So, though Hashim Mubeen, with very strict warnings, had allowed her to return to college, the attitude of her family further distanced her from her faith. She did not stop reading the books that had provoked her thought: the only difference was that instead of bringing them home she read them in the college library.
After making it to the merit list in the F.Sc. examinations, Imama got admission into medical college. Javeria also got admission into the same institution and now their bonds of friendship were stronger than before—the main reason for that was the change that had come in Imama.
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Imama's first meeting with Sabiha was purely by chance. One of Javeria's classmates was Sabiha's cousin, and it was through her that Imama came to know her. Sabiha was associated with the student wing of a religious organization and delivered a weekly lecture in class on any one aspect of Islam. These lectures were attended by about forty to fifty girls.
When Imama and her friends were first introduced to Sabiha, she had invited them all to the lecture.
'I'll definitely come—you can be assured of my attendance,' responded Javeria.
'I'll try, but I can't promise,' said Rabia, with a sheepish smile.
'I won't be able to make it. I'll be busy that day.' Zainab excused herself.
With a smile, Sabiha turned to Imama, who had been listening quietly. 'And what about you? Will you come?' she asked her. Flustered, Imama exchanged a glance with Javeria who was looking at her.
'By the way, what is your topic this time?' asked Javeria—maybe to turn Sabiha's attention away from Imama.
'This time we'll talk about squandering money. This trend is pushing our society into decline—we'll talk about what measures should be taken to control it,' Sabiha explained.
'Imama, you didn't tell me if you'll come to the lecture.' Sabiha turned to her again. Imama paled. 'Ill let you know,' she stammered.
'I'll be very happy if the three of you come to the lecture with Javeria. We can't do it everyday, but we should make an effort at least occasionally to learn about our faith. I am not the only one who speaks on religion. Anyone from the audience is welcome to speak on the selected topic, and if there's any special issue to be discussed then that can also be arranged, 'explained Sabiha before she left with Javeria and her cousin.
When they were in the corridor, she turned to Javeria and said, 'I felt Imama wanted to come: why don't you bring her along?'
'She follows a different faith. She will never participate in such gatherings,' said Javeria, very seriously. Surprised, Sabiha looked at her.
'Then you ought to invite her to study Islam. Perhaps she may, in this way, be able to tell between right and wrong,' said Sabiha.
'I tried it once—she became very angry. I do not want our longstanding friendship to come to an end on this score,' replied Javeria.
'True friends are those who save another from going astray: it is your duty to do so.'
'Yes, but what if one is not ready to hear a word about it?'
'Even so it's our moral duty to say what is right. It is possible that one is compelled to think about what you say.' Javeria conceded with a smile that Sabiha was right in her stand.
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'Will you go to her lecture?' Zainab asked Rabia when Sabiha was out of earshot.
'No, I don't intend to. I can't digest such stuff,' Rabia replied casually, gathering up her books. She was more liberal in her thinking compared to Imama, Javeria and Zainab and not particularly inclined towards religion.
'I have heard a lot of praise for Sabiha, though,' responded Zainab.
'Most certainly—Sabiha does speak very well,' Rabia said. 'I have heard that her father is also associated with some religious organization—obviously, that would have some effect,' Rabia added.
Imama was sitting at a distance, ostensibly studying her books but could hear the conversation. She was grateful that they had not tried to drag her into the discussion.
Three days later, she made an excuse and went off at the specified time to hear Sabiha's lecture. Zainab, Rabia and Javeria had decided to stay away from the lecture, so Imama changed her mind and decided to go but did not tell them where she was going.
Sabiha was somewhat surprised to see Imama. 'I'm very glad to see you here. I did not expect you to come,' she said, greeting Imama warmly.
This was Imama's first step towards changing her faith. During this period she had read so much on Islam that, at least, she was not ignorant or uninformed about it. She was also well-versed about the Islamic and Quranic injunctions about squandering wealth and being spendthrifts. Yet her real reason why she had accepted Sabiha's invitation was to cover the distance from her professed faith to Islam—a difficult task.
And then, this was not the first and last lecture she attended. Week after week, she continued to listen to the lectures; hearing from another person the same things that she had read, left an impact on her. Her admiration and belief in Sabiha grew with time. Sabiha did not let Imama know that she had known about Imama's faith. It was about two months since she had started meeting Sabiha that there was a lecture on the finality of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).
'The Holy Quran is a book that was divinely revealed to Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH),' began Sabiha, 'and in the Quran Allah declares that prophethood came to an end with Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH). There is no margin here for any other prophet to follow. If there is any mention of another prophet, like Hazrat Isa (AS), returning to this life it is not as a new prophet; rather, it is by Allah's will that a prophet appointed much before Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) returns not for his own people but for the followers of our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who will be Allah's last prophet on earth. At no time in the past nor in the future has this seal of finality been given to anyone except Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH), so is it possible that Allah will withdraw what He has bestowed on one prophet to reward it to another?
'In the Holy Quran, Allah asks who is truer to his word than Allah Almighty. Is it possible that He should reject His own words? And if Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) himself is witness to his being the last and final messenger of Allah, then is it proper and justified that we should even entertain anyone else's claims to prophethood? Man is the only one of God's creations that has been blessed with the faculty of reason and he can use this intelligence to search for evidence of God's existence. He does not stop there— his thinking extends to God's prophets; he seeks out the divine messengers and questions their message before declaring his faith in them. Despite the injunctions of the Quran, man searches for more prophets, forgetting that prophets are not man-made but appointed by God. Today we are in the last decades of human evolution when the course of prophethood has ceased because God has selected one faith and one prophet for mankind. 'There is no further need for any new faith, except to follow what has been sent, and not just to follow, but to practice this last and final faith completed with Hazrat Muhammad Mustafa (PBUH). Those who do not hold fast to Allah's bonds and, instead, spread dissensions, will be in loss. What difference would there be then between us and an animal that breaks away from its herd to chase a bundle of grass?'
In this forty-minute long lecture, Sabiha never once mentioned any other sect or belief. Whatever she said was relevant: the only irrelevant thing was about the finality of Hazrat Muhammad's prophethood, that he was the last divine messenger who died 1400 years ago in Madina. During his life and since then, all Muslims have stood in his shadow as one community, and even today, he alone is our prophet and guide. There has not been nor will be any other prophet after him, and those who believe otherwise should take stock of their beliefs and clear their minds and hearts of the chaos they find themselves in.' Imama used to meet Sabiha after every lecture, but this time she left swiftly without seeing her. Her mind was seething in confusion and she came out of the college and began walking; she walked on for a long time—over footpaths, across the roads, on and on, not realizing how far she had come. She sat down on a benc
h by the canal. The sun was about to set. Out on the road, the traffic was crowded and noisy. She just sat silent, watching the water flow past. After a long spell of silence, she muttered to herself.
'What am I doing to myself? Why am I going round in circles? What am I searching for and why? I didn't come to Lahore for this—I came here to study medicine, to become the best ophthalmologist ever. Why does everything come to an end for me with the word 'prophet'? Why?' She buried her face in her hands.
'I have to get out of this—I can't focus on my studies this way. My problem should not be religion and faith—whatever was handed down by my elders, right or wrong, should suffice. I won't go to Sabiha's lectures again, nor will I think about any faiths or prophets,' she thought as she sat there. It was 8.00 p.m. when she returned. Rabia and Javeria were quite concerned. 'I'd just gone to the bazaar,' Imama told them with a drawn face.
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'Hey, Imama! You've come after a long time. Why did you stop coming?' It
had been quite some time since Imama had been to Sabiha's and the lecture that was just about to begin.
'I need to talk to you about some things. I'll wait out here till you're through,' said Imama instead of replying to her query.
When Sabiha came out of the room 45 minutes later, she found Imama strolling in the corridor. They went back to the room which was now empty.
Sabiha looked at Imama, waiting for her to begin.
Imama was lost in thought for a while; then she said, 'Are you aware of my faith?'
'Yes, I am. Javeria told me,' Sabiha replied calmly.
'I cannot tell you how frustrated I am...I feel like running away from this world! I ... I ...' She held her head. 'I know that...' She stopped midway again. 'But I cannot give up my faith. I'll be destroyed—my parents will kill me. My career, my dreams, all will be lost. I have even stopped praying, but I don't know why I cannot find peace. Please try to understand my situation—I feel all this is wrong, but I don't know what is right.'
'Imama, accept true Islam.' Sabiha's response was this one statement.
'I can't do this—I told you what problems I'll face!'
'Then why did you come to me?' Sabiha was very composed.
'I don't know why I've come to you,' she said helplessly.
'You came because you wanted to hear just that one sentence. I cannot give you any justification. You are not in search of any answers because you know them. You just have to accept the truth—isn't that so?'
Imama's eyes were brimming with tears. 'I feel as if the earth is slipping away from under my feet—as if I am floating in space.' Her voice was choked.
Sabiha did not reply: she was reading 'Bismillah'.
Imama wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'There's nothing, Sabiha! I can see nothing,' she said looking at her.
'La Ilaha illallah' Sabiha began to recite the kalima softly. Imama sobbed, her face covered by her hands as she repeated the words after Sabiha.
'Muhammad ur Rasool Allah,' she said next, her voice close to breaking.
Imama was unable to comprehend why she felt so tearful—she had no regrets, she was not unhappy, yet she could not control her sobbing. When she did stop after quite a while, she found Sabiha sitting there—and looked at her with a teary smile.
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Rabia and Javeria stared at each other in shocked silence. Imama kept drawing patterns on the floor with her foot, lost in thought.
Javeria broke the spell. 'You ought to have told us all about this earlier on.'
Imama looked up at her serenely. 'And what would that do?'
'At least we would not have had such misgivings about you. We could have helped you.'
Imama shook her head and in a strange tone, replied, 'That would have made no difference.'
Javeria moved closer to her and spoke gently. 'I am very happy that you have made the right decision, Imama, that you've turned away—better late than never—from a wrong path. You have no idea how I feel about this.'
Imama looked at her quietly. Javeria continued, 'If there's anything we both can do for you, then don't hesitate to ask us: we'll be only too happy.'
'I will need your support—a great deal,' Imama replied.
'Is it because of me that you have taken this decision and changed your faith?' Javeria was saying.
Imama looked at her, surprised. 'Because of you?' she thought. Her mind clouded and a face began to emerge from that fog like someone surfacing from water. Imama smiled as she recognised the features and heard the voice.
To him who begs for a drop You grant the seas.
'Just don't let anyone else know about this. Not even Zainab.' Javeria and Rabia nodded in agreement.
Poore qad se jo khara hoon to ye tera hai karam
(If I stand tall today it is your mercy)
Mujh ko jhukne nahi deta Sahara tera
(For your support lets me not waver)
She knew this voice, she knew this face. It was Jalal Ansar's.
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A few days after Imama had joined the medical college, she called Zainab in Lahore when she had come home to Islamabad for a weekend. 'Hold on, child, I'll call Zainab.' Her mother had received the call. As Imama waited she heard a well-known poem in praise of the Prophet (pbuh) being recited in a male voice—whoever it was, there was a passion in his recital.
Qatra mange jo use too use darya de day
(To him who begs for a drop You grant the seas.)
Mujh ko kuch aur na de apni tamanna de day
(And I ask you for nothing but your love)
She had no idea that a man's voice could be so beautiful that it could cast a spell over all. Imama stood awed, as if she had forgotten how to breathe.
Log kehte hain ke saya tere paikar ka na tha
(The light of your frame never cast a shadow they say,)
Me to kehta hoon jahan bhar pe hai saya tera
(But I say the universe itself is in your blessed shade)
In human lives, some moments are blessed, like that auspicious night in Shab-e-Qadr/the Night of Power which some people carelessly allow to slip away. But some wait patiently, hands raised in prayer, begging for His blessings. This is the awaited moment that stills flowing waters and makes still waters flow, that turns the unspoken prayer into fate. This blessed point of time came into Imama Hashim's life not during the Night of Power nor had she stretched her hands to Heaven in prayer, yet the earth and stars stood still in their course—the cosmos was a dome where just one voice echoed.
Dastgiri meri tanhai ki too ne hi to ki
(Sole companion of my solitude)
Me to mar jata agar sath na hota tera
(But for your succor, I would no longer be)
Wo andheron me bhi durrana guzar jate hain
(Undaunted, they cross the darkness)
Jin ke maathe pe chamkta hai sitara tera
(Whose brows are illumined by your brilliance)
The voice was strong and clear. Imama sat mesmerized, the receiver held to her ear.
'Hello Imama!' It was Zainab. The man's voice disappeared the earth that had stopped began to spin again.
'Hello, Imama, can you hear me?' She was jolted back to life.
'Yes, I can...'
'That's better: I thought the line had dropped,' Zainab said with some relief. Imama chatted with her awhile but her mind was engaged somewhere else.
Jalal Ansar was Zainab's older brother. Imama knew about him but they had not met. Zainab and Imama were classmates and first met when Imama joined college. Their acquaintanceship grew and so Imama got to know about her family, that they were four siblings and Jalal was the eldest; he was doing a house job as a doctor. Zainab's father was an engineer in WAPDA and their family was quite religious.
On her return to from Islamabad, Imama said, 'Zainab, that night when I'd called, there was someone reciting a naat in the background. Who was it?' She tried not to be too curi
ous.
'Oh, that ...that was Jalal Bhai. He was practicing for a naat competition.
Our phone's in the corridor and his room was open so you must have heard him,' she explained.
'He has a very nice voice.'
'Yes, he does. His recital of the Quran is even better than the naat. He's won many prizes for his recitals. He's going to participate in a competition in college—you must come.'
Zainab did not know then about Imama's religious leanings. She was very careful about purdah so Zainab thought Imama too was from a conservative background like herself.
Two or three days later, without informing her friends Imama bunked classes to attend the naat competition. That was when she saw Jalal Ansar for the first time. He was a bearded young man, about 25 years old, and resembled Zainab. Imama's eyes followed him as he rose from his seat and came on stage to take his place at the rostrum. Eyes closed and arms folded across his chest, he began reciting:
Kuch nahi mangta shahon se ye sheda tera
(Your admirer asks nothing from the kings)
Is ki dolat hai faqat naqsh-e-qaf-e-paa tera
(For the dust of your tracks is my greatest reward)
A current seemed to run through Imama. There was pin drop silence in the hall where only his voice echoed, casting a spell. She did not notice when he finished and came offstage, who came next, what the outcome of the competition was or when the last student left the hall. After a long time the realization hit her that she was the only one sitting there.
'I heard your brother recite yesterday,' she told Zainab.
'Really? He won the first prize.' Zainab smiled.