make an effort at least occasionally to
learn about our faith. I am not the only one who speaks on religion. Anyone
from the audience is welcome to speak on the selected topic, and if there's any
special issue to be discussed then that can also be arranged, 'explained Sabiha
before she left with Javeria and her cousin.
When they were in the corridor, she turned to Javeria and said, ‗I felt Imama
wanted to come: why don't you bring her along?'
‗She follows a different faith. She will never participate in such gatherings,'
said Javeria, very seriously. Surprised, Sabiha looked at her.
‗Then you ought to invite her to study Islam. Perhaps she may, in this way, be
able to tell between right and wrong,' said Sabiha.
‗I tried it once—she became very angry. I do not want our longstanding
friendship to come to an end on this score,' replied Javeria.
‗True friends are those who save another from going astray: it is your duty to
do so.'
‗Yes, but what if one is not ready to hear a word about it?'
‗Even so it's our moral duty to say what is right. It is possible that one is
compelled to think about what you say.'
Javeria conceded with a smile that Sabiha was right in her stand.
--------------------
‗Will you go to her lecture?' Zainab asked Rabia when Sabiha was out of
earshot.
‗No, I don't intend to. I can't digest such stuff,' Rabia replied casually,
gathering up her books. She was more liberal in her thinking compared to
Imama, Javeria and Zainab and not particularly inclined towards religion.
‗I have heard a lot of praise for Sabiha, though,' responded Zainab.
‗Most certainly—Sabiha does speak very well,' Rabia said. ‗I have heard that her father is also associated with some religious organization—obviously, that
would have some effect,' Rabia added.
Imama was sitting at a distance, ostensibly studying her books but could hear
the conversation. She was grateful that they had not tried to drag her into the
discussion.
Three days later, she made an excuse and went off at the specified time to
hear Sabiha's lecture. Zainab, Rabia and Javeria had decided to stay away
from the lecture, so Imama changed her mind and decided to go but did not
tell them where she was going.
Sabiha was somewhat surprised to see Imama. ‗I'm very glad to see you here.
I did not expect you to come,' she said, greeting Imama warmly.
This was Imama's first step towards changing her faith. During this period
she had read so much on Islam that, at least, she was not ignorant or
uninformed about it. She was also well-versed about the Islamic and Quranic
injunctions about squandering wealth and being spendthrifts. Yet her real
reason why she had accepted Sabiha's invitation was to cover the distance
from her professed faith to Islam—a difficult task.
And then, this was not the first and last lecture she attended. Week after
week, she continued to listen to the lectures; hearing from another person the
same things that she had read, left an impact on her. Her admiration and
belief in Sabiha grew with time. Sabiha did not let Imama know that she had
known about Imama's faith. It was about two months since she had started
meeting Sabiha that there was a lecture on the finality of the Prophet
Muhammad (PBUH).
‗The Holy Quran is a book that was divinely revealed to Hazrat Muhammad
(PBUH),' began Sabiha, ‗and in the Quran Allah declares that prophethood
came to an end with Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH). There is no margin here for
any other prophet to follow. If there is any mention of another prophet, like
Hazrat Isa (AS), returning to this life it is not as a new prophet; rather, it is by
Allah's will that a prophet appointed much before Hazrat Muhammad
(PBUH) returns not for his own people but for the followers of our Holy
Prophet (PBUH), who will be Allah's last prophet on earth. At no time in the
past nor in the future has this seal of finality been given to anyone except
Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH), so is it possible that Allah will withdraw what
He has bestowed on one prophet to reward it to another?
‗In the Holy Quran, Allah asks who is truer to his word than Allah Almighty.
Is it possible that He should reject His own words? And if Prophet
Muhammad (PBUH) himself is witness to his being the last and final
messenger of Allah, then is it proper and justified that we should even
entertain anyone else's claims to prophethood? Man is the only one of God's creations that has been blessed with the faculty of reason and he can use this
intelligence to search for evidence of God's existence. He does not stop there—
his thinking extends to God's prophets; he seeks out the divine messengers
and questions their message before declaring his faith in them. Despite the
injunctions of the Quran, man searches for more prophets, forgetting that
prophets are not man-made but appointed by God. Today we are in the last
decades of human evolution when the course of prophethood has ceased
because God has selected one faith and one prophet for mankind.
‗There is no further need for any new faith, except to follow what has been
sent, and not just to follow, but to practice this last and final faith completed
with Hazrat Muhammad Mustafa (PBUH). Those who do not hold fast to
Allah's bonds and, instead, spread dissensions, will be in loss. What difference
would there be then between us and an animal that breaks away from its herd
to chase a bundle of grass?'
In this forty-minute long lecture, Sabiha never once mentioned any other sect
or belief. Whatever she said was relevant: the only irrelevant thing was about
the finality of Hazrat Muhammad's prophethood, that he was the last divine
messenger who died 1400 years ago in Madina. During his life and since then,
all Muslims have stood in his shadow as one community, and even today, he
alone is our prophet and guide. There has not been nor will be any other
prophet after him, and those who believe otherwise should take stock of their
beliefs and clear their minds and hearts of the chaos they find themselves in.'
Imama used to meet Sabiha after every lecture, but this time she left swiftly
without seeing her. Her mind was seething in confusion and she came out of
the college and began walking; she walked on for a long time—over footpaths,
across the roads, on and on, not realizing how far she had come. She sat down
on a bench by the canal. The sun was about to set. Out on the road, the traffic
was crowded and noisy. She just sat silent, watching the water flow past. After
a long spell of silence, she muttered to herself.
‗What am I doing to myself? Why am I going round in circles? What am I
searching for and why? I didn't come to Lahore for this—I came here to
study medicine, to become the best ophthalmologist ever. Why does
everything come to an end for me with the word ‗prophet'? Why?' She buried
her face in her hands.
‗I have to get out of this—I can't focus on my studies this way. My problem
should not be religion and faith—whatever was handed down by my elders,
right or wrong, should suffice. I won't go to Sabiha's lectures again, nor will I
think about any faiths or prophets,' she thought as she sat there.
It was 8.00 p.m. when she returned. Rabia and Javeria were quite concerned.
‗I'd just gone to the bazaar,' Imama told them with a drawn face.‗Hey, Imama! You've come after a long time. Why did you stop coming?' It
had been quite some time since Imama had been to Sabiha's and the lecture
that was just about to begin.
‗I need to talk to you about some things. I'll wait out here till you're through,'
said Imama instead of replying to her query.
When Sabiha came out of the room 45 minutes later, she found Imama
strolling in the corridor. They went back to the room which was now empty.
Sabiha looked at Imama, waiting for her to begin.
Imama was lost in thought for a while; then she said, ‗Are you aware of my
faith?'
‗Yes, I am. Javeria told me,' Sabiha replied calmly.
‗I cannot tell you how frustrated I am…I feel like running away from this
world! I … I …' She held her head. ‗I know that…' She stopped midway
again. ‗But I cannot give up my faith. I'll be destroyed—my parents will kill
me. My career, my dreams, all will be lost. I have even stopped praying, but I
don't know why I cannot find peace. Please try to understand my situation—I
feel all this is wrong, but I don't know what is right.'
‗Imama, accept true Islam.' Sabiha's response was this one statement.
‗I can't do this—I told you what problems I'll face!'
‗Then why did you come to me?' Sabiha was very composed.
‗I don't know why I've come to you,' she said helplessly.
‗You came because you wanted to hear just that one sentence. I cannot give
you any justification. You are not in search of any answers because you know
them. You just have to accept the truth—isn't that so?'
Imama's eyes were brimming with tears. ‗I feel as if the earth is slipping away
from under my feet—as if I am floating in space.' Her voice was choked.
Sabiha did not reply: she was reading ‗Bismillah'.
Imama wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‗There's nothing, Sabiha! I
can see nothing,' she said looking at her.
‗La Ilaha illallah' Sabiha began to recite the kalima softly. Imama sobbed, her
face covered by her hands as she repeated the words after Sabiha.
‗Muhammad ur Rasool Allah,' she said next, her voice close to breaking.
Imama was unable to comprehend why she felt so tearful—she had no regrets,
she was not unhappy, yet she could not control her sobbing. When she did
stop after quite a while, she found Sabiha sitting there—and looked at her
Rabia and Javeria stared at each other in shocked silence. Imama kept
drawing patterns on the floor with her foot, lost in thought.
Javeria broke the spell. ‗You ought to have told us all about this earlier on.'
Imama looked up at her serenely. ‗And what would that do?'
‗At least we would not have had such misgivings about you. We could have
helped you.'
Imama shook her head and in a strange tone, replied, ‗That would have made
no difference.'
Javeria moved closer to her and spoke gently. ‗I am very happy that you have
made the right decision, Imama, that you've turned away—better late than
never—from a wrong path. You have no idea how I feel about this.'
Imama looked at her quietly. Javeria continued, ‗If there's anything we both
can do for you, then don't hesitate to ask us: we'll be only too happy.'
‗I will need your support—a great deal,' Imama replied.
‗Is it because of me that you have taken this decision and changed your faith?'
Javeria was saying.
Imama looked at her, surprised. ‗Because of you?' she thought. Her mind
clouded and a face began to emerge from that fog like someone surfacing from
water. Imama smiled as she recognised the features and heard the voice.
To him who begs for a drop
You grant the seas.
‗Just don't let anyone else know about this. Not even Zainab.' Javeria and
Rabia nodded in agreement.
Poore qad se jo khara hoon to ye tera hai karam
(If I stand tall today it is your mercy)
Mujh ko jhukne nahi deta sahara tera
(For your support lets me not waver)
She knew this voice, she knew this face. It was Jalal Ansar's.
---------------
A few days after Imama had joined the medical college, she called Zainab in
Lahore when she had come home to Islamabad for a weekend.
‗Hold on, child, I'll call Zainab.' Her mother had received the call. As Imama
waited she heard a well-known poem in praise of the Prophet (pbuh) being
recited in a male voice—whoever it was, there was a passion in his recital.Qatra mange jo use too use darya de day
(To him who begs for a drop
You grant the seas.)
Mujh ko kuch aur na de apni tamanna de day
(And I ask you for nothing but your love)
She had no idea that a man's voice could be so beautiful that it could cast a
spell over all. Imama stood awed, as if she had forgotten how to breathe.
Log kehte hain ke saya tere paikar ka na tha
(The light of your frame never cast a shadow they say,)
Me to kehta hoon jahan bhar pe hai saya tera
(But I say the universe itself is in your blessed shade)
In human lives, some moments are blessed, like that auspicious night in Shab-
e-Qadr/the Night of Power which some people carelessly allow to slip away.
But some wait patiently, hands raised in prayer, begging for His blessings.
This is the awaited moment that stills flowing waters and makes still waters
flow, that turns the unspoken prayer into fate. This blessed point of time came
into Imama Hashim's life not during the Night of Power nor had she stretched
her hands to Heaven in prayer, yet the earth and stars stood still in their
course—the cosmos was a dome where just one voice echoed.
Dastgiri meri tanhai ki too ne hi to ki
(Sole companion of my solitude)
Me to mar jata agar sath na hota tera
(But for your succor, I would no longer be)
Wo andheron me bhi durrana guzar jate hain
(Undaunted, they cross the darkness)
Jin ke maathe pe chamkta hai sitara tera
(Whose brows are illumined by your brilliance)
The voice was strong and clear. Imama sat mesmerized, the receiver held to
her ear.
‗Hello Imama!' It was Zainab. The man's voice disappeared the earth that
had stopped began to spin again.
‗Hello, Imama, can you hear me?' She was jolted back to life.
‗Yes, I can…'
‗That's better: I thought the line had dropped,' Zainab said with some relief.
Imama chatted with her awhile but her mind was engaged somewhere else.
.....
Jalal Ansar was Zainab's older brother. Imama knew about him but they had
not met. Zainab and Imama were classmates and first met when Imama
joined college. Their acquaintanceship grew and so Imama got to know about
her family, that they were four siblings and Jalal was the eldest; he was doing
a house job as a doctor. Zainab's father was an engineer in WAPDA and their
family was quite religious.
On her return to from Islamabad, Imama said, ‗Zainab, that night when I'd
called, there was someone reciting a naat in the background. Who was it?' She
tried not to be too curious.
‗Oh, that …that was Jalal Bhai. He was practicing for a naat competition.
Our phone's in the corridor and his room was open so you must have heard
him,' she explained.
‗He has a very nice voice.'
‗Yes, he does. His recital of the Quran is even better than the naat. He's won
many prizes for his recitals. He's going to participate in a competition in
college—you must come.'
Zainab did not know then about Imama's religious leanings. She was very
careful about purdah so Zainab thought Imama too was from a conservative
background like herself.
Two or three days later, without informing her friends Imama bunked classes
to attend the naat competition. That was when she saw Jalal Ansar for the
first time. He was a bearded young man, about 25 years old, and resembled
Zainab. Imama's eyes followed him as he rose from his seat and came on stage
to take his place at the rostrum. Eyes closed and arms folded across his chest,
he began reciting:
Kuch nahi mangta shahon se ye sheda tera
(Your admirer asks nothing from the kings)
Is ki dolat hai faqat naqsh-e-qaf-e-paa tera
(For the dust of your tracks is my greatest reward)
A current seemed to run through Imama. There was pin drop silence in the
hall where only his voice echoed, casting a spell. She did not notice when he
finished and came offstage, who came next, what the outcome of the
competition was or when the last student left the hall. After a long time the realization hit her that she was the only one sitting there.
‗I heard your brother recite yesterday,' she told Zainab.
‗Really? He won the first prize.' Zainab smiled.
After a pause, Imama replied, ‗It was a beautiful naat.'
‗He has been reciting the Quran and naats since childhood and winning
awards. Now he has lost count,' Zainab said with some pride. ‗The beauty of
his voice lies in the depth of his faith and the passion with which he recites,'
she continued. ‗He venerates and adores the Holy Prophet (pbuh) beyond
limits. He has never recited anything except the Quran and naats. Whenever
asked to participate in other events, he says that the tongue that serves God
and His Messenger could never sing praises of anyone else.
‗We love the Prophet (pbuh) too, but I have not seen the kind of adoration
that my brother has. He has not missed a single prayer in the last ten years
and he completes the reading of the entire Quran every month. You've got to
listen to his Qirat…' Zainab extolled her brother. Imama listened to her
quietly but did not ask any more questions.
The next day, Imama just lay curled up in bed instead of getting ready for
class.
‗Don't you have a class? It's getting late.' Javeria tried to awaken her.
‗You run along—I'm not going,' Imama said, closing her eyes again.
‗Why?'
‗Not feeling good,' said Imama.
‗Your eyes are irritated—too red. Didn't you sleep well last night?'
‗No… and now, please let me sleep.' Imama warded off more inquiry and
Javeria left for class.
Imama had indeed not slept well. Jalal Ansar's voice kept echoing around her
and she could hardly focus on anything else. She kept repeating his name
under her breath, wondering what attracted her so, why she could not
dislodge him from her mind. Imama recalled Zainab's words as she stood by
the window. ‗The beauty of his voice lies in the depth of his faith and the
passion with which he recites. He venerates and adores the Holy Prophet
(pbuh).'
Depth of faith, passion, the pain and sweetness of his voice…what was it that
had moved her so? ‗The world begins with the adoration of the Creator and
ends with the adoration of His messenger, the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh),'
she remembered. The thought plunged her into silence and deeper thoughts—
as if she were descending step by step into herself, searching the dark void for
some light, some guidance. ‗What is it about the Prophet (pbuh) that brings
tears to the eyes of his devotees? That touches a chord in their hearts? Faith?
Veneration? Passion? Why was I not moved to tears? Why did words of praise not rise on my lips?'
Imama's voice broke as she tried to recite the verses presented by Jalal. She
cleared her throat and tried again, and tried again, standing by the open
window. Halfway, she stopped: it was Jalal's voice that haunted her, loud and
clear, like a call to prayer. She felt a wetness on her face and realized that she
was crying. Her fingers touched her streaming eyes. Confused, and covering
her face with her hands, she sank to the floor and sobbed her heart out.
The most difficult dilemma for a person is perhaps when his heart testifies to
an inevitable reality yet his tongue will not proclaim it, when his mind
screams in acceptance of the truth but he cannot bring himself to state it.
Imama Hashim found herself at the same crossroads. The decision that had
tortured her for the last two or three years had been made by a call—without
searching or examining the basis of faith in the Hoy Prophet (pbuh). For
years, she had heard praises being sung of their prophet, yet they never
evoked such a response—brought no tears to her eyes nor softened her
heart—but whenever she had heard, read or talked about Hazrat Muhammad
(pbuh) she found herself strangely moved, drawn towards him. Her resistance
to Sabiha's lectures evaporated, and Jalal Ansar's voice was like a firefly
leading the way.
Me tujhe alam-e-ashya me bhi paa leta hoon
(Your presence guides me in the material world,)
Log kehte hain ke hai alam-e-baala tera
(Though your abode is celestial I am told.)
-------------------
This was the beginning of a new journey for Imama. She went to Sabiha
regularly and participation in these gatherings reaffirmed her decision and
dispelled her doubts. Change of faith was a grave decision for Imama, one
that impacted every aspect of her life. She could no longer marry Asjad as he
was not a Muslim; she had to distance herself from her family, sooner or later,
as she could not live in an environment where the truths and principles of
Islam were being blatantly distorted. She began to have doubts about the
source of the funds that paid for her education, and that she received for her
expenses. That life that had seemed like a fairy tale now appeared to be
nightmare though she herself had chosen this path. She was amazed at her
decision to convert: she had prayed to the Almighty for courage and
steadfastness and He had rewarded her but she was still young enough to fall
prey to fears and suspicions.
‗Imama, do not disclose your faith to your parents as yet. You should be able
to survive on your own—then you can refuse to marry Asjad and tell your
family about your conversion,' advised Sabiha, when they discussed Imama's
dilemma.
‗I do not want to spend the money my father gives me, especially when I know
that he has acquired his wealth by propagating a false religion. It would not
be right to use such funds.'
‗That's right, but you have no option. It's better that you should complete
your education so that you're no longer dependent on your father then.' Even
if Sabiha had not shown her a way out, Imama had no choice: she did not
have the courage to give up her dream.
-----------------------------
It was 10 p.m. when he came out of the cinema hall and walked on, munching
on leftover popcorn. Half an hour later, he rang the bell of a huge mansion.
‗Shall I serve dinner, Sir?' the servant inquired.
‗No.'
‗Milk?'
‗No.' He walked to his room and shut the door. Switching on the light, he
aimlessly turned over the books and papers scattered around. Then he went
into the bathroom and taking a new razor blade from the shaving kit, he came
and sat on his bed. He turned on the bedside lamp and switched off the main
lights. Very carefully, he unwrapped the blade and then with a swift sharp
move, sliced across his right wrist. A whimper escaped him but he clenched
his lips. He tried to keep his eyes open as his right arm drooped over the edge,
blood flowing in a steady stream onto the carpet.
His mind seemed to fall into a vortex from which sudden explosions jolted
him. The noise increased and he opened his eyes, but he could not make any
sense of it.
----------------------
She was rudely awakened from sleep. ‗Imama! Imama!' It was Waseem,
shouting out her name and loudly banging on the door.
‗What is it? Why are you shouting?' She opened the door to find Waseem in a
state of panic.
‗Do you have a First Aid kit?'
‗Yes. Why?' She felt the ground slipping away.
‗Just get it and come with me. Choo-Choo has tried to kill himself again—he
slashed his wrist. Their servant is downstairs…come on!'
Imama suddenly sighed in relief. ‗Your friend belongs in a mental hospital,
considering his behavior,' she said with annoyance as she picked up her dupatta and followed Waseem.
‗I've just seen him—he's still conscious,' said Waseem as they came down the
stairs.
‗You should have taken him straight to the hospital.'
‗That I'll do, but at least bandage his wrist so that the bleeding stops.'
‗I can't do very much, Waseem. God knows what he used to cut his wrist,
Anyway, where's his family?' Imama asked.
‗No one's at home except for the servants. They came to tell him about a
phone call and finding no response, they broke down the door.'
Imama tried to say something about Salar, but Waseem turned around
angrily. ‗For God's sake, can't you stop your comments? His condition is
serious and you go on maligning him!'
‗I have no sympathy for people who do such things.' They were now in Salar's
house and, shortly, entered his room. Imama stopped in the doorway,
shocked. The entire room was plastered with life-size posters of half-nude
models—almost as if they were actually there. She blushed and the injured
young man on the bed fell further in her opinion. The posters reflected the
shallowness of his character and were a source of embarrassment for Imama
because of the presence of other people in the room.
She quickly moved to the bed where Salar Sikandar lay. Waseem tightly held
his wrist, covered with a corner of the bed sheet, to staunch the bleeding while
Salar, half-conscious, tried to wrest himself free and at the same time
attempted to talk to Waseem and the servants.
‗Look at his wound,' Waseem said, as he held out Salar's wrist. Imama sat
down and removed the sheet—the cut was long and deep. Salar again yanked
his arm but Imama's grip was firm.
‗Waseem, get me the bandage from the kit. The wound is too deep—we can't
do anything here, he needs to be taken to the hospital. I'll bandage his wrist to
control the bleeding,' she said.
Salar jerked his head and tried to open his eyes. Everything was shrouded in a
mist through which he saw a girl holding his arm very firmly. Agitated, he
tried to pull his arm away but a current of pain shot through: he felt almost as
if he would die but the next minute he again tried to free himself.
‗Who the hell are you? Go away! Get lost!' he faltered despite his anger. ‗This
is my room…. how dare you enter it? You're Waseem…get out! Just get
lost…bloody bastard!' he shouted, stumbling over his words.
Imama heard him abuse her brother but did not let go of Salar's arm and in
spite of his thrashing around, managed to bandage his wrist. Through the fog,
Salar felt something gentle around his wrist. Once again, he attempted to
release himself using his left arm to pull away, but he failed. His arm hit the girl's head, her dupatta slipped away and her hair fell open. She held on to his
wrist with her left hand and her right hand slapped him sharply across his
face. It was such a stinging blow that he came to for a moment to see her face,
red with anger.
‗If you make another move, and I promise that I'll slash your other wrist
too—do you hear me?' she shouted.
Salar heard Waseem say something too, but he couldn't make out his words.
As he lost consciousness, he heard a female voice, ‗Check his blood
pressure…' He suddenly remembered the slap on his face and tried to look
up, he heard the girl's voice again but the words escaped him as he slipped
into darkness.
The next time he came to, he was in a private clinic. He opened his eyes to look
around: a nurse was present in the room, adjusting the drip. Salar saw her
smiling and tried to say something but once again, he faded into the dark.
He could not recall when he regained consciousness the second time, but he
found himself surrounded by familiar faces. His mother came close as he
opened his eyes.
‗How are you feeling?'
‗Just fine,' he replied softly, looking at Sikandar Usman who stood at a
distance. Before she could say more, a doctor in the room came up to check
his pulse. He gave Salar an injection and gave him another drip. Salar
watched the proceedings listlessly and turned his eyes to the ceiling as the
doctor spoke to Sikandar Usman and his wife, Tyaba.
There was absolute silence in the room. Sikandar and Tyaba sat, despondent.
Despite their best efforts and precautions Salar had attempted suicide the
fourth time, and had nearly succeeded. A few minutes delay would have been
the end of him, the doctors said.
Sikandar Usman and his wife had been informed about Salar by the servant
at two in the morning. In their desperation and anxiety, they could hardly
sleep, and Sikandar must have smoked more than a hundred cigarettes till
they caught the morning flight from Karachi to Islamabad.
‗I fail to understand why he does this…all our guidance, our counseling have
had no effect on him. It seems my mind will explode when I think about him.
What have we deprived him of? What have we not given him? All the
luxuries, the best education…I even took him to the best psychiatrist and yet
this is the result. Where did we go wrong that we should be punished so? I'm
the laughing stock of my friends and acquaintances.'
Sikandar was deeply worried. He walked a knife's edge as far as Salar was
concerned and a moment of neglect had ended in this mishap. Tyaba wiped her tears. Now in the hospital, they were at a loss for words, but Salar
recognized their state of mind and welcomed their silence. However, three
days later they confronted him.
‗Just tell me why you do such things?' Sikandar asked him with equanimity.
‗What is the problem? You had promised not to behave like this. I even got
you a sports car as a reward. Yet you seem to have no regard for us or your
family's position.'
Salar sat unresponsive. ‗If nothing else, at least think about us, your parents,'
pleaded Tyaba. ‗If there's a problem, share it…discuss it, but for God's sake,
don't try to take your life. Have you ever considered what would have
happened to us if you had succeeded?'
Salar listened to them impassively. This was nothing new: it was the usual
dialogue after every failed suicide attempt.
‗Why are you silent? Haven't you understood us?' Tyaba was frustrated and
angry. ‗You seem to get a kick out of humiliating your parents!' They used his
achievements and his potential as an incentive to evoke a response, and Salar
thought, ‗Here they go again.' He yawned.
Finally, he spoke. ‗What can I say when you've said it all? My life is a
personal matter for me and I'd told you earlier that I did not intend to die…'
Sikandar intervened. ‗Whatever you intend, don't do it! Have pity on us!'
‗Just say that you'll not do such things again. Please stop,' Tyaba implored.
‗Very well, I won't,' replied Salar, to free himself of their pleas and despair.
Sikandar and Tyaba were not convinced, but they had little choice. They had
always been so proud of Salar, yet he alone had given them more worries than
all their other children together.
--------------------
‗How's your friend now? Did you look him up?' Imama was out with Waseem
when she was suddenly reminded of Salar.
‗Better. He may be discharged in a couple of days,' replied Waseem. ‗Shall we
check on him on our way back?'
Imama was a little hesitant but Waseem reassured her and she agreed
although she thought it was pointless to enquire about the welfare of such a
patient.
‗One would have thought his parents would have had the courtesy to visit us
or thank us for helping him,' she said.
‗You have no idea of their condition,' objected Waseem. ‗What do you expect
them to say if they are asked, when they come here, why their son does such
things? For fun?' He felt sorry for them and said, ‗His parents did thank me
profusely and also thanked Ammi and Baba when they had gone to the hospital to see Salar. I'm glad they did not mention the incident to his
parents—it would have been awful.'
‗But why does your friend act this way?' Imama persisted.
‗You're asking me as though he informs me before he decides to take his life.'
Waseem was quite annoyed.
‗He's a close friend of yours.'
‗Not all that close either. Besides, what he does is his business. Maybe there's
a problem.'
‗Then you should keep a distance from such people. What if you should start
behaving in the same way tomorrow?'
‗If you remember the way you behaved that day, that incident will certainly
create a difference in this friendship,' Waseem said smugly. ‗It was not quite
the right reaction on your part.'
‗I don't think he'll remember that slap—he was hardly conscious. Why? Did
he say something?' Imama asked. ‗Besides, he was trying to pull his arm away
and he was abusing and then he pulled off my dupatta,' she added.
Waseem tried to defend Salar.
‗Whatever it was, I was very angry then, but I regretted it and was grateful to
Allah that his life was saved—or else I'd feel terrible about slapping him.'
Imama was really remorseful, but when Waseem suggested she apologize to
Salar, Imama refused. ‗Why should I rake up what's past? Besides, he's not
so close that this should affect our relationship.'
When they were through with their shopping, Waseem drove to the clinic to
see Salar. He was having soup when they walked in and he immediately
recognized the girl with Waseem. Salar's mother had told him that it was
Waseem's sister who gave him first aid—he remembered nothing of that but
he did remember the tight slap across his face. He stopped as he saw Imama.
His piercing look convinced her that he had notforgotten the events of that
night.
After exchanging greetings, Tyaba and Sikander Usman thanked Imama.
Salar had known Waseem for some years now, and had seen Imama at their
house but had never really paid attention to her. However, he stared at her
rather critically: he was not grateful or indebted to her—she had ruined his
plans by saving his life. Imama continued to talk to his mother but was also
acutely aware of his eyes on her. Never before had anyone looked at her so
distastefully—she felt like walking out. Salar sank further in her opinion; she
had meant to apologize, but now she felt like landing him with a few more
hard slaps.
A while later, they said their goodbyes but Imama did not bother to address
Salar and left without even looking at him. She was relieved to be out. She criticized Waseem on his choice of friends. He was taken aback and asked her
why.
‗He does not even have the courtesy—after all he knows I'm your sister and
that I was in the room with you. He's not worth wasting one's time on—and it
is better that you have little to do with him.'
‗I'll be careful,' Waseem assured her. ‗You need not repeat this episode.' He
tried to change the subject and Imama kept a studied silence. But Salar was
now on her list of objectionable persons. It was a coincidence that she was in
Islamabad when this incident took place, otherwise she would not have had
this unpleasant introduction and close encounter with Salar.
---------------------
After her conversion to Islam, Imama saw Jalal Ansar closely when he came
to their college. She was sitting with her friends on the lawn and he came to
have a word with Zainab. They moved to a side, but Imama could not take her
eyes of him. A strange sensation of happiness surrounded her. He left but her
gaze followed him till he was out of sight. Her friends were busy in
conversation, but she was oblivious to her surroundings. It was when she
could see him no more that she was jolted back to reality.
Her second encounter with him was at Zainab's house when she accompanied
her home from college. Zainab had been asking her friends over but everyone
else declined with one pretext or another, so Imama went along. She used to
feel an inexplicable sense of peace in Zainab's house—perhaps, it was the
association with Jalal.
Imama was waiting in the drawing room while Zainab went to get the tea.
Jalal walked in and was surprised to see Imama; he did not expect to find her
there. He greeted her in his usual manner and Imama responded, shyly.
‗Did you come with Zainab?' he asked. ‗Where is she? I needed to talk to her.
I didn't know she had company,' he excused himself and turned around.
‗You recite naats very well,' said Imama spontaneously. He stopped in his
tracks.
‗Thank you. Where did you hear me?'
‗When I had called Zainab one day and was waiting for her…and then Zainab
told me about the competition. You had recited that naat…' She went on and
Jalal was at a loss—should he feel happy or surprised?
He thanked her for the compliment—this tall, slim chadar-clad young woman
whose dark eyes had a strange impact on him. Many people had praised his
skill but this girl's praise was remarkable, and more so was her expression of
it. He walked away from the drawing room. Speaking to girls was not his
forte, much less to one whom he barely knew. Imama sat there in a state of ecstasy—she could not believe that she had
spoken to Jalal Ansar. So close—facing her. She stared at the spot where he
had been standing a while ago, and in her mind's eye she could still see him
there.
------------------
Their next meeting was at the hospital. If Imama had been to Zainab's house
by choice, then this meeting was by chance. She had accompanied Rabia who
wanted to meet a friend there. She missed a heartbeat when saw Jalal in the
corridor with a group of Final Year students. The corridor was too crowded
for Imama to move towards him and she realized then how hard it was for her
to stop herself. Even as she sat in the room, her thoughts were out there with
him.
When Rabia and Imama came out after more than an hour, the students had
dispersed from the corridor; she felt a pang of disappointment. Rabia was
busy chatting when going down the stairs and they came face to face with
Jalal. Imama felt an electric wave run through her.
‗Assalaam Alaikum, Jalal Bhai! How are you?' Rabia greeted him.
Jalal replied politely, then asked what brought them to the hospital. Rabia
explained the reason while Imama stood looking at him quietly.
Dastgiri meri tanhai ki too ne hi to ki
(You have been my saviour in my loneliness)
Me to mar jata agar sath na hota tera
(Were it not for you, I would have been dead)
His voice seemed to send her into a trance. Seldom had she heard anyone
speak such chaste Urdu, and every time he spoke, his voice reminded her of
the same beautiful naat she had first listened to. She felt curiously proud, and
envious looking at him.
Speaking to Rabia, Jalal had perhaps realized Imama's concentration and
turned to her with a smile. Imama looked away. For a moment she had an
irrepressible desire to get closer to him. She looked away from him, and
glancing about her, recited ‗la- haul' under her breath. ‗Maybe Satan wants
to lead me astray,' she thought to herself, but despite her supplications to
ward off evil, there was no difference in her feelings: she still felt the same
attraction.
Despite the years-long engagement to Asjad, she had never felt drawn to him
this way. Standing there that day, she feared Jalal for the first time. ‗What
will I do if I lose control of myself every time I set eyes on him? I was never so
weak. What is it about him that melts my will?'
----------------
Zainab knocked on Jalal's door and entered.
‗Are you free?' she asked, then continued. ‗I have a request from a friend: can
you record some naats in your voice on a cassette?'
Jalal was surprised and looked enquiringly at her.
‗It's for my friend Imama. She requested me and I agreed.'
Jalal smiled—he was reminded of his meeting with her. ‗Isn't she the same
girl who was here?' he asked.
‗Yes. She's from Islamabad but studies here. She lives in the hostel. Her
father's a big industrialist, but she's very modest,' Zainab divulged.
‗Seems to be very religious, from what I saw of her with you,' observed Jalal.
‗The college environment has not affected her.'
‗Yes. She's always been wearing a chadar since she came and I think her
family's very conservative. But they're all very well-educated, her brothers
and sisters too. She's the youngest among them,' Zainab went on. ‗So you'll
record the cassette for me, won't you?'
‗You can have it tomorrow,' he replied. Zainab left the room and he returned
to his reading.
-----------------------
Their next encounter was in the library. Imama's reaction was spontaneous
when she saw him there: she went up and greeted him. ‗I wanted to thank
you.'
Jalal looked at her, confused.
‗For the cassette.'
He smiled at her. ‗I had no idea that such a request would be made of me.'
‗You're very fortunate,' she said softly.
‗In what way?'
‗In every way… you've been blessed with so much.'
‗So are you blessed,' he replied. She looked at him with a wistful smile and he
suspected her eyes were moist. She lowered her gaze.
‗To begin with I had nothing, but now I do,' she intoned with the same
softness. Jalal was trying to give meaning to her words. ‗You have such
veneration, such love for the Prophet (PBUH) when you say his name….' she
stopped midway, but Jalal waited for her to complete her words.
‗I envy you,' she said. ‗Not all people feel the same way as you do. Nor can
they express their adoration for him like you—in a way that leads the listener
to fall at the Prophet's (PBUH) feet. Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) must love you too.' She looked up at him, clear eyed.
‗Perhaps, it was a misconception on my part,' he thought, then spoke up. ‗If it
is so then indeed I am very fortunate. All I know is that I do feel a deep love
and respect for our Prophet (PBUH) and that is a blessing indeed for me.
Allah blesses few with this feeling.'
Jalal spoke with sentiment and Imama could not take her eyes off him. She
had never felt as insignificant before as she did now.
‗Perhaps, I may recite naats some day, but never with the passion of Jalal
Ansar. My voice will never move people the way his rectal does,' she thought
despairingly as she walked away from the library.
......….
After those meetings with Jalal, Imama tried her best to avoid him—even
avoid thinking about him. She tried to distance herself from Zainab too, but it
was all to no avail. Her helplessness increased with each passing day and she
was brought to her knees.
‗There's something about him that breaks all my defenses,' she conceded.
Perhaps it was this admission that turned her attention towards him again;
this may have been an unconscious act earlier on, but now she consciously put
Jalal in Asjad's place in her life.
‗What is wrong with my seeking the company of someone whose voice
compels me to return to the presence of my Prophet (PBUH)? Why should I
not desire a man whose love for the Prophet (PBUH) is more than mine? Why
should I not pray that our fates should be intertwined, that his name should
be my identity? He is someone I know, someone I envy for all that he's been
blessed with.' Imama had all the justifications, all the answers to validate her
emotions.
She began to find ways of being where Jalal would be. She'd call up Zainab
when she knew he would be home too, as he often received the phone. The
random conversations between them became longer and purposeful and
finally they began to meet. Javeria, Rabia and Zainab were unaware of the
growing friendship between Imama and Jalal. He was doing a house job and
Imama often went to his hospital. They had not declared their love but were
fully conscious of their sentiments for each other. He knew that her feelings
for him were stronger than just attraction just as she too was aware of his
feelings for her.
Jalal was so religious that he never expected to find himself thus involved with
a girl or that he would be meeting her this way, but it all happened
involuntarily and gradually. He did not mention his feelings for Imama to Zainab; had he done so, she would have told him about the engagement to
Asjad. Had he known, he would have been very careful and would not have
allowed the relationship to grow to this degree.
During one of their meetings, Imama came up with a proposal, much to
Jalal's amazement.
‗What do you plan to do when your house job's finished?'
‗I'll go abroad for specialization.'
‗And then?'
‗Then I'll return and set up my own hospital.'
‗Have you thought about marriage?' Her question caught him off guard.
‗Everyone thinks about marriage,' he smiled.
‗Who do you plan to marry?'
‗That remains to be seen.'
After a pause, Imama asked, ‗Will you marry me?'
Jalal was too stunned to reply.
‗Did I offend you?' she asked as he sat in shocked silence. She repeated her
question, shaking him out of his stupor.
‗It is a question I should have asked you. Will you marry me?'
‗Yes.' She was composed, collected. ‗And you?'
‗I…I …yes, of course. Who else would I marry?' He saw a glow on her face as
he completed his words. ‗When my house job's done, I'll send my parents to
your family formally.'
She was quiet for a while, then said, ‗Jalal, how could I marry you without my
parents' approval?'
He was surprised. ‗What do you mean?'
‗It could be that they may object to our marriage.'
‗Haven't you told them about us? How would you know their reaction?'
‗No,' she said. ‗But I know them.'
Jalal was perplexed. He had not expected any resistance on the part of her
parents, but she knew otherwise. ‗Will you still marry me, despite their
opposition?'
He pondered the situation and his silence pushed her into turmoil. At last, he
spoke. ‗Yes. Even then, you'd be my only choice. I cannot think of marrying
anyone else. I'll try to convince your parents to agree, but if they refuse then
we will go ahead all the same.'
‗Will your parents agree?' she asked.
‗Yes, and I will persuade them if they don't. They never refuse me,' he said
with a hint of pride.
---------------------------
‗Hello!' Imama turned round at the call. It was Salar, standing a few feet
away, as casual as ever with his shirt unbuttoned and hands thrust into his
jeans' pockets. Taimur was with him too. For a moment, Imama did not know
how to react.
‗Come, let me introduce you to the young lady,' said Salar when he saw
Imama at the bookshop.
‗This chadar-clad person?' Taimur was taken aback when he saw her. ‗Who's
this?'
‗She's Waseem's sister.'
‗What do you have to do with them? Waseem and his family are very
conservative, so why do you want to meet her?'
‗I'm not meeting her for the first time…I've met her before, and anyway,
what's the harm in talking to her?' Salar ignored Taimur's objections.
Imama's eyes moved from the magazine to Salar and to his friend. ‗How are
you?' he asked, seeing her look towards them.
‗Fine,' she replied.
Salar introduced Taimur, saying he was also Waseem's friend. ‗Waseem's out
there.' She gestured towards the shopping center.
‗But we're not here to meet him, said Salar. She looked at him seriously.
‗We're here to talk to you.'
‗I hardly know you, so what's there to talk about?' she replied coldly. She did
not like the look in Salar's eyes—he never spoke to people with his eyes
lowered, she thought, especially not to girls. She began to flip through the
magazine.
‗You don't know me?' he sneered. ‗I live right next to your house.'
‗You certainly do, but I don't know you ―personally‖,' she clarified, eyes till
fixed on the magazine.
‗Some months ago you saved my life,' he mocked her again.
‗As a medical student, that was my duty. I would have done that for anyone
dying in front of me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am busy.'
Salar did not budge even though Taimur tugged at his sleeve; he had some
regard for Imama because of Waseem. Salar freed himself.
‗I wanted to thank you for that night, although your treatment of me wasn't
altogether professional,' Salar said seriously and Imama looked up at him.
‗If you are referring to my slapping you, then it was unprofessional and I am
sorry (although I'm sure you deserved more),' she said swallowing the half
unsaid words.
‗I didn't mind that. I meant something else,' he replied nonchalantly. ‗You
bandaged my wrist very sloppily and you weren't even able to check my blood pressure properly,' he said, popping a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.
Imama felt her earlobes turning red. She stared at him without blinking. He
continued to mock her. ‗What a shame that you could not even do what any
untrained person can be expected to do.'
‗I am not a doctor: I'm a just a medical student. And as for being
unprofessional, there'll always be a next time since you are in the habit of
making such attempts. I can keep practicing on you to make myself perfect.'
But Salar was unfazed. He smiled at her saying, ‗If you are trying to
embarrass me…'
‗I will fail as you are not embarrassed,' she completed his statement. ‗I know
that because embarrassment is a trait found in humans.'
‗And what am I in your opinion?' Salar asked in the same tone.
‗A vet may be better able to answer that question,' she retorted. Salar burst
out laughing.
‗Every dictionary defines a bi-ped animal as a human being. I walk on two
feet.'
‗From a bear to a dog, animals can walk on two feet if required to or if they
desire to.'
‗But I have only two feet and I use them all the time.'
‗Well, you're lucky not to be four-legged; that's why you should go to a vet—
he'd be able to explain better.' Imama's tone was cold. She was disgusted, but
Salar was not to be put down.
‗You know so much about animals that you'd have made a great vet. I'm very
impressed by your knowledge.' Imama's face turned a deeper crimson. ‗If you
become my vet, I'll come to you for treatment and perhaps you could even do
research on me. What fee will you charge?' He talked in a serious tone and
Imama was at a loss. Getting into a conversation with him was inviting
trouble.
‗Waseem will inform you,' she said, trying to ward him off.
Salar joked about that suggestion despite understanding the threat in her
voice. Taimur tugged at him again. ‗Come on, Salar! I have work to do.'
‗OK, yaar—don't pull at me!' He then turned to Imama. ‗I was just joking—I
really wanted to thank you. You and Waseem were a great help. Bye!'
Imama breathed a sigh of relief seeing them go away. This fellow was truly
crazy: she was surprised that a person like Waseem could be friends with him.
‗Did Salar come to see you?' It was Waseem. He had seen Taimur and Salar
from a distance. ‗What did he have to say?' Waseem was curious.
I'm surprised how you can have such friends—I have yet to meet someone as
rude and obnoxious as him.' Imama was very annoyed. ‗He had come to
thank me and at the same time to tell me that I could neither bandage properly nor check blood pressure.'
‗Forget it,' Waseem smiled. ‗He's crackers.'
‗I felt like landing a few more slaps on his face…just turning up with his
friend who's no better. By the way, he said he was your friend too,' she
remembered.
‗Not exactly—just an acquaintance.'
‗How can you keep company with such boys? Look at the way they dress,
their appearance, the way they talk! You should have nothing to do with
them.'
Imama began to walk out and Waseem followed her.
‗I'm amazed though how he could have noted that the bandage was not
applied correctly or that I had a problem checking his blood pressure. He was
flailing about so much—how could he have observed what was going on?'
Imama was compelled to think.
‗He was right,' Waseem noted with a smile. ‗You did have a problem.'
‗I know, I was very nervous,' she conceded. ‗I'd never seen such a case before,
and all that gushing blood really scared me. And his attitude, to top it
all…I've not seen a suicide case behave this way.'
‗And you aspire to be a doctor, a competent and renowned one—it's
unbelievable!' he said.
‗I didn't tell you all this for you to make fun of me,' she protested as they
walked to the parking lot.
...….
Imama noticed a change in Zainab and Jalal over the last few days—it was in
their attitude. They seemed abrupt; there was a tension between them and
her. She tried calling Jalal a couple of times at the hospital, but the answer
was always the same: he was busy. When he came to pick up Zainab from the
college, he did not stop to meet her as before. And even if he came across
Imama, it was a perfunctory greeting.
She thought first that it was just her suspicion, but when this attitude became
more pronounced she decided to confront him and turned up at the hospital.
Jalal's reaction was cold and indifferent—not even a smile crossed his face
when he met her.
‗It's been a while since we met—so I thought I'd come over,' she said, trying
to shake off her fears.
‗I've got to go, my shift is about to begin.'
Imama was shocked. ‗Zainab told me your shift ends at this time, which is
why I came now.' Jalal was quiet for a few moments, then he replied. ‗Yes, that's right, but I
have some other work today.'
Imama tried to understand what he was thinking. ‗Jalal, are you upset with
me about something?'
‗No. I'm not upset with anyone,' he replied curtly.
‗Can you come out for ten minutes and hear me out?'
Jalal looked at her and, with his coat on his arm, came out without a word. He
glanced at his watch as if to give her a cue.
‗Why are you misbehaving with me this way?' she asked point-blank.
‗Am I misbehaving with you?' he countered.
‗You've been ignoring me for the past few days.'
‗Yes, I have.' Imama was taken aback by his blunt admission—it was
unexpected. ‗Because I do not want to meet you,' he completed his statement.
‗Why?' She was stunned. ‗There must be some reason why your attitude has
changed so suddenly.'
‗Yes, there is,' he said abruptly, ‗but it's not necessary to tell you—just as it
was not necessary for you to tell me certain things.'
‗I? What have I kept from you?'
‗That you are not a Muslim,' he said bitterly. Imama's breath choked. ‗Did
you not hide this from me?'
‗Jalal, I wanted to tell you.' Her voice betrayed her defeat.
‗Wanted to….but you didn't. You tried to deceive me.'
‗I did not try to deceive you! Why would I do that?' she protested.
‗But you did.' He shook his head in disgust. ‗You deliberately trapped me.'
Imama's eyes welled up. ‗Trapped you?' she murmured, looking at him in
utter defeat.
‗You knew of my love for the Prophet (pbuh). Now that I've come to know
about you, let alone marriage, I don't want to have anything to do withyou.
Don't ever try to meet me again.' Jalal's tone was bitter and curt.
‗Jalal, I have converted to Islam,' she whispered.
‗Oh, come on! Standing here you've just converted for my sake,' he mocked
her, with a dismissing gesture.
‗I've not done this for you—although you have been a path to it. This
happened many months ago and if you don't believe me, then come along—
I'll show you proof.'
Jalal was perplexed. ‗I accept I made the first move towards you,' Imama
continued, ‗trapped you, as you say. But I was helpless as far as you were
concerned—it was beyond my control…it was your voice. I told you what I
felt when I first heard you recite. Would you have behaved the same way if
you'd already known about me? This is what I feared and why it took me so long to tell you. There are some things in life beyond our control—for me, it
was you.'
‗Does your family know about this?'
‗No…no...I can't tell them. I am already engaged—I didn't tell you about this
either.' She paused. ‗I don't want to be married into that family…I want to
marry you. I'm just waiting to complete my education so that I am on my own
feet, and then I'll marry you. Four years down the road, when I have qualified
as a doctor, perhaps my parents will not object to my choice. If I tell them
now abut my acceptance of Islam, they'll pull me out of college and marry me
off to Asjad.' She expressed her fears.
‗I am still dependant on them…my hands are tied. You were my only hope for
a way out, and I truly love you, Jalal, or else I would not have proposed
marriage. You have no idea of my circumstances, my problems—if you were
in my place you'd realize that I had no choice but to cover up'
Jalal sat down on the wooden bench nearby. He was distinctly disturbed.
Imama wiped away her tears. ‗Do you feel nothing for me? Are you involved
with me just because I love you?'
‗Sit down, Imama,' he replied. ‗The whole Pandora's box now lies open before
me. If I cannot estimate your circumstances, neither can you understand my
situation. There's no way my parents will agree to me marrying a non-
Muslim, regardless of my feelings for her.'
‗Jalal, I am not a non-Muslim,' she reiterated.
‗You're not one now, but you were before, and then your family…'
‗Those are things I can do nothing about,' she replied weakly. They just sat in
silence. Then she turned to Jalal. ‗Can't you marry me without your parents'
consent?'
‗That would be a very major step,' he said, shaking his head despondently.
‗And suppose, I decide to, I cannot do it—like you, I am also dependent on my
parents.'
‗But you're doing a house job and will be established in a few years.'
‗I want to specialize after the house job and I can't do that without financial
backing from my parents. It'll take me three to four years to establish my
practice after specialization.'
‗Then?' Imama's tone was steeped in despair.
‗Then give me time to think—to find a way out. I don't want to lose you and I
don't want to lose my career, either. My problem is that I have nothing of my
own—whatever I have is my parents' and they are spending all their savings
on me in the hope that I'll do something for them in the future.' He stopped
and then said, ‗Is it not possible that your parents should agree to marry you
to me? In that case, at least my parents will be satisfied that you didn't marry
me secretly against your parents' wishes.'
Imama looked at him, hopeless. ‗I don't know…I can't say whether this is
possible or not.' She spoke slowly. ‗Not a single girl of my family has married
outside of her own free will for me to say what followed. But I do know that
the reaction to such an action would be very severe. My parents love me very
much but they'll never allow me to take this step. You have no idea of the
humiliation and loss of face it means for my father—they'll not change their
ways because of me.
‗If I had any hope of support from my family, I would not have searched for
help outside nor from you.' Imama was speaking softly, trying to control her
voice from breaking down.
‗Imama, I will help you…my parents will not reject me though it will take
time to convince them. I will help you...you're right, I should help you.' Jalal
was thoughtful but disturbed.
Imama felt a slight sense of relief; Jalal had not let her down. ‗I made the
right choice,' she thought to herself.
==========================
END OF THE CHAPTER