I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER
Chapter 14. Flight | Epilogue.
Odd, how after the Lord changed my mind about leaving Pakistan, sudden roadblocks emerged,
One, for instance, that seemed insurmountable was a regulation that citizens of Pakistan are only allowed to take five hundred dollars out of the country. As my dependent, Malmud could take $250. How could Mahmud and I possibly survive for four months on 750? This by itself seemed enough to keep us from considering Peggy's suggestion further.
Then a few days later, Peggy invited me to her home for a visit. As we chatted, Dr. Christy Wilson's name came upin the conv rersation She knew him too.Iwas quite concerneds about him since I had heard he had been ejected from Afghanistan by the Muslim government, which ther had destroyed the church he had built in Kabul for foreign nationals.
"Do you have any idea where he is?"1 asked
"Not really," Peggy said.
Just at that moment the phone rang. Peggy went to answer it. When she returned, her eyes were wide, Do you know who that was?" she said. "It was Christy Wilson!"
After we got over our startled, laughing surprise, we began to ask ourselves if this were more than coincidence. Dr. Wilson, Peggy said, was just passing through Lahore. He wanted to come out for a visit. Of course I was glad, for it would be good to catch up on news, but I had an intui tive sense that more than casual visiting was going to occur.
We had a marvelous reunion at Peggy's house the next day. I brought Dr. Wilson up to date on events in Wah and in my own life. Then Peggy told him about trying to persuade me to come to the United States. He 'became quite enthusiastic about the idea.
"There are several problems though,"' Peggy said. "The first is the regulation that Bilquis can take only five hundred dollars out of the country."
"I wonder ...." Dr. Wilson said, stroking his chin. 'I have some friends who might.... Perhaps Icould send a wire. ... I know a man in California..."
After a few days Peggy phoned, all excited.
"Bilquis," she shouted. "It's all arranged! Dr. Bob Pierce of Samaritan's Purse will sponsor you! Do you think you could be ready to leave in seven days?"
Seven days! Suddenly the enormity of the idea of leaving my homeland swept over1 me. ForI still felt convinced that if I did in fact leave, it would be forever. I understood what Rudyard Kip ling meant in his lines:
God gave all men all earth to love But, since our hearts are small Ordained for each one spot should prove Beloved over all.
Wah ... my garden ... my home . my family. Could I seriously contemplate leaving them?
Yes, I could. I could consider nothing else if I were truly convinced that this were God's will For Iknew what would happen if I deliberately disobeyed. His Presence would disappear.
Over the next 24 hours another confirmation appeared to come through. Khalid told me at supper that there was only one minor detail left to cover, then all of the real estate problems would be over.
"I think you can say quite safely, Mother" Khalid said, "that as of today you have divested yourself of the properties you wanted to sell."
Then suddenly doors slammed. Not by God, so it seemed, but by my country. For still a regu lation came in, to the e ffect that no Pakistani can leave the coutry unless all of his income taxes have been paid. Mine had been paid, but I needed a statement to that effect. I had to get an In come Tax Clearance Certificate Oniy with this could I buy tickets for the United States.
Four of my seven days before departure were gone; only three were left now as my son Khalid and I walked into the government office to get the Clearance Certificate. Khalid and I thought there would be no problems at all, since my papers were in order.
The office was on a busy street in downtown Lahore. However, when I stepped into that building, something struck me as strange. It was far too quiet for the usual bureaucratic office where clerks ran hither and yon and someone always seemed to be arguing with a staff member.
Khalid and I were the ony ones in the office except for a bald-headed clerk who sat at the fat end of the counter reading a magazine. Stepping up to him, I told him what I wanted.
He looked up only partially and shook his head. "sorry," he said putting his head back down into the magazine again, "there's a strike on."
"A strike?"
"Yes, Begum Sahiba," he said. 'Indefinitely No one is on duty There's nothing anyone can dc for you."
I stood staring at the man. Then I withdrew a few feet. "oh Lord,"I prayed aloud, but in such a way that only my son could hear me, "Have You closed the door? But why did You encourage me So far?"
Then a thought struck me. Had He really closed the door?
"All right, Father," I prayed. "Ifit is Your wil that Mahmud and I go to America, You'll have to be the one to arrange for my clearance." A strong sense of confidence filled me and I found myself addressing the clerk.
"Well, you seem to be on duty," I said. "Why can't you give me my clearance?" The man glanced up from his magazine with a dour expression. He seemed the type who was always happy to say no.
"I told you, there's a strike on," he grunted.
"Well, then, let me see the officer in charge." One thing I had learned in my government work was that when I wanted something done, I should always go to the highest authority.
The clerk sighed, slapped down his magazine and escorted me to an ofice nearby. Wait here," he grunted again, then disappeared into the office. From it I could hear a low murmur of voices, then the man emerged and motioned me in.
Khalid and I foun d ourselves facing a handsome middle-aged man siting behind a scarred desk. I explained my need. He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil. "Tm sorry, Begum Sahiba. ... Begum Sahiba .. . what did you say your name was?
"Bilquis Sheikh."
"Well, I'm very sorry. There's* absolutely nothing we can do during this strike. .2 But sud- denly a light of recognition flooded his eyes.
"You aren't the Begum sheikh who organized the simple Living Plan?"
"I am. "
He slammed his fist on the table, then shot up. 'well!" he said. He drew a chair over and asked me to sit down. 'I think that was the most wonderful program our country ever had."
I smiled.
Then the officer leaned across his desk in a confidential manner. "Now let's see what we can do for you.
He got me to explain precisely what the problem was and I told him that I was supposed to be in Karachi to catch a plane for the United States in three days. The man's face took on a resolute look. Standing up, he called out to the clerk on the counter. "Telthat new assistant to come ir here.
"I have," he said to me in a very low voice, "a temporary stenographer. He is not part of the regular work staff and isn't on strike. He can type up the certificate. I myself will put on the seal, I'm glad to help."
A few minutes later I had the precious certificate in my hand, fuly executed. As I left,I confess, I waved the paper at the surprised litle clerk who looked up from his magazine justlong enough to see my smile and hear my "God bless you."
As we left the government office building a few minutes later, an astonished Khalid men tioned to me that it had taken only twenty minutes to complete the entire business. "That was less than it would have taken if ever yone had been on duty!" he said.
My heart singing, I tried to explain to Khalid that the Lord wants our companionship. When we pray, He wants to work with us. It was the Moses' Rod Principle. IfI had just put the problem in the Lord's hands without stepping out in faith myself, I might never have gotten the clear- ance. I had to step out by doing every thing I could. I had to ask to see the man in charge. just as God required Moses to strike the rock with a rod, He asks us, too, to participate in the workin g of miracles.
Khalid seemed a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm but recovered and a dded with a smile "Well, Illsay one thing, Mother. I notice that instead of "thank -you' you always say "God bless you.' And when you say that, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
Now that all my papers were in order I wondered ifI could take a quick trip back to Wah to say good-bye, for by then I was convinced that this trip would be for more than four months How- ever, when I brought up the subject, Khalid said.
"Didn't you hear about the flood?"
Heavy rains had struck the portion of Pakistan between Lahore and Wah. Many square miles of land were floodied. Al trafic was snarie d. The government had taken over transportatior.
My heart sank. I would not even be allowed to say goodbye. The Lord was asking me to make a dlean break, like Lot bein g told not to look back.
I had planned to leave Lahore on Friday morning, two days off I would fly to Karachi, the jumping-off place for the United States. Peggy and her son would begin their trip in New Delhi, Their Pan American, New York-bound plane would stop at Karachi, and Mahmud and I would join them on the plane there. On Thursday morning, however, an unusually strong urge swept over me not to wait . My anxiety centered around Mahmud. Surely grapevine efficiency had taken the news to his father that we were not on a simple visit to Lahore but were on our way out of the country. Wasn't it probable that his paternal relatives might try to take Mahmud away from my "corrupting" influence! Would I be stopped on some pretext or other? A strong sense of danger spured me.
No, I wouldn't wait. I would leave that very day, I would go to Karachi, stay with friends, and lie low.
So that afternoon, after a flury of packing, Mahmud and I said quick farewells to Khalid and his family and hurried to the airport. We flew out of Lahore with a definite sense of relief. We were on our way!
Karachi was, as I remembered it, a rambling desert and seashore city nestled against the Indian Ocean. It was a hodgepodge of the old and new, of gangling camels brushing against mod ern cars, of buzzing fly-filled bazaars next to smart shops offering the latest fashions. The city was so large we would just be swallowed up in it.
We were staying with friends and I was shopping downtown, preparing for our departure for America the next day. Suddenly a strange oppression came over me. I closed my eyes as I leaned against a wall for support and prayed for my Lord's protection. I was given the strong leading that Mahmud and I were to move to a hotel that night. I tried to shake it off. "This is silly!" I tolc myself. Then I remembered the story of the wise men bein g warned in a dream to leave early by another route.
Shortly, we were checked into the Air France Hotel at the Karachi Airport. I took Mahmud to the room as quickly as possible, ordered our meals sent to us, and together we simply waited Mahmud seemed restless. "Why do we have to be so secretive, Mum?" he asked.
'I just think we ought to be quiet for a littie while, that's all."
That night before the flight, I lay awake in bed wondering, Why was I so apprehensive? There was no real reason for it. Was Iletting my nerves take over? Was I overreacting to a possible threat from Mahmud's father? I slept fitfully and only for a few hours. By two o'clock in the morning I was up and dressed, prodded by a strong sense of urgency. A gain I felt ridiculous. It was unlike me The only way Icould explain it was that the hour had come for me to leave the hotel and I was being propelled by the Lord. I hustled a sleepy Mahmud into his clothes, ther packed our bags and called for the bellman to pick them up.
It was three o'dlock in the morning, The flight was at five. Mahmud, stilsleepy-eyed, stood with me in front of the hotel waiting for the taxi that was to take us to the terminal. I looked at the waning moon and wondered, would this be the last time I would see this moon in my own country? An carly morning brecze wafted a scent ofjasmine, probably from a flower box, and-my heart cried out, for I was afraid I would never see my garden again.
Finally the taxi arrived and Mahmud and I climbed in. I prayed as we wove our way througt traffic. Even at this early hour the airport avenues were busy. As cars pulled alongside at stop- lights Iquoted I myself, nervously$ trying sank to back sound alittle as deeper reassuring into to the my seat. own ears We're asI just had being to quiet Mahmud. for a No, litle while," that wasn't the way, What I really needed to do was to pray. "Lord, do take away this nervousness. This nervousness is not founded in You. I cannot trust You and worry at the same time! And yet if this urgency is of You, PIOT there must ○ a reason andI will obey."
We pulled into the terminal and got out onto bustling sidewalk where the rumbling thunder of jet engines and the cacophony of hundreds of voices blended in an atmosphere of urgency. My heart caught as I looked up and sawmy country's flag, the star anc crescent on its respect that fag my People and their green background, , snapping in the breeze. I would always Muslim faith. A porter hurried our Iuggage over to the check-in counter where Iwas grateful to see it disappear into seeming safety.
We were allowed just 40 pounds of luggage each. I smiled and thought of our family trips on other days to the interior when thousands of pounds of luggage were taken for just a few week's stay and my sister and I still cried for the clothes that we couldn't take along.
We had an hour to wait before plane time. Keeping Mahmud close to me, I felt it best for us to mix in with the crowd in the terminal so we wouldn't be noticed. But I couldn't shake the sensé of impending danger. Again I scolded myself for needless worry. The Lord is in charge, I told my. self. He is guiding me out of this situation, and all I need to do is obey.
Then Mahmud asked to go to the restroom. We walked down the hall to the men's room. waited in the corridor.
Suddenly the loudspeaker called out our flight.
"Pan Am flight for New York City now ready for boarding."
My heart jumped. Where was Mahmud! We must be going!
Finally the men's room door opened. No, it was a turbaned Sikh who stepped out.
I found myself edging to the door. what was I doin g! Certainly no woman in a Muslim coun try would be caught going into a men's room even to look for a ten-year-old missing youngster.
Now they were calling our flight again . "Pan Am flight for New York City is now ready for de parture. All passengers should be aboard."
On no! My heart cried. I had to do something, I pushed the men's room door back and shouted "Mahmud!"
A little voice answered, "I'm coming, Mum."
I breathed a deep sigh and fel back limply against the wall. Soon Mahmud came out. 'where were you? What kept you!" I cried.
No matter. I didn't wait for an answer but grabbed the boy's hand and ran. Now we rushed down the long hall to the boarding gate. We found ourselves among the last passengers getting aboard.
"Wow, Mum! cried Mahmud. 'What a ship!"
What a ship indeed. The 747 airliner was huge. We were both excited. I had never seen such a big plane before.
As I was about to step aboard I hesitated for a moment, at this last touch of Pakistan's soil.
But we had to keep moving Inside the plane, which seemed like an auditorium to me, a stewardess directed us toward our seats. Where was Peggy? What would I do in the States with- out her?
And then, there she was! Working her way up the aisle toward us. Pegey threw her arms about me.
"Oh, precious lady!" she cried. I was so worried. I couldn't see you in the crowd at the board ing gate!"
I explained what had happened and Peggy seemed relieved. She introduced us to her son who was with her.
"Too bad we can't sit together," she said. 'we just had to take the seats they gave us."
Frankly, it was just as well My thoughts were not social at that time They were on the realization that I was leaving my homeland. 1 felt sad, certainly, but at the same time complete. I couldn't understand it.
Soon Mahmud was being Mahmud. He made friends with a stewardess who took him into the cockpit for a visit. Mahmud came back enthralled. I was pleased. The stewardess asked us to put on our seatbelts. I looked out the window to see the first rays of dawn spearing the eastern sky The engines rumbled and a surge of excitement filled me. Our ship began to lumber down the runway. I looked behind me but could not see Peggy.
But Mahmud's face was there, next to me. And it shone with excitement as the jet engines exploded into thunder at takeof. I took Mahmud's hand, breathed a sigh of relief and began to pray.
"But I have such a feeling of completion! You have brought me out of my homeland, like Abram. Not knowing what comes next, yet complete. Satisfied, because 1 am with You." Even embarrassment over my fears and nervousness didn't bother me now. All I kmew was that I had obeyed the Lord in every way. And I had to admit that I would never really know what might have happened either to Mahmud or to myself if I had not followed His every command and moved as I did.
Tiny lights whisked by the windows and suddenly the rumbling of wheels beneath us ceased. we were airbornel ln the light of early dawn, I could se the shoreline of Pakistan on the Indiar Ocean receding below us.
I held out my hand to Him. He was my only security. My only joy was staying in His Presence. As long as I could stay there I knew that I would be living in the glory.
"Thank You, Father," I breathed. Thank You for letting me travel with You."
Epilogue.
After the Book
After Bilquis sheilkh moved to the United states in 1973, she spoke all over North America, and later in different countries of the world, sharing what God had done in her life, In early 1989 while living in Thousand Oaks, California, she suffered a severe heart attack. Her three children rushed to her side from difrent parts of the world- her dau ghter Tooni and son, Khalid, fron Pakistan, and her daughter Khalida from Kenya. Since it was inadvisable for her to continue ts live on her own, they persuaded her to return to her family in Pakistan to spend her later years.
In 1992 Bilquis' grandson Mahmud, whom she had adopted as her son, also returned to Paki- stan and began a successful orthodontic practice in Islamabad.
April 9, 1997, was her final day here on earth and her entrance to the home prepared for her in heaven. She was buried in Murree, Rawalpindi District, in an old Christian graveyard nestled in the Hmalayan Mountains. Her simple white marble tombstone is engraved with a prominent cross, underneath which is written
Bilquis
Born 12-12-12
Died 9-4-97
Loving the Lord
In September 1999 Mahmud was tragically murdered while attempting to avert an honor Kiling involving one of the servants working in his home. Mahmud is survived by his wife and two children, a daughter and son, who continue to live in the Islamabad area.
