Of Smokeless Fire by A.A. Jafri (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

the defence. Most of the witnesses for Athanni wilted under his cross-examination. Athanni’s lawyer, Mushtaq Ahmad, on the other hand, argued so weakly that even the judge began to fidget with boredom. His language, his mannerisms and his methods spoke volumes about the weakness of the case he was arguing. But then, in a surprise turn, Mushtaq called Mansoor on the witness stand. Although Mansoor could not be called in his own defence, the judge overruled Abrar’s objections, rejecting all conventions and manufacturing rules on the spot.

The first question Mushtaq asked was, ‘Are you a Muslim?’

‘I was born into a Muslim family.’

‘Do you consider yourself a Muslim?’

‘I am a human being first, in essence, before I am a Muslim in existence.’ Here, Mansoor flipped Sartre’s existential philosophy dictum that existence precedes essence.

‘Do you have a girlfriend in Umreeka?’

‘No, I don’t believe so.’

‘Where did you go when your father died?’

‘To the Aga Khan Hospital.’

Abrar objected to this line of questioning so much that the judge finally realized its irrelevance. He reprimanded Mushtaq and ordered the court recorder to erase all these questions from the text. When the court finally adjourned, Mushtaq went to Athanni and his family and told them that it had not been a good day for them.

The second day of the proceedings was even worse. Mushtaq introduced the video recording that Farid Kidwai was supposed to have made of Mansoor at the al-Ma?arrī Club. This was the evidence that was supposed to completely destroy Mansoor and establish him as an inveterate blasphemer. But to Mushtaq’s humiliation, the tape had been recorded over a pre-recorded pornographic tape, and he had not even bothered to check the full recording before introducing it in the court. Somewhere, somehow, Deep Throat got fused with Aristotelian logic. The judge held Mushtaq in contempt of court and adjourned the court for two months.

*

When they went back to the house that they had looted, Nawab Khan Namaqul slapped Athanni hard, as if he were still a teenager, and yelled, ‘You and your stupid attorney will send us all to jail.’

The badly humiliated Athanni took his anger to the streets of Karachi in search of Farid Kidwai. But Kidwai was back in jail, which meant that now Athanni had to come up with Plan B-2. When all plans from A to Z fail, there is always another Plan B-2.

*

Even though the al-Ma?arrī Club was officially disbanded, the obvious barbs and the cruel jibes persisted. So, with the winter vacation approaching, Mansoor decided to return to America for a few weeks to submit his PhD dissertation, which was now ready to be defended, and to tie up loose ends. He also longed to see Lisa in Connecticut. Her absence from his life had begun to torment him. After his thesis defence, he decided he would go to Connecticut to win her back.

Just as he was about to call his travel agent, the department secretary brought his day’s mail in. On the top of the pile, a packet with the grinning picture of General Behroopia mocked Mansoor. It was the conference programme for the First-Ever International Symposium on the Scientific Miracles of the Holy Scripture. Since the conference was sponsored by President’s College, every faculty member was required to attend it.

Mansoor was ready to defy the ridiculous requirement, but his interest was comically piqued when he read the titles of the papers to be presented:

A Panel Discussion on Things Known Only to the Almighty

DNA of Angels According to Some of the Revealed Verses

The Revelation of the Big Bang Theory in the Holy Scripture

The Dis-Integral Calculus of Hypocrisy in Western Society

How to Solve Pakistan’s Energy Problems: Harnessing Fiery Djinns as Nuclear Fusion

Without thinking, Mansoor drew two horns and a goatee on the picture of the general, and after crossing out the original title, wrote in his cursive handwriting, First-Ever International Symposium on Holy Crap. Just then Professor Abdul Basit, with whom he shared his office, entered the room. Noticing Mansoor’s dismissive ridicule of the symposium and his caricature of the general as the devil, he took the insult personally.

Basit, a graduate of Princeton, had recently become a devotee of Zakir Hassan and had been planning to resign his professorship to join his organization. He had also become a fervent supporter of the general. Following in Zakir’s footsteps, he too had become the most educated evangelist to his cause. To discover a ‘Purer Version of Faith’ in Pakistan, the zeal to proselytize had become acceptable and commonplace.

Snatching the programme from Mansoor’s hand, he immediately thrust himself into an argument with him. Mansoor was getting tired of these quarrels. They all had a similar pattern—circular reasoning, a constant moving of the goalpost and ad hominem attacks. Always outnumbered and generally outgunned, he had begun to avoid confrontations with these true believers.

‘You know, Mansoor, you always talk about rationality and enlightenment. You can have all that and still believe in God.’

‘I never said that you can’t.’

‘Why do you make fun of someone’s cherished beliefs?’

‘I don’t make fun of anyone’s cherished beliefs, but cartoonish views are another matter.’

‘And do you consider this scientific conference as cartoonish?’

‘It doesn’t sound like a scientific conference to me.’

‘Is that why you wrote “holy crap” on the cover?’

Exasperated, Mansoor closed his eyes and took a long deep breath before continuing, ‘Do you think these fake scholars with their pseudoscientific papers are doing any service to Islam? Do you think that any of these so-called papers are serious enough to get published in a peer-reviewed journal? You, a Princeton graduate, ought to know better.’

‘Why? Don’t you believe in miracles or in djinns? Do you even believe in religion?’

Mansoor paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to figure out a polite way to end this tedious conversation. A second later, he calmly responded, ‘No, Basit Sahib, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t. Religion, in my view, is nothing more than the forced retrieval of an imaginary memory.’

‘So you don’t agree with General Sahib’s policies of