[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.I got up and ran upstairs to check: there was the guard, sleeping with the Thermos in his hand.After shaking him by the shoulder, I ran downstairs to see if anyone was on the veranda.Everyone, I discovered, was accounted for and alive, and nothing untoward had happened thus far.I was settling back on my charpai when Ammi started me by whispering a greeting.She had been awake the whole time, she said, taking care of a few things and reading from the Quran.She gave me a comforting smile and I relaxed and soon fell asleep again.I opened my eyes when the azan rang out in the morning.That call to prayer signaled a cessation of anxiety.A ripple of muted jubilation passed through the house.As I rubbed my eyes Ammi threw a bag in my lap.“Get up,” she said.“We’re leaving.”“What?”“We’re leaving.Let’s go.”“Now?”“Yes.”“Where are we going?”“Lahore.Karachi.Islamabad.I don’t know.Just away from here.”“What do you mean?”“We can’t stay here one more day.I already called your father to let him know we’re coming.”“How will we get though town without trouble?”“With the commandoes,” she announced.“What commandoes?”Then I heard the loud rumble of a Humvee in the alley.The previous night Ammi had managed to get in touch with Uncle Saad in Karachi, and he had called out a contingent of army Rangers to drive down from Pindi and escort us out of town.When I went downstairs I saw that the entire family was awake.Children ran excitedly from the house to the Humvee and patted it with awe in their eyes.A pair of toddlers pulled at a stoic soldier’s legs and tried to undo his shoelaces.A pair of well-armed Rangers walked up and down the alley to make sure everything was clear.Ammi had already made her haphazard goodbyes and sat firmly in the backseat, yelling at Flim and me to hurry up.I hurried out to join her, sadness coursing through my body as I realized that I hadn’t been able to accomplish any of the things that I’d come to the desert to do.It would have been nice to get a wife, but the more important thing had been to find out my family history and get the genealogical tree that linked me back to Hazrat Abu Bakr Siddiq.I never even got an opportunity to sit down with Tau and have him go through his files.Nor did I get to go to the madrassa and impress all my former instructors with my newfound intellectual understanding of Islam.I had dearly wanted to corner Qari Jamil and impress him with the finer points of Islamic law.I thought about my aged grand-uncles, the pillars of permanence from my childhood.Living just down the street, they had been spared all the commotion of last night.In fact, I’d hardly seen them since we got to Sehra Kush.Now we were leaving, and they would stay here with all the secrets of my family history—the stuff about the Partition, the difficult journey across Pakistan since then, the entirety of the 1990s, all of it still lodged in their big hearts.I felt overcome with a desire to go and say goodbye to them.It was the respectful thing to do, especially since they would probably pass away before I ever returned.Ignoring Ammi’s calls to hurry, I ran over to their room.When I entered the tiny space the three brothers shared, they were unwrapping their turbans and making preparation to lie back down after prayer.Their white beards seemed richer and cleaner in the morning light.“Circumstances require that I leave,” I said loudly, knowing that they were hard of hearing.All of them turned to me.“You just got here!” my oldest grand-uncle said sadly.“We didn’t even get to talk,” said another.“Trip is over,” I said.“Maybe I’ll come back one day.”Then I went back into the street and walked to the Humvee.On the way I said hasty goodbyes to various aunts and to the little kids, and I hugged Dadi Ma.Then, full of shame and apology, I approached Dada Abu and excused myself.“You have to go,” he said stoically, “so don’t make explanations.Just go.”There was both accusation and resignation in his voice.On one hand, I could tell that he thought I was running away.That was the loving part of him, the part that wanted to sit and talk with a grandson whom he hadn’t seen for a decade.On the other hand, he knew that my departure was the right thing.That was the protective part of him, the part that wanted to keep me safe.As we hugged chest to chest, I realized that he wasn’t as sturdy or as powerful as he used to be.I could feel Time hovering over him in that moment, weakening him with its invisible fingers.I got into the Humvee and the Rangers locked up.Looking out the window, I waved at the assembled relatives.I felt like I was leaving a part of me with Dada Abu and my grand-uncles.These were the people through whom I was supposed to weave myself into the tapestry of Islam.As the Humvee whirred into the desert, hurtling past the sand dunes, over the cracked bridges, and past the caravans of Gypsies in blue and purple, I felt as if I needed to blame someone for destroying my opportunity to connect with my history.Again, though, rather than blaming Ittefaq and his angry Islamic cohorts, I blamed myself.It was because I was an inadequate Muslim that they had consigned me to being an American and made me feel that I had nothing to contribute to the ummat-e-islami.This was all my fault.Not theirs.13We cut our trip short by four weeks and went to Uncle Saad’s house in Karachi to wait for the next available flight to America.We ended up with a few days to kill before the flight, and we spent them slumming around his living room, too discouraged to do any sightseeing.Ruing my lost chance to get hold of the special family tree that would have showed the link back to the first Caliph, I raised the issue of our heritage with Uncle Saad over lunch our first day back.“You know I came here to try and find out more about my history,” I began.“I thought you came for a wife.”“That too, but I really wanted to connect with Islam.”“Were you able to?” he asked.“Did that happen in Sehra Kush?”“No,” I said dispiritedly.“Why not?”“Well, I never got hold of our family tree.”“You didn’t ask your Uncle Tau?”“I never got a chance.”“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “what are you looking for? Maybe I know.”Ammi, who was at lunch with us, spoke up.“He’s trying to find all the connections to the Siddiqui name.”“I have the names going back four generations only,” I told him.“That’s all Pops remembered.”I took out my notebook and set forth my research.Uncle Saad read through it carefully.“So you want to go further back than this?” he asked.“I have to,” I said.“I’m trying to get all the way back to Abu Bakr Siddiq, the first Caliph.”Uncle Saad stopped eating and looked at me quizzically.“The Abu Bakr Siddiq?”I nodded eagerly.A big smile spread across his face—a sardonic one.Soon it became a snicker.“Why are you laughing?” I asked [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.I got up and ran upstairs to check: there was the guard, sleeping with the Thermos in his hand.After shaking him by the shoulder, I ran downstairs to see if anyone was on the veranda.Everyone, I discovered, was accounted for and alive, and nothing untoward had happened thus far.I was settling back on my charpai when Ammi started me by whispering a greeting.She had been awake the whole time, she said, taking care of a few things and reading from the Quran.She gave me a comforting smile and I relaxed and soon fell asleep again.I opened my eyes when the azan rang out in the morning.That call to prayer signaled a cessation of anxiety.A ripple of muted jubilation passed through the house.As I rubbed my eyes Ammi threw a bag in my lap.“Get up,” she said.“We’re leaving.”“What?”“We’re leaving.Let’s go.”“Now?”“Yes.”“Where are we going?”“Lahore.Karachi.Islamabad.I don’t know.Just away from here.”“What do you mean?”“We can’t stay here one more day.I already called your father to let him know we’re coming.”“How will we get though town without trouble?”“With the commandoes,” she announced.“What commandoes?”Then I heard the loud rumble of a Humvee in the alley.The previous night Ammi had managed to get in touch with Uncle Saad in Karachi, and he had called out a contingent of army Rangers to drive down from Pindi and escort us out of town.When I went downstairs I saw that the entire family was awake.Children ran excitedly from the house to the Humvee and patted it with awe in their eyes.A pair of toddlers pulled at a stoic soldier’s legs and tried to undo his shoelaces.A pair of well-armed Rangers walked up and down the alley to make sure everything was clear.Ammi had already made her haphazard goodbyes and sat firmly in the backseat, yelling at Flim and me to hurry up.I hurried out to join her, sadness coursing through my body as I realized that I hadn’t been able to accomplish any of the things that I’d come to the desert to do.It would have been nice to get a wife, but the more important thing had been to find out my family history and get the genealogical tree that linked me back to Hazrat Abu Bakr Siddiq.I never even got an opportunity to sit down with Tau and have him go through his files.Nor did I get to go to the madrassa and impress all my former instructors with my newfound intellectual understanding of Islam.I had dearly wanted to corner Qari Jamil and impress him with the finer points of Islamic law.I thought about my aged grand-uncles, the pillars of permanence from my childhood.Living just down the street, they had been spared all the commotion of last night.In fact, I’d hardly seen them since we got to Sehra Kush.Now we were leaving, and they would stay here with all the secrets of my family history—the stuff about the Partition, the difficult journey across Pakistan since then, the entirety of the 1990s, all of it still lodged in their big hearts.I felt overcome with a desire to go and say goodbye to them.It was the respectful thing to do, especially since they would probably pass away before I ever returned.Ignoring Ammi’s calls to hurry, I ran over to their room.When I entered the tiny space the three brothers shared, they were unwrapping their turbans and making preparation to lie back down after prayer.Their white beards seemed richer and cleaner in the morning light.“Circumstances require that I leave,” I said loudly, knowing that they were hard of hearing.All of them turned to me.“You just got here!” my oldest grand-uncle said sadly.“We didn’t even get to talk,” said another.“Trip is over,” I said.“Maybe I’ll come back one day.”Then I went back into the street and walked to the Humvee.On the way I said hasty goodbyes to various aunts and to the little kids, and I hugged Dadi Ma.Then, full of shame and apology, I approached Dada Abu and excused myself.“You have to go,” he said stoically, “so don’t make explanations.Just go.”There was both accusation and resignation in his voice.On one hand, I could tell that he thought I was running away.That was the loving part of him, the part that wanted to sit and talk with a grandson whom he hadn’t seen for a decade.On the other hand, he knew that my departure was the right thing.That was the protective part of him, the part that wanted to keep me safe.As we hugged chest to chest, I realized that he wasn’t as sturdy or as powerful as he used to be.I could feel Time hovering over him in that moment, weakening him with its invisible fingers.I got into the Humvee and the Rangers locked up.Looking out the window, I waved at the assembled relatives.I felt like I was leaving a part of me with Dada Abu and my grand-uncles.These were the people through whom I was supposed to weave myself into the tapestry of Islam.As the Humvee whirred into the desert, hurtling past the sand dunes, over the cracked bridges, and past the caravans of Gypsies in blue and purple, I felt as if I needed to blame someone for destroying my opportunity to connect with my history.Again, though, rather than blaming Ittefaq and his angry Islamic cohorts, I blamed myself.It was because I was an inadequate Muslim that they had consigned me to being an American and made me feel that I had nothing to contribute to the ummat-e-islami.This was all my fault.Not theirs.13We cut our trip short by four weeks and went to Uncle Saad’s house in Karachi to wait for the next available flight to America.We ended up with a few days to kill before the flight, and we spent them slumming around his living room, too discouraged to do any sightseeing.Ruing my lost chance to get hold of the special family tree that would have showed the link back to the first Caliph, I raised the issue of our heritage with Uncle Saad over lunch our first day back.“You know I came here to try and find out more about my history,” I began.“I thought you came for a wife.”“That too, but I really wanted to connect with Islam.”“Were you able to?” he asked.“Did that happen in Sehra Kush?”“No,” I said dispiritedly.“Why not?”“Well, I never got hold of our family tree.”“You didn’t ask your Uncle Tau?”“I never got a chance.”“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “what are you looking for? Maybe I know.”Ammi, who was at lunch with us, spoke up.“He’s trying to find all the connections to the Siddiqui name.”“I have the names going back four generations only,” I told him.“That’s all Pops remembered.”I took out my notebook and set forth my research.Uncle Saad read through it carefully.“So you want to go further back than this?” he asked.“I have to,” I said.“I’m trying to get all the way back to Abu Bakr Siddiq, the first Caliph.”Uncle Saad stopped eating and looked at me quizzically.“The Abu Bakr Siddiq?”I nodded eagerly.A big smile spread across his face—a sardonic one.Soon it became a snicker.“Why are you laughing?” I asked [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]