Shahzeb Aziz 11L 25/09/2008

Faith and Dogma

‘Allahu Akhbar.’ Allah is the greatest.

‘Say it again Nasir. Say it with passion,’ murmurs Khalid in gravel tones, his eyes almost
closed. He sways slightly back and forth, breathing deeply, one with the words of the Qur’an.

‘Alham Dulillah.’ Praise be to him.

‘For he is the most glorious and most beneficial of them all.’ exhales Khalid. His face is
sallow and dark, and his pockmarked skin begins to sweat in the bask of the mid-day sun. But
his heart is as true as any believer. He sits by my side now, whispering the hallowed words
through cracked lips, praying that our mission may succeed.

‘Mohammadar Rasulallah.’ And Mohammed is his messenger. Khalid nods his agreement, his
mouth shaping the words of the prayer. His hands lie folded across his belly, and his
embroidered topi is clutched between them. The van skids over a string of loose pebbles and
Khalid jerks upright, his eyes open and filled with panic.

‘Please Nasir. Please be careful.’ He thrusts the topi back on his head and jerks a thumb
towards the boot of the van. ‘If that thing goes off now.. .’ He lets the sentence hang in the
air, but I can finish it myself. I nod to acknowledge his request, but do not turn to look at him.
Instead I gaze intently through the sandblasted windshield, watching the dusty stretch before
me slowly being eaten away by my tires. He notices, and puts a coarse hand on my shoulder.
‘Nasir, we are doing a great thing. A heroic thing. We were specifically chosen because we
are so great and heroic. You see?’ He pauses, and then; ‘Nasir, don’t worry, all will be
forgiven in the eyes of Allah.’ He waits to see if he has elicited a response from me, then
resigns himself back to his seat, and begins to chant softly under his breath. I keep my eyes
fixed to the distant plains, and do not look up, in an attempt to hide my blasphemous fears
from the eyes of my partner.

Through the speckled glass I see a man by the side of the road. He was there only for a
fleeting second, and had blurred past my eye in the next. An average Pakistani man, most
likely a man of simple needs and simple desires, who wants nothing more than to provide for
his family. An innocent man. Why should an innocent man deserve to die? There is no crime
that man has committed for which his life should be cut short. But Nasir, says Khalid, a
thousand times. Innocent blood must be spilt for us to reign victorious. Only when the
Americans are forced from this land like they swine they are, can we be free to live in peace.

‘Peace.’ I mutter derisively. ‘Such a long time since I have seen you act peacefully, brother.’ I
hastily twist to see a shadow of concern fall across his brow, and his eyes flicker open. He
seems apprehensive; cautious in choosing what he is about to say.

‘Nasir. This is our time. If you are not ready, then Manzoor will find another who is not
afraid.’ His caustic words sear my pride. I say nothing. Then: ‘if you believe in Allah, he will
guide us to our goal. Only fools worry, because they don’t believe.’ My fingers grip the
wheel tightly and my knuckles become pale. Do not doubt me, Khalid.
Shahzeb Aziz 11L 25/09/2008

‘Bhai, of course I believe. Allah is the one who guides me. It is you who is worrying, my
friend.’ I dare not look at him as I speak. But he does not reply. I hear him enunciate the
words of the Kalma under his breath, and turn to see him once again absorbed in his silent
mantra. Returning my concentration to the road, I see the Suleimani Mosque rise through the
billowing heat, the four minarets standing obediently behind the dome. As it comes to pass on
my right, I see throngs of men and boys spilling out through the archway of the mosque,
kneeling in prayer on the scorched tiles. Their foreheads touch the ground, as one, and they
stand up once more, united in the joy of Namaaz. I long to join them in their noble ceremony,
to demonstrate my devotion any other way. But it soon disappears in a haze of ochre, and it is
impossible.

The Continental Hotel now comes into view.

‘A capitalist American monstrosity,’ proclaims Khalid, and not for the first time. ‘Those
bricks are held together with nothing but Muslim blood.’ The marvellous balconies of the
hotel soon sweep across the panorama and the towering letters spell its name in deep red
across the sky. The lights burn uselessly in the windows. A beautiful building.

‘Now we will liberate our Muslim brothers. Nasir, this is our time!’ His excitement suffocates
me. It makes me sick. I drive along a secluded driveway to the security gate. A stocky Arabic
guard paces towards the van. He reaches my window and smiles at us.

‘Assalam Alaikum.’

‘Peace be upon you too, Yousuf.’ Khalid reaches across my chest and touches the man’s face.
‘Allah will reward you with eternal happiness. Now go.’ Yousuf walks away from the gates
with his eyes watering. Within minutes, the barrier is raised.

‘Anywhere over there is fine, Nasir.’ Khalid is restless. The anticipation shimmers in his
eyes. I stop the van metres from the wall. He hands me a small green cigarette lighter from
the dashboard. His eyes bore into my temple. ‘Prepare the explosive, Nasir.’ But I do not. My
hands shake and my vision clouds. I begin to weep.

‘Forgive me, Bhai. I cannot do it. I am unworthy. I am weak,’ I sputter incoherently. ‘You
must do it, Bhai, you-’

‘Don’t call me your brother.’ He says tersely. Snatching the lighter from my hand, he steps
out of the van and I follow ruefully in his wake. The van’s rear doors are thrown open, and
Khalid picks up a bottle.

‘Nasir, you may leave now. Assalam Alaikum.’

‘Goodbye Khalid.’ He reaches to his head, pulls of his topi and fastens it in the neck of the
bottle. I hear the echoing clunk of glass on iron and begin to run.

The ringing subsides many minutes later, and the shouts and cries now assault my ears.
Behind me, only my own failure. I stagger away, not once turning to view my friend’s
Shahzeb Aziz 11L 25/09/2008

handiwork. Police sirens scream past me, as they rush alongside fire engines to the ex-hotel.
There is chaos, and I walk away clumsily, my back to the ruins. No-one stops me.

I feel the guilt wrench my heart. My breath comes in erratic sobs. Tears run down my face,
carving away streaks of dust from my cheeks. Now I turn around. There is fire ravaging the
wreckage, while a mob of animated citizens and news reporters swarm over the scene. Just
imagine, I say to myself. Just imagine if every one of those people standing outside the hotel
suddenly dropped dead. I think of how I would feel, the sadness, the grief at the loss of
innocent lives. Now imagine that you are the cause of twice as many innocent deaths.

‘May Allah forgive me,’ I whisper, in fear and anguish. ‘May he have mercy on my soul.’ I
remember Khalid’s sadistic enthusiasm, his wholehearted determination to carry out this
mission. Now he is nowhere. I never see him again. He would say that ‘These people must
die for the greater good.’ But what good has come from it? Our enemies, the Americans have
not died; it is our neighbours who perished in the hotel. But hotels can be rebuilt.

I walk back to join the crowds. Someone elbows me in the face but I barely feel it. I push to
the front and grab hold of the newly erected police tape. The firemen pour out of their
engines, and within seconds jets of water erupt onto the flaming debris. The flames flicker
and eventually succumb to the onslaught. Almost immediately afterwards, men from the
crowds duck under the tape and clamber up the rubble, shouting incomprehensible words,
their eyes scouring the wreckage frantically. I feel myself unable to join the rescuers, despite
my intense longing to do so. They sift through the stones diligently and swiftly, overturning
slabs of concrete, hauling out bodies from beneath. Some of the ones they find are still alive,
and they are carried to the ambulances, shaking and crying. Most are not so lucky. The dead
ones are treated with less care, dragged down the sides and pushed towards the crowd. I see
the volunteers tirelessly working and hot shame seeps through my body. I should be there.

I surge through the blockades and scramble up to where I am needed. At once, I begin to
work, pulling stones and throwing them down, carrying bodies down the rocky slopes. I can
almost hear Khalid’s jaundiced voice in my ear, sneering. They do not deserve to be saved.
They are insignificant. Think only of the final victory! How I despise that voice! I dig faster,
and my nails become chipped. I work ceaselessly, without pause, until at last I find
redemption. I see his frightened eyes bore into mine, and I haul the child to safety. Pausing
only to hand him to the police, I return to my mission.

Nasir, we are doing a great thing. A heroic thing. Khalid’s words whisper faintly in my head.
Now, they do not seem so uplifting. I look up at the true heroes, atop the stony hills, and they
greet me with smiles and words of encouragement.

‘You are wrong, Bhai.They are all that matters.’