The Infatuation
of Beliefs
By S. N. Burney
New York
Believing that competition
is as wholesome in religion as in commerce, I
make efforts to offer plausible explanations to
the canons of the faith I inherited. Prayer congregations,
ablution, institutionalization of Zakat, Arabic
as a universal vehicle for religious teachings,
polygamy, interest, slavery and manumission, etc.,
have all been argued with people of different
faiths and self-styled agnostics and (hopefully)
defended. All this, despite the fact that I am
not a religious man – not even in a loose
sense of the word. Nor am I a scholar of ethics
interpreting principles of morality and conduct.
But “I am a thinking thing”. I feel,
I observe, I believe, I doubt, I know a few things
and am ignorant of many.
Yet, two incidents that I could neither defend
nor explain starkly stand out in those crevices
of my brain’s archives where unpleasant
memories are stored. These incidents keep on reminding
me of the immeasurable embarrassment traducers
of religion and culture caused me.
One was in 1965 when Sir Roger Makins, Chairman
of the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority
and Lady Makins visited Pakistan. As officer-in-waiting,
I took them for a stroll and shopping in downtown
Karachi. Those who are familiar with the geography
of this most populous city of Pakistan know about
the mosque situated in a park at the intersection
of one of the busiest streets and the main arterial
road coming from another direction. It was twilight
and the muezzin was calling for Maghreb prayers.
There, standing in the middle of the tall and
imposing couple waiting for the traffic light
to turn green, I noticed a bearded well-heeled
person across the road busy in a ritual considered
essential by many a faithful before every ablution
and after every kidney filtrate. Smug as a camel
with a theatrical lift of his chin towards the
sky, he had one hand inside and the other holding
shalwar strings. Alternately crossing his legs
over each other, he was savoring the process totally
oblivious of his surroundings.
Both the visitors had noticed the exhibitionist’s
seemingly ‘obscene exercise’. They
looked curious and perplexed. Spurred by the fright
of their next move and finding myself short of
a deferential or even a logical explanation to
the regimen, I jumped the traffic light leaving
the couple behind conferring with each other.
Having sensed my embarrassment, the Britishers
were polite enough to hold back their questions.
The second incident occurred in 1980. A rainy
November evening forced me and a number of other
shoppers, including some foreigners, to take refuge
in a hotel lobby. We settled down with cups of
tea or soft drinks and glued to Pakistan Television’s
broadcast of ‘News in English’. After
its horrendous signature music (even now it gives
me shivers), the opening scene showed most pious
of our Presidents; with an ear-to-ear smile baring
a set of dentures (notwithstanding the occasion),
doling out money to a long line of people –
regardless of age, sex or infancy – who
were in the wrong only to have been afflicted
with the scourge of poverty. Pleading, beseeching,
ingratiating faces kept popping in and out of
the screen in contrast to the broad grin on the
face of the President.
The commentator solemnly described the event as
the annual Zakat distribution. The going rate
was Rs. 40 per head. One of the foreigners with
a smirk converted it to $2 (now 30 cents) and
elaborated to his companions the significance
of the event. “It’s a religious rite
repeated every year,” he explained. “The
Head of the State or the Government acts as the
almoner. The money comes from public exchequer.”
One of his companions who sat cross-legged at
the corner of the sofa with his cap pushed back,
arched his eyebrows in disbelief and echoed “$2
per person per year!”
No further discussions ensued on the topic but
silence posited a hundred questions. It was enough
of a small sample for the precipitant and prejudiced
to judge the piece. Perspiration trickled down
my neck. I felt that I needed fresh air to collect
myself and stepped out – in the rain.
These two incidents are so indelibly etched in
my brain that it is no longer in my power to forget
them. Yet it isn’t my intention to deal
with them thoroughly or to resolve them here but
only I was wondering how I ought to deal with
them in the future. I am, nonetheless, ready to
dismiss the first incident as action de rigueur
with a supposed belief that it is one of the essentials
to be ‘pure’ after every kidney discharge.
To refrain from turning it into a public display,
however, is all that I ask.
What about the second incident, involving one
of the five pillars of Islam? I read somewhere
that the advantage of secrecy (in charity) is
that it confers deliverance from the perils of
hypocritical ostentation and reputation seeking.
And the Prophet (Peace Be On Him) said, “He
who gives for all the world to see is after public
recognition.” The President after putting
the faces of the impoverished people on the television,
in fact wanted to be sure that his own face got
more time. But what pained most was the unquestioning
submission and surrender of the humans who so
readily agree to be humiliated by another human.
It was difficult to make out which side of human
nature was uglier.
Jin ka deen pervi-a-kizb-o-riya he unko
Himmat-e-kufr miley, jura’t-e-tahqiq miley
Jin kay sar muntazir-e-tegh-e-jafa hen unko
Dast-e-qatil ko jhatak deney ki taufiq miley
(Faiz)
But really, it isn’t my intention to debate
the issues, especially when I am not sure as to
what the issues are? There are depths that I cannot
fathom; and there are sublimities that my poor
reason can never attain. This is only a catharsis
– a pouring out of what tormented me for
half a century. And we cannot, by the laws that
govern us, lead a life whose close review is anything
but discomfort. Or, perhaps, it’s a folly!
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