Superman Elseworlds: 'In the Name of...'

Chapter 5: Odyssey (part 1)

A few days before the Mufti's visit, I found a sheet of paper on Ishmail's desk. As far as I could tell the writing on there was in seventeen different languages. I could recognise the English, Urdu, and Arabic, and there were ones which looked like English so were probably French and so on, and a couple which looked like Urdu and Arabic so were probably Farsi and Pashto. That he knew all these languages just made me feel so small and stupid…and then I read what he had written in Urdu:

'Lord, I thank you for blessing me with these parents and I pray you allow me to always honour them in everything I do.'

I can only assume he had said the thing in the other languages he had written – when I asked him about it later he just smiled.

We had never met the Mufti before but both the boys had been…enamoured? I think that's a suitable word to describe it – there was admiration, affection, and longing. When we had moved to Karachi, Ishmail had considered applying to attend the Darul Uloom but he had also heard of Mufti Mahmood and asked us if it would be a good idea to consider attending a few of the public sessions. Learning is important; we've never denied Ishmail an opportunity to learn…but…this isn't the village…here, in this chaos, and with his hearing…

He's still a child…

How do you counter racism when so many around you are advocating it in one way or another?

Ishmail would be able to hear the derogatory remarks, the allegations and accusations…he would hear things we wouldn't be hearing, and since we wouldn't be hearing them we wouldn't be able to address them there and then.

How do you counter oppression when you have those saying that Islam doesn't oppress while at the same time, through their actions, they are oppressing others?

How do you underline that God has allowed us to believe what we want to believe and has given Islam to those who want to do the things He wants and prefers us to do when so many stamp on and mock the faiths and beliefs of others?

I'm an old man and a simple farmer and these things are not areas I can teach Ishmail about…not the way the world is now.

The village was so much safer…so much…easier…

***

(Asiyah) (translated from the Urdu)

I was losing my son, and that was all I could think about.

I know the others were terrified for his life when he was shot, but they're not his mother. I'm not belittling their pain or their fear, and I know mothers can relate and others can empathise but I truly believe that as 'similar' as each mother's fear and pain is…each one is unique.

I…I'm ashamed in saying these…these crazy…stubborn…I don't mean to sound unsympathetic…and I apologise for that, I really do.

I know that when mothers hear of tragedy they reflect on what they would do if it were to afflict them – I think it's…something inside us…inside our hearts. It's not the same as sympathy or…or when you just think about what you would do…something inside us…something…ya, Allah, I don't know. I don't know how to explain it, but something is there which…explodes these fears inside us and makes us, somehow, deal with things. I know…I know that the intuitive and protective nature that most mothers have for their children can and does spread to the protection of other children. I know I'm only a village girl, but I have eyes with which to see and God has given me a brain that, as limited as my education and understanding is, allows me to comprehend.

When Ishy fell from the roof there were several women, mothers, including Nadia, who rushed to him. It's the nature of being a mother. That's the kind of thing I'm trying to…to tell you.