Prayers

People were walking to the mosque, some muttering prayers under their breath, others joyfully clapping one another on the back. Chappals were squeaking underneath freshly rinsed feet. The breezy playful air was making the water evaporate and making people feel colder than it actually was outside. The calls to prayer were lilting and soothing. The maulvi didn’t feel the need to shove them down anyone’s throat and you could tell. Ahmed looked at the mosque, one small room, with a courtyard around back. Enough room for most people to stand and then some. It was cleaned by volunteers after maghrib prayers. They just signed up on the sheet by the door. He should do it too, it had been a while. It was good community building.

Crows jumped around something on the ground. He wasn’t a superstitious man but he shivered a little and tried to see what it was as he passed them. A piece of meat. A little red niblet. Strange.

He shook away the shivers up his spine and looked back at the small room of the mosque. The call to prayer was winding down and because of how he was approaching it, he could see the courtyard behind it. People were already standing there. Praying their optional prostrations before the actual prayer. He could smell ittar over the roses. He loved his home.

He walked down the hill and to the courtyard. A commotion broke out. Arshad and Afaq dragged someone out from inside the mosque. A burly man. Mustaches. Dark. Wearing sunglasses. He couldn’t hide himself. No one here could. They all knew one another. He was a stranger. People gathered around him, drawn to the noise. The maulvi came out, beard long and to his chest, robe flowing and white.

The man was surly. He did not say a word. The story that came about was that he had been telling them all about the atrocities of the Indians. When some of them had argued - no one had wanted to listen to him - he had declared them traitors. They kicked him out. This was not a place they fought in. Especially the mosque. It was an insult. The maulvi made the people let him go. He brushed imaginary dust off his clothes, sneered at them as if they were the filth beneath his shoes and walked away.

Ahmed watched in silence, horror and dread taking root in his heart. These towering twins of despair would stay with him to his dying day.

The sky was cool and calm. The dread had not yet reached it. He prayed in peace. The prayers remained undisturbed. Since this was a small community, the people discussed the man on the way back. It was a strange occurrence and weddings were discussed for days after. So this would be a topic of conversation for a week, at least. Ahmed had already thought up the worst case scenarios. He only hoped he was wrong. He prayed so.