WE STOPPED AT THE traffic light. Wali turned on the stereo and the euphoric strain of a Bollywood musical filled the car. It had a pair of powerful woofers in the back which rattled with the deep bass waves.
‘Wali,’ I yelled so he could hear me. ‘I thought music wasn’t allowed in Pakistan anymore. Especially Indian music,’ I added, bringing my face closer to his ear so I wouldn’t have to scream over the singer.
‘Sirji, pay attention to the lyrics. It’s not what you think it is; it’s a na’at.’
‘What did you just say?’ I asked.
‘It’s a na’at,’ he repeated, turning the volume down.
He was right. It was indeed.
‘Oh, so music is allowed as long as it’s in praise of Muhammad,’ I said.
As soon as I uttered the name, Wali kissed the tips of his fingers and started mumbling a prayer, his face unreadable and his eyes shut. Then his face turned red and flecks of foam appeared on his lips. I stared in alarm, not sure what I could to do.
The traffic light turned green but oblivious to his surroundings, Wali kept his eyes shut as his lips trembled. Cars behind us started honking. Without any warning, he threw open the door and leapt out onto the street. He left the door wide open and the other cars swerved to miss slamming into it.
Ignoring the cacophony of cars honking, Wali knelt on the ground and then lowered himself further into sajdah, his forehead and nose on the dusty asphalt, the Muslim prostration. I looked back through the rear window, my heart pounding. Cars behind us had started reversing. The traffic was moving again, leaving our standing vehicle behind. By the time Wali got up from the ground and sat back in his seat beside me, the light had turned red again.
‘What was all that about?’
Without saying a word, he opened the glove box and took out a round, palm-sized object. It was a clasped knife. He pressed one end and an evil looking blade sprung out. I could tell it was razor sharp and must have been as long as my forearm. I jerked back in my seat, eyes wide open.
Wali turned toward me and grabbed a hold of my collar. His eyes bulged; two angry pools of black fire. Without a word he pressed the sharp cold steel against my throat as I tried hard not to swallow.
‘Wali, what’s wrong?’ I sputtered. ‘What’s happened to you? Take it easy buddy, relax,’ I pleaded. This was all too strange and had happened so fast I barely had time to register the shock.
‘You have uttered the name of You Know Who without the salutations; and that is a terrible crime punishable by death,’ he groaned, pressing the blade harder against my throat.
‘Wali, come back to your senses man!’ I barked. ‘What’s wrong with you? Come on, let’s get going, look, the light’s green. Let’s go, please. We can talk about this over a cup of tea in the Fortress Stadium. I can explain.’ I hoped to have sounded convincing and unfazed by his sudden outburst but I knew I was tasting my first dose of real fear since I landed.
Sweat poured down my forehead as I recalled my father’s words: ‘You’ll be safe with Wali. He’s the only one I trust to deliver you safely to my house.’ I also recalled him warning me not to speak with Wali about religion under any circumstances.
‘I’ve beheaded four idiots like you,’ he bellowed. ‘I did it right here where you sit on your stupid butt. And you will be my fifth,’ he said. The traffic light had turned red again.
‘Aren’t you done then? I mean, four’s a pretty decent number. Come on, Wali, let’s not do anything rash,’ I said, hoping this nightmare would end soon. ‘My father’s not going to like it if you kill me.’
‘Mufti Sahib says that if I can personally behead seven kafirs in total, my place will be assured in the highest level of Jannah,’ he said, as his eyes glazed and his face flushed with exultation. He wasn’t the same Wali who had picked me up a few minutes ago at the airport. He started looking crazier by the minute.
‘It’s been getting more and more difficult to encounter enemies of faith like you,’ he continued, not even looking at me in the eye. ‘As far as your father is concerned, he’d be glad to see you killed after what you’ve done. He wouldn’t even attend your funeral.’
‘Wali, please! Have mercy. Remember that old hag?’ I asked, suddenly recalling something that might break his concentration. ‘That old woman who used to throw trash on You Know Who’s head every time he’d pass by her house.’
Without a word Wali withdrew his knife from my neck and laid it on his lap, though he continued to hold his face close to mine and looked into my eyes. The terrifying fury that seconds before distorted his face melted away like ice.
‘So you know?’ he asked, his voice now normal and composed. ‘Then you damn well know that the story of the hag cost me the seventh Heaven!’ he then roared with renewed fury.
‘Fifth Heaven, Wali, fifth,’ I corrected him.
‘You gotta get to fifth before getting to the seventh.’ Wali picked up the knife and I stiffened for a new assault was coming my way, but he just shook his head, snapped the blade shut and tossed the thing into the glove box.
‘On what level do you start getting the virgins?’ I inquired, trying to move the conversation in another, hopefully less inflammatory, direction. I was actually genuinely interested. After all, it was a matter that concerned Paradise as well as my hard-to-control lust.
‘I’ve got to ask Mufti Sahib about this,’ he said, lost in thought. ‘But I suspect you start getting them right after you drink the sweet water of Hauz-e-Kauser directly from the hand of You Know Who,’ he replied, nodding with satisfaction.
Ever since I was a child I wanted to see Hauz-e-Kauser—a pond filled with sweet water at the gates of Paradise—just to see what it looked like. It was even mentioned in the Quran.
‘I heard Mufti Sahib say that the virgins come flying towards you when you have drunk enough water and your thirst is quenched,’ he explained, as though sharing a treasured memory.
‘Can we start driving now, please?’ I asked, fixing my collar, feeling satisfied by my performance. I had successfully managed to overcome my fear. Pir Pul Siraat should be pleased with me. For some odd reason Faisal Town seemed worlds away. ‘Do you remember where we’re heading—in this world I mean?’
‘Fortress Stadium, of course. Sirji, you’ll have to fulfill your promise. A true believer never breaks his promise even if it’s about a thing as small as a cup of tea. In fact, I was thinking of stopping by the stadium myself and having a cup of tea.’
The signal turned green. It seemed we had been standing for all eternity. Something was still terribly wrong with my perception of time. Good thing I had a watch.
‘Maybe you can help me buy a nice present for Abba,’ I suggested. ‘I left in such a hurry that I didn’t have the time to bring him anything from the U.S. Now I feel terrible. I’m seeing him after such a long time; I must give him something special.’
The night descended around us faster than I expected. The air was still pleasantly warm. I noticed with amusement that nearly every car had been fitted with fake camel bodies on the top. It was an odd sight but it had its use: an extra trunk.
‘Wali, please don’t be offended, but what made you do sajdah after I mentioned You Know Who?’
‘Sirji,’ he began, shaking his head. ‘Your knowledge of Islam is so terribly poor that a true Muslim will have no remorse or hesitation killing you on the spot after hearing such a stupid question.’
I refrained from asking Wali for further clarification. The last thing I needed was another scary confrontation with someone like him, the kind that would probably prove fatal for one of us. And at the moment, in this car I was the only likely candidate facing extinction.
I couldn’t believe my father would actually send a man like Wali to pick me up from the airport. Did he want me dead? Ever since I had boarded Khalifa Air almost nothing that had transpired made any sense whatsoever. And here I was, doing it again: trying to make rational sense of things.
By the time Wali pulled into the Fortress Stadium parking lot it was already dark. The shops, embedded into the circular wall of the stadium were lit by gas lamps. Wali parked the car not too far from the main entrance. I remembered the place well; it used to be a popular hangout with the college crowd and for families to dine out and shop at some of the nicest boutiques in Lahore.
‘Sirji, remember this; it may save your life,’ Wali began. ‘If anyone utters the name of You Know Who, you should immediately close your eyes and send a blessing. You should know what I’m talking about: I’m talking about drood, the blessing sent to all the prophets of the line of Hazrat Ibrahim alaihis-salaam.’
‘Yeah, I know that part,’ I said.
‘But what you obviously don’t know,’ Wali continued, lowering his voice and gripping my arm firmly, ‘is that right after saying your drood, you do the sajdah and recite the first Kalima thirty-three times. Why?’ he asked, pausing to study my face. When I didn’t answer he continued. ‘Because it’s the law. If you ever get caught ignoring this law, you will be killed on the spot. And remember: most people around here have only gotten to the third or fourth Heaven. They’re stuck there, searching for ways to break into the higher Heavens. And since their fate for all eternity depends upon it, people won’t hesitate for a second to behead you—that’s how it goes here nowadays. You just remember that.’
‘Understood! Wali, you are a true friend,’ I said, patting him on the back and wondering what else people did around here. Besides trying to ascend to the higher Heaven.
‘Sirji, I don’t know why, but I like you,’ Wali said, shaking his head as though I was a mystery beyond all comprehension. ‘What could possibly be better than constantly thinking about the Next World—the real world? It’s like being in a state of permanent worship.’
‘Excellent point, Wali,’ I said, nodding as though I completely understood what he was saying. I didn’t.
‘I mean, do you really believe for one minute that this world of ours is worth living for?’ he asked. ‘Do you think that this world will hold any attraction for a believer? Our present life is a trap, sirji. A trap!’
After several moments of awkward silence we finally got out of the car. An eerie sort of calm permeated the air, the kind that descends right before a monster storm breaks. The stadium was lit by floodlights mounted on poles which bathed the whole area in a weird sickly glow. I saw hordes of robed men with hairy faces walking in through its massive gates.
A stray dog that looked like a beagle ran past me. It was being chased by a huge cat the size of a panther. The cat leapt in the air and landed on the dog, pinning it to the pavement. Then it proceeded to maul the poor thing in a flurry of claws. The dog howled as the cat sunk its teeth into its throat. The cat’s powerful jaws gripped its victim, shaking it once, twice, until it was dead. The victor dragged the corpse of the dog away and was gone.
‘A clear sign the Day of Judgment is upon us!’ Wali exclaimed in triumph. He seemed to really enjoy watching me witness this spectacular aspect of nature.
I had landed in a very strange place. Something incomprehensible, something very bad, had happened to this country and its people. The whole place seemed to shimmer like a phantom in some parallel universe.
By now the crowds streaming into the stadium had swollen considerably.
‘Night cricket, I guess?’ I asked.
‘Oh, much more thrilling than night cricket,’ Wali said, as we walked toward the entrance. ‘Let’s grab a cup of tea and go inside. I promise you’ll have fun.’
‘Don’t you think we should go to the house?’ I asked, feeling some bad vibes. Very bad vibes. ‘I had a long flight and I’m pretty beat.’
‘No one is waiting for us at home. Your Abbaji is in Islamabad at the moment. He’s not going to be in Lahore until Thursday.’
‘But I—’ I tried to protest but he chopped the air with his hand and cut me off.
‘Your Abbaji has instructed me to show you around, to get you fully oriented with this place in his absence,’ he declared in a voice that warned me he would tolerate no further breaches of protocol.
I had no interest in watching a night game or spending any more time with Wali for that matter. Right now all I wanted was to get home as soon as possible, lounge in my bed and think about what the hell I had been sent here for.
‘Can we first buy some gift for Abba?’ I suggested, hoping to distract Wali from whatever festivities were underway.
I knew there was no gift in the world that was going to send my father and I running back into each other’s arms, but I was hoping to at least begin the thaw. According to the note, I was to be contacted shortly after I arrived, though I had no idea what form that contact would take.
‘Your wish is my command, sirji,’ Wali said, touching my arm and pointing toward the shops.
We passed a line of stores and headed toward the tea stall. I stopped to look at a sign on the sidewalk: ‘SALE!’ it read in bright red letters. The items on sale in the store were listed in proud detail:
‘Top of the line Martyr Vests! All sizes! We proudly sell only Mujahid brand. Accept no imitations! Remote Control Detonation 4-packs also on sale. Martyr Vests for Children. Graduation Gifts! Exploding Toys! And much more! Come inside and see!’
Another sign by the store’s entrance read: ‘Pellets for quick stoning. Stones with special grips. No Refunds after use.’
Every sign I read seemed more bizarre than the first and I had a sinking feeling that entering the shop would be the start of just as bizarre an adventure.
‘This is a good place to find some nice gift for your Abbaji,’ Wali said, his voice dripping with excitement.
He had been watching me closely as I read the list of merchandise while standing utterly speechless at the entrance of the shop. Wali slipped inside and made a beeline for the men’s martyr vests. I saw him pick up one of the grotesque garments. He glanced back and forth from me to the vest, then held the thing up in my direction. What the hell? This must be a dream! Closing my eyes I shook my head from side to side, wondering exactly what sort of gift Wali wanted me to present to my father.