I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER
Chapter 8. Was There Protection?
I awakened the next morning full of apprehension. Today the family would come again, either en masse or one at a time. Either way I dreaded the awful confrontation. I dreaded the accusations, the angry warnings, the lures and threats which I knew were coming. Above all, I hated hurting them.
Not quite believing that God would answer my request, I had Raisham bring out my clothes, chose the most attractive, issued word to the servants that I would be happy to see all visitors today and then went to the drawing room. There I sat on one of the white chairs and read while Mahmud played with his toy cars, weaving them in and out of the paisley design of the large Persian carpet on the floor.
The hands of the clock moved to ten o’clock, eleven, and eventually noon. Well, I thought, it looks as if they plan an afternoon visit.
Lunch was served and then while Mahmud napped I continued waiting. At last at three o’clock I heard the sound of a car stopping outside. I was steeling myself for battle when the car drove away! What was happening? I asked the maid and she said it was just someone making a delivery.
Evening darkened the tall windows of the drawing room and shadows gathered high on the ceiling. Then there was a phone call for me. I glanced at the clock; it was seven. Were they phoning instead of coming in person?
I picked up the phone to hear a soft voice I recognized very well—Marie Old. She sounded quite worried. Word of my conversion was certainly out already, as yesterday’s invasion of relatives showed. So why the concern?
“Are you all right?” Marie said. “I’ve been anxious about you.”
I assured her that I was fine. As soon as I hung up the phone, I called for my shawl and asked that the car be made ready. At this time of the year, my family did not normally visit after eight o’clock so I felt it was safe to leave. Odd, how not one relative had called or visited, since they had all been anxious to see me the previous day.
I wanted reassurance from one of my Christian family. The Olds? Why had Marie called so mysteriously? I drove to the Olds’ house and was surprised to find it completely dark.
And then, quite unexpectedly, quite abruptly, I was alarmed. As I stood at the gate leading into their yard I could feel fear settle over me, touching me with clammy, cold horror. Dark thoughts came at me from dark corners of the yard. Surely I had been foolish to come out alone at night! What was that back in the shadows? My heart raced.
I turned. I was about to run for the car. And then I stopped. No! This was no way to be acting. If I were a part of the Kingdom, I had a right to the King’s protection. Standing there in the awesome darkness, still very much afraid, I deliberately willed myself back into the King’s hands. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” I said over and over again. Incredibly the fear lifted. As soon as it had come, it was gone. I was free!
Almost smiling now, I turned toward the Olds’ house. After a few paces, I saw a crack of light coming between two drawn curtains in the living room. I knocked.
The door slowly opened. It was Marie. When she saw me she gave a sigh of relief and quickly drew me into the house and hugged me.
“Ken! Ken!” she called.
He was there in a moment. “Oh, thank God!” he exclaimed. “We were quite worried about you.” Ken told me that the Pakistani Padri at my baptism had become quite concerned for my safety and had told them that they had made a mistake in leaving me alone.
“So, that’s why you were so concerned on the phone, Marie!” I suppressed a nervous laugh. “Well, I expect the whole country will soon know about my conversion, but thank you anyhow. So far, nothing has happened. Even my family didn’t show up and you can’t know how grateful I am for that answer to prayer.”
“Let’s thank the Lord,” Ken said, and the three of us knelt together in their living room as Ken thanked God for my protection and asked Him to continue to watch over me.
So, I returned home, the richer for having called on God’s help in the face of fear by taking advantage of the name of Jesus. My servants said there had not been a phone call all that evening. Well, I thought as I prepared for bed, watch out for tomorrow.
Again, I waited in the drawing room all day, praying, thinking, studying the pattern of the Persian carpet. There was not a word from anyone.
What was going on? Was this some kind of a cat and mouse game?
And then I thought to check with the servants. In Pakistan if you want to know anything, ask a household servant. Through an uncanny grapevine, they know everything about everybody.
Finally, I pinned down Nur-jan: “Tell me, what happened to my family?”
“Oh, Begum Sahib,” she answered, suppressing a nervous giggle, “the strangest thing happened. It was as if everybody was busy at once. Your brother had to go to the annual Winter Cricket Tournament.” I smiled; to my brother, cricket was more important than a sister who was on her way to hell. “Your Uncle Fateh had to go out of the province on a court case, your Aunt Amina needed to go to Lahore; two of your cousins were called out of town on business, and . . .”
I stopped her; she need not go on any further. The Lord had said He would scatter them and scatter them He did. I could almost hear my Lord chuckle. It wasn’t, I felt sure, that the concerned members of my family would leave me alone, but now they would come one by one.
And so it was. The first emissary was my Aunt Amina, a regal woman, still beautiful in her seventies. For years we had a close relationship of love and trust. Now as she walked in, her magnolia complexion was paler than usual and her gray eyes were rimmed with sadness.
We chatted a bit. Finally I could tell she was coming to the real reason for her visit. Clearing her throat, she sat back and, trying to sound casual, asked: “Er . . . Keechi . . . uh . . . I have heard . . . that . . . you have become a Christian. Is it true?”
I only smiled at her.
She shifted uneasily in her chair and continued. “I thought people were spreading false rumors about you.” She hesitated, her soft eyes imploring me to say that it wasn’t true.
“It is no lie, Aunt Amina,” I said. “I have made a complete commitment to Christ. I have been baptized. I am now a Christian.”
She slapped her hands over her cheeks. “Oh, what a great mistake!” she cried. She sat very still for a moment, unable to add anything. Then, slowly gathering her shawl around her, she stood and with frozen dignity walked out of my house.
I was crushed, but I asked the Lord to protect her from the devastating hurt she was feeling. I knew I had to discover His own prayer for my family. Otherwise, I would leave a swath of damaged loved ones behind me. “Lord,” I said, “the ideal thing of course would be to have every one come to know You. But I know that even if they aren’t converted, I know You still love them, and right now I ask that You touch each of these dear ones of mine with Your special blessing, starting, if You will, with my Aunt Amina. Thank You, Lord!”
Next day I had to say the same prayer. This time it was for Aslam, a dear elderly male cousin who came to see me. A lawyer, he lived about 45 miles from Wah. As the son of my father’s brother, he had inherited many of my father’s characteristics, the same warm smile, the gentle sense of humor. I was fond of Aslam. From his attitude, I was sure that he had not heard the full particulars of my problem.
We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then Aslam said: “When is the family meeting? I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together.”
I chuckled. “I don’t know when the family meeting will be, Aslam, but I do know that I’ll not be invited because the meeting is about me.”
He looked so confused I knew that I had to explain everything. “But please go to the meeting, Aslam,” I said, when I had finished. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me.”
I watched him sadly make his way out of the house; it was obvious, I thought, that a climax was approaching. I had better get to Rawalpindi and Lahore as soon as possible. I didn’t want Tooni and my son Khalid to hear garbled stories about me. There was nothing I could do in person about my daughter Khalida, for she lived in Africa. But I could face Khalid and Tooni. The very next day I set off for Lahore. Khalid had done well and his home reflected it. He was living in one of my houses, a lovely town bungalow surrounded by wide verandas and an immaculately groomed lawn.
We drove through his gate, parked by the entrance and walked up onto the broad veranda. Khalid, well alerted by family and by a long phone call from me, hurried out to greet me. “Mother! How glad I am to see you,” he said, though I sensed he welcomed me with a little embarrassment. We talked all that afternoon about what I had done, but in the end I knew Khalid did not understand at all.
Next I had to see Tooni. I drove to Rawalpindi and went straight to the hospital. I asked that Tooni be paged, and as I waited in her room, I wondered how I should go about telling her. Doubtless she had been hearing stories already. She certainly was aware firsthand that I had been reading the Bible. She may even have overheard fragments of my conversation with the Catholic nun, Dr. Santiago, in this same hospital when Mahmud had been admitted. One thing she surely did not know: how life-changing that visit with Dr. Santiago had been, for it was this little nun who encouraged me to pray to God as my Father.
“Mother!” I looked up to see Tooni hurrying toward me, her chestnut hair in stark contrast to her white starched uniform, her face beaming, her arms outstretched.
I rose, my heart pounding. How was I going to break the news to her! I tried to think of gentle ways, but the fear of pressure from Tooni was too much. Without daring to be circumspect, I blurted it out. “Tooni,” I said, “be prepared for a shock, dear. Two days ago I was . . . I was baptized.”
Tooni froze, her sensitive eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would come to this,” she said, in a voice I could hardly hear.
I quickly put my arms around her, as I couldn’t bear to see her cry, and tried to comfort her, but with no success. “I can’t go back and pretend to work,” she said. Since she had gotten permission to visit with me, we tried to talk, and though I tried my best to explain the necessity of a baptism, she kept saying, “Oh, Mum, did you really have to go so far?” I decided there was not much point in continuing with the conversation and it would be best to give her time to absorb this. So I gathered my things.
“Come see me, darling,” I said, “when you feel you can. We’ll talk.” Tooni made no objections at all, so within minutes I was on the Grand Trunk Road headed home. The minute I arrived home my servants clustered around me. Nur-jan was wringing her plump hands and even Raisham’s face was paler than usual. The phone had been ringing all day, relatives had been at the gate since early morning asking for me. Even as the servants chattered, the phone rang again. It was my sister’s husband, who worked with a British oil firm. I had always thought of Jamil as a man of the world, but now his voice didn’t sound very self-assured.
“Keecha, I have heard the strangest thing and cannot believe it,” he said bluntly. “A colleague told me that he heard you had become a Christian. Of course, I laughed at him and assured him that could never happen.” Word really was spreading rapidly. I said nothing. “Keecha!” Jamil’s voice was insistent. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“That story isn’t true, is it?”
“Yes.”
There was another silence. Then: “Well, that’s nice,” Jamil snapped. “You’ve just lost more than you can know. And for what? For just another religious viewpoint. That’s what.” He hung up.
In ten minutes Tooni was on the phone sobbing. “Mummy, Uncle Jim just called to say that now Mahmud’s father will be able to get him back. He says no court will allow you to keep him!”
I tried to comfort her but she hung up sobbing.
Late that night as I was in bed reading and Mahmud was just dropping off to sleep, I heard a commotion outside and in came Tooni and my late sister’s two daughters who were very close to Tooni and very close to my heart. Though disapproving of my actions, their love and concern for me had held firm in all this time of turmoil. I was upset at their driving alone all the way from Pindi at this late hour, but their tense and ashen faces indicated that something was wrong. I had the servants bring in dinner for them, but they just picked at their food and the conversation was trite. All three women kept glancing at Mahmud who was bright-eyed and full of excitement at this unexpected turn of events. It was only after he finally fell asleep that one of the nieces leaned forward anxiously.
“Keecha, do you realize what this means for other people?” She broke into tears. “Have you thought of anybody else?” Her question was echoed in the brown eyes of my other niece who sat silently across from me.
I reached across the table and took the girl’s slim hand. “My dear,” I said sorrowfully. “There is nothing I can do but to be obedient.”
Tooni now looked at me through tearful eyes and, as if she had not heard a word I said, begged me. “Mother, pack up and leave. Leave while there’s something . . . or someone . . . to leave with.”
Her voice rose. “Do you know what people are saying? You’ll be attacked. Your own brother may be compelled to take action against you!” And then she broke down sobbing. “My friends say you’ll be murdered!”
“I’m sorry, Tooni, but I’m not going to run away,” I answered gently. “If I leave now I’ll be running for the rest of my life.” Determination rose within me as I spoke. “If He wishes, God can easily take care of me in my own house. And no one, no one,” I said, “is going to push me out.” I sat up in my chair, suddenly feeling very dramatic. “Let them come and attack!”
And then, as I sat there feeling so fiercely sure of myself, something happened. The warm personal Presence of God was gone. I sat, almost in panic, oblivious to the voices rising around me. But just as suddenly I realized what had happened. The old me, full of pride and stubbornness, had taken over. I was deciding what would happen, that no one would push me out of my home.
I sank back in my chair, barely aware that Tooni was speaking to me.
“. . . all right, then, Mummy,” Tooni cried. “So you’ve become a Christian. Must you become a Christian martyr also?” She knelt by my chair and laid her head on my shoulder. “Don’t you realize that we love you?”
“Of course, dear, of course,” I murmured, stroking her hair. Silently I asked His forgiveness for being so headstrong. Wherever He wanted me to go was fine, even if it meant leaving my house. As I said this in my heart I once again felt the Presence of the Father. The whole exchange had taken but a few minutes, but even as the three women sitting in front of me continued talking, I was aware that life was going on at another level too. The Lord was right then, at that moment, working with me, teaching me. He was in the very process of showing me how to stay in His Presence.
“. . . so we will, then? All right?” It was Tooni’s voice and I had no idea what she was asking me to agree to. Fortunately she went on. “If Mahmud’s father comes after him, you can let me take him. I haven’t become a Christian,” she added pointedly.
Eventually the three girls quieted down and I told them to spend the night to which they agreed. As I bid Tooni and my nieces good night, I thought how our roles had changed. Once I was so protective and worried over them; now we were equally worried for each other. That night I prayed: “Lord, it’s so difficult to talk to a person who doesn’t have faith in You. Please help my family. I’m so worried for the welfare of my loved ones.”
As I drifted off to sleep, I again seemed to have left my body as if floating. I found myself standing on a grassy slope surrounded by pine trees. A spring bubbled near me. All about me were angels, so many that they seemed to form a hazy mist. I kept hearing one name, “Saint Michael!” The angels gave me courage. And then I was back in bed. I got up and, still sensing their spiritual strength, went to Mahmud’s room. I pointed to him in his bed and then went to where the girls slept and did the same. I went back to my bedroom and got down on my knees. “Lord,” I prayed, “You have shown me so many answers, now show me, I pray, what You are going to do with Mahmud. I would like to give Tooni some assurance.”
I felt urged to open my Bible and this passage leaped up from the page: Genesis 22:12—“Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou anything unto him. . . .”
“Oh, thank You, Father,” I sighed.
At breakfast I was able to assure Tooni. “Darling, nothing is going to happen to your son; you never need worry.” I showed her the Scripture given to me. Whether my faith was contagious or Tooni was touched by the Holy Spirit, I don’t know. But her face did relax and she smiled for the first time in two days.
My daughter and nieces left my house on a somewhat less somber note that day. But the flow of the relatives and friends continued.
A few days later Raisham announced that there were seven people, all very dear concerned friends wanting to see me. I didn’t want to face them without Mahmud. The boy should know everything that was going on. So I found him and together we went downstairs to the drawing room. There they sat in straight-backed formality far forward on their chairs. After the tea and cakes and small talk, one of those present cleared his throat. I steeled myself for what I knew was coming.
“Bilquis,” said a friend I’d known since childhood, “we love you and we have been thinking over this thing you have done and we have a suggestion which we think will be of help to you.”
“Yes?”
He leaned forward and smiled.
“Don’t declare your Christianity publicly.”
“You mean keep my faith a secret?”
“Well . . .”
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t play games with God. If I must die, I die.”
All seven of them seemed to edge closer to me. An old friend of my father glared at me. I was about to glare back but caught myself. They thought they had my welfare at heart.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I just can’t do what you ask.” I explained that my faith had quickly, in little more than a month, become the most important thing in my life. “I cannot keep quiet about it,” I said. I quoted them the Scripture where the Lord says: “Every man who publicly acknowledges me I shall acknowledge in the presence of my Father in Heaven, but the man who disowns me before men I shall disown before my Father in heaven” (Matthew 10:32, 33).
“But,” said another elderly gentleman, “you are in a very peculiar situation. I’m sure your God wouldn’t mind if you kept quiet. He knows you believe in Him. That’s enough.” He quoted the Quran law on apostasy. “We’re afraid,” he said, “that someone will kill you.”
I smiled but no one else was smiling. It was a pointless discussion, as they saw. When they rose to go I was given my ultimatum.
“Remember, Bilquis, if you get into trouble, none of your friends or family can stand by you. The ones who care the most will have to turn their backs on you.”
I nodded. I well understood their words. I wished now that I had sent Mahmud out to play in the garden so that he would have heard none of this. When I looked at him, though, sitting on his little chair beside me, he just smiled. “It’s all right,” he seemed to be saying.
They were near tears as the group prepared to leave. A close friend of my mother kissed me. “Good-bye,” she said.
She repeated the word with a strange emphasis. Then she broke into tears, pulled herself away and hurried out the door.
The house seemed like a tomb after they left. Even Mahmud’s usual noisy play was subdued.
Three weeks passed when the only sound in my house was the hushed voices of servants and the concerned phone calls from Tooni and my nieces.
If it weren’t for the Mitchells and the Olds and for our regular Sunday evening meetings, I wonder if the freeze-out might not have worked.
Each day the family battle line was seen more clearly. I saw it in the anger on the face of a cousin or in the scornful glance of a nephew as they passed my house and happened to see me in the garden.
It was there in the cold voice of an aunt who called to say that she wouldn’t keep a luncheon appointment. The boycott had begun. My phone remained silent, and no one pulled the bell cord at my gate. Not one member of the family came to call, even to scold. I could not help but recall a verse from the Quran (Sura 74–20): If you renounced the faith, you would surely do evil in the land and violate the ties of blood. Such are those on whom Allah has laid His curse leaving them bereft of sight and hearing.
In a very real way this was happening. I had violated the ties of blood and I undoubtedly would not see or hear from my family anymore.
The normal chatter and laughter of the servants had quieted as they slipped in and out of my rooms. I could hardly get them to talk to me beyond the usual, “Yes, Begum Sahib.”
And then one morning the boycott took a strange turn. There was a soft click of my door and I turned to see Nur-jan quietly enter to minister my toilette. It was so unlike her usual exuberance. Raisham stepped in even more solemn than usual. As they proceeded to their task, they did not speak and I was bothered by the haunted look on both of their faces.
I waited for some word but Nur-jan continued her tasks silently, without the usual gossip or chatter. Raisham’s face was graven. Finally, with a little of the old fire in my voice, I said, “All right, I can tell something is wrong. Tell me about it.”
The brushing halted as I heard the news. Except for Raisham, standing before me now, all of my Christian servants, including Manzur, had fled my house in the middle of the night.
