Chapter 10

THE IMAM AND KHOZEM

18th of Safar 1436

(December 11, 2014)

Mustafa could sense the heat of Arabia even before disembarking. The heat not only covered the landscape of scattered rocks and tan dust but also consumed the airplane as it sat idly at its gate. The sun shone intensely, and the dark faces imprinted on his recent memory were uprooted and replaced by tan faces in head gear and flowing garments.

The men of Arabia seemed to float while walking, their legs unseen, their feet snug within open-toed sandals. Mustafa held this impression at the airport as he saw passengers in these long garments gather at a long customs line.

Vasilla flashed an identification card and passed without a word. Mustafa followed in awe. They walked briskly through the tidy terminal.

Mustafa was fascinated by the simplest things, such as the customs workers emptying suitcases, the doorways marked with flowing Arabic symbols, the praying areas where believers bowed and prostrated themselves. The heat had new meaning as they left the terminal, and they piled quickly within a white-curtained Mercedes. He was surrounded by people he did not know: two silent bodyguards in the front listening to a plain, twangy music, their silence lending an unfathomable strangeness to a young man already estranged.

They went from Jeddah to Mecca along a short highway. The choppy hills ascended and dipped with regularity. Along the fields the Imam spotted a series of white canvas tents with sport utility vehicles parked beside them. These short bursts of desert prairie soon ended as they approached Mecca.

Already Mustafa could make out the Metropolis. He could smell it, almost taste its foods and meet its people.

‘Only two days,’ he thought, ‘two days of oddity, and I’ll be back home laughing about all of this.’

And yet each crumbled rock fascinated him. He was a child again, and after a short while, he forgot his initial reason for traveling to Mecca in the first place.

The car stopped in front of an iron-wrought gate. The gate swung open at the touch of a remote, and soon they were parked outside of the Bengaliwala home. Mustafa was thankful to be out of the car. Khozem greeted him at the front door by taking his hand and kissing it.

“Listen, really, there’s no need to kiss my hand,” said Mustafa with a smile.

“Come, your eminence,” as Khozem led him inside.

The sat together in the living room. For a while they simply eyed one another. Khozem then asked:

“Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? Maybe some kitchra or biryani or meat kabobs?”

“No thanks, I ate on the flight,” replied the Imam.

“How was the flight? Pleasant, I hope.”

“Very nice indeed. Great service. They fed me very well, although I’m not sure what I ate,” he laughed.

“You’ll soon get used to your native foods. How do you like Mecca so far?”

“I’m anxious to see more of it. Maybe you could show me around sometime.”

Mustafa felt uncomfortable in the silence which followed every painful exchange. He realized this bavasaab was not much older than he, and he tried to relate on a generation level.

“Are you married?” asked Mustafa. “This house is so big. The view is incredible. The mosque down there is the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“No, I’m not married yet. I live with my parents. And the mosque you see is known as the Kaa’bah, the holiest shrine known to man.”

“Where are you parents now?”

“They’ve been vacationing in Riyadh for some time.”

“I see. Maybe you can take me down to that big mosque.”

“Only the righteous are allowed in there,” said Khozem, “but let’s start with the basics. Do you know how to pray in Arabic?”

“Uh, no, I pray in English.”

“Yes, of course, English. Well, here in Mecca we say our prayers strictly in Arabic as that is the appointed language ordained by our Prophet (May Peace be Upon Him).”

“I don’t see anything wrong with praying in English. God would be able to translate it, don’t you think?”

“Much would be lost in the translation. Nearly all of the Qu’ran’s poetry would be trampled by the foreign tongue.”

“Oh I don’t think so.”

“There is a lot you have to learn before making foolish judgements. This is typical of every Imam I’ve studied thus far, and I’ve been reading about past Imams for nearly ten years. I have noticed a commonality in the Imams I have studied. They have lofty visions without any sense of responsibility. Tell me, did you attend any schools where you live?”

“For a short time. I traveled quite a bit, and I watch the television to keep abreast of daily developments.”

“So what does the television say of, let’s say, the Middle East?” asked Khozem.