I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER
Chapter 9. Boycott
What did it mean, this defection? Four servants quitting! In a town like Wah where any job was hard to come by, their decisions were hard to understand.
It was fear of course. Manzur was afraid because I asked him to get me a Bible and had him drive me to the home of missionaries. The other three Christian servants must have picked up his concern. They must have heard the rumblings of a volcano which would soon erupt and didn’t want to be caught in the overflow.
But what about Raisham, this Christian servant who now began to brush my hair again? I could feel her graceful hands tremble as she started her work. “And you?” I asked.
She bit her lip as she continued her brushing. “I probably shouldn’t stay,” she said softly. “It’s going to be . . .” “Very lonely,” I concluded her statement. “Yes,” she said, swallowing, “and . . .”
“And you’re afraid. Well, if you left, Raisham, I wouldn’t blame you. You have to make up your own mind, just as I did. If you do stay though, remember that Jesus told us we would be persecuted for His sake.”
Raisham nodded, her dark eyes moist. She took a hairpin out of her mouth and proceeded to do up my hair. “I know,” she said sadly.
Raisham was quiet the rest of the day. Her concern affected Nur-jan who was approaching quiet hysteria. The next morning when I awakened I could hardly bring myself to ring the little bell. Who would be with me now? My bedroom door opened slowly and Nur-jan came in. Then, in the near darkness of winter’s early hours another form followed. It was Raisham!
Later, I told her how much I appreciated her staying. She blushed. “Begum Sahib Ji,” she answered softly, adding the affectionate third salutation which means, May you have long life. “As you serve the Lord, so I will serve you.”
With the rest of my Christian servants gone, my house became even quieter, partly because I did not replace them all. My needs were simpler now that no family came by. I decided not to rehire Christians for a while. I found a new chauffeur, a Muslim named Fazal and a new Muslim cook’s assistant, but I hired no one else. I was especially relieved for Mahmud who continued to play happily in the house or garden. But I still worried. How much of his heritage was I putting in jeopardy? How much of the boy’s rightful family ties was I threatening? Just yesterday he had asked again when his cousin Karim was going to take him fishing. Karim had promised to teach Mahmud the mysteries of catching the fish that slipped among the mossy rocks of our garden and village stream, which joined the Dhamra River.
“Mum!” Mahmud had asked. “When is Karim going to come?”
I looked down at the boy whose eyes were shining, and I just didn’t have the heart to tell him that his fishing party would never take place. Mahmud could not have been very drawn to Christianity so far. I read him Bible stories, which he loved so much that I moved his bedtime from 8:00 to 8:30 so we could have plenty of time for them. But what were a few stories compared with a fishing trip? And friends? For bit by bit Mahmud’s friends began to stop coming over. Mahmud couldn’t understand this, and when I tried to explain it to him he looked at me in puzzlement.
“Mum,” he said, “who do you love better, me or Jesus?”
What should I say! Especially right now when he was lonely. “God has to come first, Mahmud.” I said, paraphrasing the Lord’s warning that unless we put family after Him, we are not truly His own. “We have to put God first,” I said, “even before the people we love most in the world.”
Mahmud seemed to accept this. He seemed to be listening when I read him the Bible. Once, after I had read to him, “Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden and I will give you rest,” I heard his nap-time pleas: “Jesus, I love You and I will come unto You, but . . . please don’t give me rest. I don’t like resting.” He would even fold his hands and pray, but I knew that it was hard on him being alone and seeing me alone.
Then at 3:00 one morning my white bedside phone did clamor. I reached toward the instrument, my heart pounding. No one would call at this hour unless there had been a death in the family. I picked up the phone and at first heard only heavy breathing. Then three words were thrown at me like stones:
“Infidel. Infidel. Infidel.”
The phone went dead. I lay back on my bed. Who was it? One of the fanatics my uncles constantly warned me about? What might they do? “
Oh, Lord, You know that I don’t mind dying. But I’m an awful coward. I cannot stand pain. You know how I feel faint at the very thought of an injection. Oh, I pray that I will be able to bear pain if it comes.” Tears filled my 92 eyes. “I guess I’m not made of the stuff of martyrs, Lord. I’m sorry. Just let me walk with You through whatever comes next.”
What did come next was a threatening, anonymous letter. “Let’s be clear. There is only one word to describe you. Traitor.” Then there was another letter and shortly still another. They all contained warnings. I was a turncoat and I would be treated as such.
Late one afternoon some months after my conversion, I stood in my garden with the crumpled remains of one such letter in my fist. It was particularly vitriolic, calling me worse than an infidel, a seducer of the faithful. True believers, the letter said, had to burn me out like gangrene was burned out of a healthy limb.
Burn me out? Was this more than just a figure of speech? I walked further into the garden, around which glowed beds of petunias, sweet william and alyssum. Spring had blossomed into summer. Quinces flourished in the garden, and the last of the white petals were falling from the pear trees. I turned and looked back at my house. “They wouldn’t touch my house!” I exclaimed inwardly. They wouldn’t burn out a Begum! But, as if to confirm that I could no longer count on the protection of position and wealth, a caller came to pay me a visit. He was announced by a servant.
“General Amar is waiting to see you, Begum,” she said.
My heart jumped. I looked through the garden hedge and sure enough, there stood a familiar olive drab command car. General Amar was a dear old friend from my Army days. During World War II, I had been associated with him and now he was a top general in the Pakistani Army. We had kept in touch with each other through the years, particularly when my husband was Minister of the Interior and worked closely with him. Was he, too, coming to condemn me?
Soon I could hear his footsteps crunching on the pathway of the garden as he strode to meet me, all spit and polish in his natty khaki uniform. He took my hand, leaned over and kissed it. My apprehension lessened; evidently he was not on a mission of battle.
He looked at me, his dark eyes glinting humorously. As always the general came right to the point. “Is it true what people are saying?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What made you do this?” he exclaimed. “You’ve put yourself in a very dangerous situation! I’ve heard rumors that some people want to kill you!” I looked at him silently.
“All right,” he added as he sat down on the garden bench, his leather belt creaking. “You know I’m like a brother to you?” “I hope so.” “And, as a brother, I feel fondly protective toward you?” “I hope so.” “Then, remember that my home is always open to you.” I smiled. This was the first kind thing anyone had said to me.
"But," the general went on to say, "there is something you should know. That offer is a per sonal one." He reached over to a blossom, pulled it to him and sniffed it, then turned back to me adding, "Oficially, there wouldn't be much I could do, Bilquis"
"I know." I took the general's hand, we got up together, strolled onto the terrace and inside the house, As we walked I told him things had not been easy
"And they won't get easier, my dear," my friend said in his matter-of-fact way, Later, after 1 had ordered tea in the drawing room,he asked with a quizzical smile: "Tell me, Bilquis, why did you do it?"
I explained what had happened and found that General A mar was listening carefully. How extraordinary! Here I was, without realizing it, doing what the missionaries called witnessing I was speaking about Christ to a Muslim, and a high offcial at that. And he was listening! I doubt that I really reached General Amar that afternoon but he was in a reflective mood halfan hour later when he bid me good-bye in the summer twilight, again pressing his lips to my hand.
"Remember, Bilquis," he said huskily, "anytime you need my help.. . anything I can do as é friend..."
"Thank you, Amar" I said.
He tured and left, and our solitary, strangely sad visit was over. I wonder if I'll ever see him again, I thought.
For the first time durin g this boycott, during the anonymous letters and phone calls, during the warnings of old friends, I was leamning what it was to live from hour to hour It was the op. posite of worrying I was waiting to see what He was going to allow. For I was convinced that nothing occurred without His permission. I knew, for instance, that pressure against me must become more intense If that did happen, then He would have allowed it and I must learn to reach for Fis Presence in the midst of seeming disaster. I would just live hour to hour, staying near Him. Yes, that was my key. Learn to keep His company, so that whatever happened, when- ever it happened, I would stil be in His glory.
I thought I knew how King David felt when, fleeing from his son, Absalom, he picked up his lyre and sang: " But thou, 0 Lord art a shield for me; my glory .." (Psalm 3:3). The glory that,I understand,he considered the unspeakable blessedness, joy and felicity of the saints in heaven.
For the moment the pressure from my family was, still, the boycott. Not one member of the family came to call, even to scold. With rare exceptions none of my old friends called either. The calculated exclusion from great moments in the family: births, deaths, weddings continued Whenever I allowed myself to dwell on the loneliness this caused, F'd feel the glory begin to fade and immediately Id turn my thoughts by a sheer act of will to the times Jesus too had felt lonely.
It helped. But I found, a little to my surprise, that I desperately needed simple companion- ship. I who had been so aloof was now in need of closeness. Not even the Olds and the Mitchells came to the house anymore. For their own protection Iadvised them not to visit me.
One gray afternoon I retreated to my bedroom to read the Bible it was unusually cold and asharp wind rattled my windows AsI started to read Ifelta warmth on my hand and looked down to see a patch of sunlight resting on my arm. 1 glanced out of the window just in time to see the sun disappear again behind the clouds. For just one minute, it seemed He had reached down and touched my hand for comfort.
I looked up, "Oh my Lord,"I said. 'T am so lonely; even my cheeks feel dried up from lack of talking, Please send someone to talk to today.
Feeling somewhat foolish for asking for such a childlike thing, I returned to my Bible. After all, I had His company and that should be enough . But in a little while I was startled to hear ar odd sound in the house, odd since it had been absent so long There were voices outside.
I grabbed my shawl and flew out to meet Nur-jan runnin g toward my room out of breath. "oh Begum Sahib." she squealed, "the Olds are here."
"Praise God," I exclamed and hurried to meet them. 0f course I saw Ken and Marie at out Sunday services in their house, but this was difterent, a midweek call Marie rushed to me, taking my hand. We just had to see you, Bilquis," she said, her blue eyes sparkling, "For no reason at all except we love being with you."
What a visit that was I realized as we talked that I had been making a mistake not asking people over to visit me. Pride had kept me from admitting the need. Suddenly Ihad an inspir, ation. why not invite people to my house on Sunday for the meetings? But wouldn't this b heaping gunpowder on the flames? I tried to quench the thought but it would not go away. Just as my friends were about to leave I said, quickly;
"Would you like to come here this Sunday night? The Olds looked at me, a bit shocked.
" I mean it," I said, extending my hands sideways. "This old house needs some life." And so it was decided.
That evening as I prepared to retire, I thought how wonder fully the Lord provides for us When my family and friends were taken from me, He replaced them with His own family and friends. I slept peacefully and awakened to the feel of a warm sun streaming through my win dow. I got up and opened the window, reveling in the soft breeze that drifted in. In its earthy gar den aroma I could smell the warm breath of the summer about to come upon us.
I couldn't wait for Sunday evening to come. By Saturday afternoon that old house was filled with flowers; every floor, every window was scrubbed until it shone. I hinted to Raisham that she might like to join us but she became a bit flustered; she was not ready for such a bold step yet and Ididn't press.
Sunday crept by while Ikept Mahmud out of the drawingroom straightened the furniture, constantly rearranged the flowers, and found a speck of dust here and there to wipe away. But at last I heard the slamming of car doors and the voices of arriving guests.
The evening was every thing I had hoped for, with song and prayer and telling each other what the Lord was doin g Just twelve of us, plus Mahmud, sitting around comfortabiy in the irawing room, but I'd have sworn there were a thousand other guests too, unseen, welcome
The evening had another peculiar purpose too, one I had not foreseen. It turned out that my Christian friends were still quite worried for me "Are you being extra careful?" It was Marie talking, "well,' 1 laughed,"there is not much I can do. If someone wants to harm me, I'm sure he'll find a way."
Ken looked around the drawin g room and out the large glass doors into the garden. "Yot really don't have much protection here," he said. "I hadn't quite realized how vulnerable you are."
"How about your bedroom?" asked Synnøve. Everyone felt it wise to look over my room, so we al trooped in. Ken was particulariy concerned by the windows looking out on the garden; they were protected only by a glass pane and wire screen.
He shook his head. "It really isn't safe, you know. You should do something about it, Bilquis, have some kind of heavy metal grillinstalled. Anyone could get through this." Isaid I would see to it the next day. Was it my imagination or did His glory fade just a little as I made the promise?
Eventually we said good-bye and ] retired happier than I had been in a long time. The next day, however, as I was about to send for an ironworker, I was once again aware of the quickly receding gilory of the Lord. Why? Was it because 1 was about to take an action that was based on fear? It certainly did seem that every time I started to call the ironworker my action was stopped.
And then I realized why When word got around the village that I was having my window barred, everyone would realize that I was fearful. I could just hear the gossip. Ha! What kind of religion is Christianity, anyway? When you become a Christian you become fearful?" No, I de cided, I would not have the window barred
That night I went to bed confident that I had made the right decision.I fellasleep at once but suddenly I was awakened by a sound. I sat up, startled, but without fear. Before me appeared a breathtaking sight.
Through the closed and draped windows of my room, in a supernatural way, I could see my whole garden. It was flooded with a heavenly white light. I could see every rose petal, every tree leaf, every blade of grass, every thorn. And over the garden hung a calm serenity, In my heart I heard my Father saying,"You did the right thing, Bilquis. I am with you."
Slowly the light faded and the room was dark again. I switched on my bedside lamp, lifted my arms and praised God. "Oh Father, how can I thank You enough? You have so much concern for each of us."
The next morning I called al of my servants together and told them that they could sleep in the servants' quarters ftom now on if they chose to do so. Only Mahmud and I would slep in the house. The servants exchanged glances, some in surprise, some in joy, one or two in alarm. But I knew one thing at least had been accomplished. The decision put an end to any thought of protecting myself. And with the decision the glory came back and stayed for a longer time than usual. Perhaps this was necessary for the next turn of events
One morning when Raisham was brushing my hair she remarked casually, "T hear that your aunt's son, Karim, has died.
I shot out of my chair and looked at her incredulously. "No," I gasped. Not Karim, who was supposed to take Mahmud fishingl He was one of my favorites! What had happened? Why did I have to find out about even Karim's death through the servants! With steely willpower I got con, trol of myself and forced my body back down into the chair so that Raisham could go on with her work. But my mind raced on. This could be just a rumor, I thought. Raisham could have mistaker the name. My heart rose a little. Later, I asked an elderly member of the staff to find out for me what! had really happened She went into the village and in an hour returned, downcast "
I am sorry, Begum Sahib," she said. "But it is true. He died last night from a heart attack and the funeral is today."
Then, this servant who had a facility for leamnin g everything, gave me news that hurt even more. My aunt, the servant told me, knowing how much I loved her son, had specifically asked my family to "be sure and tell Bilquis that my boy has died." No one followed her wishes.
Later Isat at my window pondering it all. Ihade been excluded from family events, but never had the boycott hurt as it did now.
As I sat weeping softly I began to pray for His help and, as always, the help came. This timeit was as if a warm cloak were placed gently on my shoulders. And with that sensation came an unusual plan of action. The very idea shocked me. It was so bold I knew it must be of the Lord.
