25th December 1954
Karachi
Julius Fonseca went by the name of The Amazing Fonseca. His
name was well known to all those who loved magic acts and went to see them
performed live in the garden of Metropole Hotel. He was much sought after, but
boss Cyrus forbade him to perform anywhere but Metropole.
On that night of 25th December, he had just
finished his act and was planning to get some alone time at Lido’s Bar on Queen’s
Road and celebrate a lonely Christmas with an Old Fitzgerald.
He walked out of Metropole to be greeted by the crisp and
cold night air of Karachi. Well to do couples walked by on the sidewalk holding
hands. Corduroy Sport Coats, acetate and rayon crepe lined Box Jackets, Tafettas
and pleated skirts populated this side of Metropole while kurtas and dhotis
made up the opposite footpath.
He walked on for some time towards the nearest bus stop of
the route where his bus would take him to Lido’s only to see a gaggle of men,
flash lights in hand, checking passing cars until they stopped a teal Frazer
sedan with a seemingly well to do family sitting in it.
“Kamal Ahmed! “, barked one of the men in the mob.He was
dark complexioned with a goatee. "Brothers, does he look like Kamal Ahmed?", he asked around the group. One scrawny teen in a white kurta peered into the car and recognized the driver. The driver of the car was indeed Kamal Ahmed along with his family.
Excitement rippled through the crowd as if they had sensed blood. “Kamal Ahmed, get out now or we will burn you and your family
in this car!”. The man with the goatee said in a loud cold voice.
Kamal Ahmed, a middle aged french-bearded doctor who worked at the Civil Hospital, stepped out of the
car with a terrified look on his face and shivering from head to toe. His wife immediately locked the car from
inside turned back to calm down her two children who had started to cry.
“Kaafir! Stop promoting your blasphemies to our sick folk,
we warned you last time about the consequences but you haven’t stopped. You keep talking about your fake prophet to our family folk who visit you. We cant take this anymore!, cried the goatee'd fellow. Another piped up, " It’s
time to cleanse vermin like you from Karachi like our brothers have done in
Lahore." With each word being shouted at his way, Kamal shrank in size, it looked.
“But..I am not that person...I didn't… “, stuttered a positively
terrified Kamal only to be punched in the face by the man in kurta pajama who
seemed to have crossed boundaries of reason. Perhaps seeing his victim so terrified and not even trying to put up a fight provoked him.
"Check his car", he ordered the scrawny teenager. The teenager tried to open the car but it was locked. " Open up",he said to the doctor's wife inside. She didn't open. He looked at the man in kurta pajama. The kurta pajama man punched the doctor again who promptly fell on the ground. His wife inside shrieked and immediately opened the door, but thought better to not come out of the safety of the car.
The teenager opened the car and looked around inside it. Opened the glove box and fumbled inside it trying to find anything- anything to justify the violence which he was promised before the group had set out on the hunt.
His hands found a pamphlet.
He stepped out and showed the pamphlet to the kurta pajama man. The teen couldn't read.
Another fellow shined his torch on the pamphlet and the kurta pajama man read what was written in it.
It was pamphlet which had some quotes from a man named Ghulam Ahmed Qadiani.
Kamal Ahmed, it turned out, was an Ahmadi.
Others didn't need any signal or cue and promptly descended upon the poor doctor,
kicking and punching him.
Julius Fonseca stood there looking at scene unfold infront
of him. He thought of calling the police for help, but the police would never
get in time and the other people would not risk their faith in defending an
Ahmadi, so he decided to take the matters in his own hands.
He took off his coat and tie, stuffed them in his bag and placed it under a wooden pole. Without his coat and tie he looked like an office clerk.
He walked towards the site of violence.
“ Assalam u Alekum brothers”, he called out to the group, whose one member now had the doctor in a chokehold.
“For Allah’s sake, stop beating this poor man, what has he
done to you?” he asked them in his most concerned voice.
“He is a Kaafir Qadiyani! That’s what he has done to us”,
said the man in kurta pajama.
Fonseca walked towards the doctor who who was still in a chokehold. His head was bleeding and his tailored suit was torn and stained.
He looked at the doctor. And he stood there and just looked at the doctor.
" Release him for a moment", he quitely asked the man who had the doctor in a chokehold. The man looked at the kurta pajama guy who nodded. The chokehold was released.
" Are you a Qadiyani?", Fonseca asked the doctor.
The doctor nodded. Speech had left him it seemed.
“He is a Qadiyani, and he must renounce his faith, otherwise
he must be killed as the Shariah demands”, Fonseca looked around and spoke to
the men.The crowd chanted Yes in unision.They seemed more interested in the killing than conversion.
“Yes, if he renounces his blasphemies then he will be spared”,
said the man with the goatee and the mob only murmured its agreement. Most of the men just wanted a killing. The thrill. Killing a kaafir was a thrill, but it seemed that the goatee'd fellow commanded a measure of respect.
“Very well” said Fonseca. He looked straight and hard into
the eyes of Kamal. “Brothers, I sense something”, Fonseca called out to the mob
still looking at Kamal.
The group now looked at Fonseca excitedly.
“Help me Allah”, said Fonseca.
He grabbed the doctor’s head in his hands and shouted, “Kaafir!
From this day henceforth you will renounce your faith in your filthy ideology
and lead the life of a good Muslim. Do you wish to do so?”
Fonseca did the smallest of nods which the doctor, who was
now looking at Fonseca with dazed eyes, copied.
The mob shivered with excitement.
“Do you renounce your faith infidel?” Fonseca shouted at the
doctor. “Say, I renounce my faith”.
The doctor, still dazed, said in a robotic manner, “I
renounce my faith”.
The mob erupted into shouts of Allah u Akbar.
The doctor looked around with dazed eyes.
The man in kurta pajama came up to Fonseca and asked in a
reverent tone,” Mashallah brother, you seem to have Allah’s blessing in your
hands, what is your name?"
“Syed Umer Ahmed”, lied Fonseca without any hesitation.
“Mashallah, that explains the whole thing, of course. Allah
performs his wonders through the hands of Syeds. Subhanallah”, somebody in the
crowd said. The rest chirped in agreement.
" It seems that our task is done", said the goatee'd fellow. " But if you ever convert back to your vile ideology, we will kill you without warning", he said to the doctor in a menacing voice.
The doctor nodded. Still in a daze.
The mob then started to disperse and when the last person (the
man in kurta pajama) had left, Fonseca looked at the doctor and snapped his
fingers. The doctor jerked and seemed to have come out of the daze.
“Who…what…who are you...what happened...he blurted out. “
Who were those men?” he asked Fonseca.
“Bhai, those were just some Ahraris who had come out to
attack you. But Allah finally intervened and put his fear in their hearts so
they walked away”.
“Uh?”
“Yes, see, they have gone now. So dont worry. Allah always looks after
those who believe in the promised Messiah”, said Fonseca in his most pious voice.
“Let me help you to the car”.
The wife who was seeing the two men walk towards the car,
threw open the door and helped the doctor in, thanking Fonseca profusely. The
doctor also thanked Fonseca while wincing from the pain of bruises.
“What is your name brother?”
asked the tearful wife.
Fonseca replied, "My name is Ghulam Ahmed”, lying easily, again.
" Are you...umm...Are you Ahmadi sir?", the doctor asked, somewhat hesitantly.
" Yes I am with the grace of Allah", the magician replied with a smile.
“Mashallah, such a blessed name, it’s the Jamaat members
like you who strengthen my faith everyday”, said the Doctor.
After many thanks and requests to drop him home (which
Fonseca declined), the family finally drove away leaving Fonseca alone on the
street.
“The Amazing Fonseca”, he said, with a smile playing along
his face as he went on his way to Lido’s Bar for a good night’s Christmas drink.
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