'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.'
'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 heartbroken 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 gatherings with her family and also 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 Hol
y 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 they were 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 that you'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 silver spoon 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.