"Sister Iman?" Dawood asked in confusion as he drove. "I apologize for calling you like this, Brother Dawood, but I couldn't think of contacting anyone else in this situation. I have tried searching for Sister Rana's contact number, but there is no record at the mosque and I know it is against protocol, but I found your number on one of the donation forms from last month. You have to stop them, Brother Dawood," Iman said quickly. "Breathe, Sister Iman," Dawood said calmly, "Tell me what's going on. Who do I have to stop?" Dawood glanced at Khadijah through his rearview mirror and said, "Headphones on, Shehzadi." "Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded with a smile. "What's going on?" Harun asked as he looked at his son. "She's in full panic mode. Sister Iman? You still there?" Dawood called out as he looked at the on board Bluetooth system to see if the call was still connected.
"Imam Nedim is out of town. I believe he is still in transit for the convention in Australia. Brother Dawood, we have a soldier's mother here. Her son just passed away. He was killed by an IED. The interim imam refuses to hold his janazah at the mosque. He refuses to pray for him. How can he do that?" Iman whispered in disbelief. Dawood heard the hurt in her voice and said, "You need to calm down. Right now, you're the only sane person there. I'll call Rana and have her call you. Don't feel guilty, Sister Iman, you did the right thing." With that Dawood hung up and quickly called Rana from his steering wheel controls. "We're almost at the restaurant. Where are you?" Rana answered.
"Dawood Bhai!" Dawood heard a familiar voice squeal on the other end. "I take it Ruby's with you," Dawood smiled. "Hi, Ruby." "How's my ghora bacha doing?" Ruby asked. "Not so great. There's been a change of plans," Dawood began and filled Rana in about Iman's call. "That's freaking ridiculous," Ahmed snarled before Rana could reply. "Let's head to the mosque." "You got it," Dawood replied and ended the call. "Baba, can you call Mariam Baji and tell her the change of plans?" "Yes, of course," Harun nodded before taking his phone out. "I'm really sorry, Baba. I didn't want any drama at this dinner," Dawood sighed. "Seems like drama follows me everywhere." "No, my son. The professor called you because you are reliable and you bring change. This may be your moment to make a change," Harun said in reassurance.
Dawood met up with Iman, Rana, Ahmed, and Ruby at a gas station to hear the story of what happened. They decided to go inside the mosque in force and try to negotiate some sense into the interim imam. Dawood glanced at Iman and frowned before saying, "What's happening?" "Do you know Sister Tehmina?" Iman asked as she crossed her arms across her chest. "No," Dawood said uncertainly. "Do I?" "Auntie Tehmy," Ahmed explained. "She's Persian, remember?" "Oh, yeah, yeah," Dawood said quickly. "Yeah, I know her. We helped her donate old things when her husband died. I spoke to her son Farrokh last week. He was being deployed for the first time. Good kid." As Dawood mentioned Farrokh, he noticed Iman's face become somber and whispered, "It's Farrokh? Please tell me you're pulling an insanely awful joke on me, Sister." "Sister Tehmina had a visit from the military police a short while ago," Iman began and flinched as Dawood turned around and kicked at the ground violently. "Dawood," Rana reached out and touched Dawood's shoulder, "calm down." "Calm down?" Dawood scoffed. "You want me to calm down? I trained that kid. I taught him right from wrong when his dad passed away. Heck we both did, Ahmed. How does this not piss you off? He JUST got deployed!" "I AM pissed," Ahmed defended. "More than you probably, but something worse just happened, man." "What?" Dawood scoffed and rubbed his hands over his head. "What could be worse than a nineteen year old dying? He didn't even fight! He was a freaking medic!"
"His funeral arrangements need to be made," Iman began again as she looked at Dawood. "Since Imam Nedim is away, one of the board members volunteered to be interim imam." Iman sighed and continued. "Brother Dawood, I know how hurt you are by this. He felt his world shatter when his father passed away; your visits helped him. He would talk about you a great deal in our youth sessions whenever he came. He needed someone's help back then when things were tough. I called you because he needs you one last time." Dawood rubbed his temples and fought to maintain his composure. He had seen too much death in his lifetime. Before he could dwell in more misery, he heard Khadijah's voice calling him from their car. "Baba! Can I come outside?" Khadijah asked as she poked her head out of the window. "Give us a few more minutes, Shehzadi," Dawood replied with a forced smile. "You got it," Khadijah nodded and flashed a thumbs-up before rolling the window back up. "I'll make it quick," Rana sighed. "The asshole who is the acting imam says that Farrokh can't have a janazah because he fought against Muslims." Dawood noticed the way Iman cringed at Rana's language, but nodded as Rana continued, "He's denying the kid a funeral, Dawood. His mom begged and pleaded and that asswipe said that he can't have a janazah prayer because HE felt like Farrokh might as well be a non-Muslim."
"Well, fuck that!" Dawood exclaimed in anger, but winced once he remembered he was in the presence of others. "Sorry." Iman smiled and shook her head as if dismissing the profanity, "I felt quite a similar reaction. Unfortunately, I was told that I didn't understand Islam because I wasn't born into it. Some people can't help but show their prejudices." "He can't just deny a soldier his funeral," Dawood said angrily as he looked at Rana. "You know how pissed off I am, right?" "Sister Tehmina asked for you," Iman said simply. "She said you'd find a way for him to have his janazah." Dawood sighed, "This is so fu-screwed up." Iman smiled a little as Dawood covered up the profanity that nearly slipped from his mouth. "What are you going to do?" Ahmed asked as he gnawed on his bottom lip. "I feel like going up to the brother and punching him in his gonads." "First, I need to go pay my condolences to Auntie Tehmy. Then, let's go see this board member," Dawood said in determination.
Nearly an hour later, Dawood was overwhelmed as Tehmina wrapped her arms around Dawood and whispered, "He's gone, Dawood." "I'm so sorry, Auntie," Dawood whispered back before Tehmina broke down and sobbed against Dawood's chest. "You helped him when Amir passed away. You helped him when he got into bad things and was with bad kids at school. He looked up to you. He joined the army because of you," Tehmina sobbed as she pounded Dawood's chest gently with her weak fists. Dawood gulped as his heart raced. He knew the woman was simply venting, but inside he felt responsible for Farrokh's death. If he hadn't interfered in the kid's life, maybe he wouldn't have joined the army and maybe he wouldn't have passed away by a roadside bomb. "I'm sorry, Dawood," Tehmina sobbed as she wiped her eyes. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. He was a medic. He never wanted to hurt anyone." "It's alright, Auntie," Dawood whispered while he wiped away the older woman's tears. "I can't bring him back. I would, Auntie, if I could. That's beyond my powers, but I swear to you, I will give him the respect he deserves as his last rites." "Dawood, that man said he wasn't going to pray for him because he was a kaafir. Farrokh was Muslim, Dawood. He made sure everyone knew it. How can they do this? What will I tell his little brother, Murad? That I could not even bury his brother properly?" Tehmina asked as she looked up at the tall man. "I won't let him do this, Auntie. Trust me. I was there for him then and I'll be there for him now," Dawood nodded and looked at Ahmed. "Let's go to the mosque."
Ahmed glanced at Dawood while they sat in his car. They had sent Khadijah with Rana and Iman while they visited Tehmina. He knew how precious the time Dawood and Khadijah shared together was to Dawood, but he also knew how Dawood felt about serving the community, especially when he was asked for. "You don't really believe what Auntie said, do you?" Ahmed asked as he headed towards the highway. "What?" Dawood asked as he glanced up from his phone. "That you're the reason this happened. That's not true, man," Ahmed said as he shook his head. Dawood said nothing while he glanced at his phone again. "Tell me you're not blaming yourself," Ahmed demanded angrily. "You didn't kill that kid!" "He could have been anything in the world, Ahmed. Instead he became a soldier and found me on base to tell me. He became a soldier because of me," Dawood sighed. "He followed both of us around. He could have followed in my footsteps and still died at nineteen," Ahmed whispered. "You know that we can't avoid death." "He was a kid, Ahmed," Dawood growled before he slammed his fist on the dashboard. "A kid!" "I know you're angry, but don't you dare blame yourself for his death. That's not on you, man," Ahmed said calmly. "Also, cool it with the profanity." "That's like asking a sailor not to curse," Dawood smirked. "People curse, Ahmed. I'd be a fraud for pretending that I don't curse just because I'm Muslim. I get emotional. I curse. I'm human." "No one's denying that Muslim people don't curse, even though we shouldn't. Still, it's not proper to just let the f-bomb fly out when in company. Auntie taught you better than that."
Dawood stayed quiet for the rest of the car ride while he reflected on Ahmed's words. He had been home less than two weeks and he was already involved in some sort of community crisis. He let anger get the best of him and used profanity like it was his second language. There was a period of time, after his divorce, when he avoided the mosque and the Muslims of the community. He wanted to avoid any drama that came with associating with the board that ran the mosque. In his life, no matter how much he avoided it, when it came to the mosque he was always involved with its drama. Maybe it was because he wanted to change the backward minds of the elders that, at one point, ran the mosque or maybe it was because he wanted a positive environment to be established at the mosque for future generations of Muslims. Whatever it was, he was always speaking up against the wrongs that were committed in the name of Islam or Muslims. He had avoided everyone in the Muslim community because he concluded that they could figure their own troubles out. He didn't think the Muslim community could ever be improved. He believed that since he couldn't help the whole community, he'd let everyone be. All he was going to do was raise his baby girl right. It wasn't until Khadijah turned two that he realized that he'd have to be active in his community, so that Khadijah could grow up in a place where she was welcome and protected. It was no longer about him or his views; it was now about making a society that was fit for his daughter, his princess.
"Oh, shit," Ahmed growled as he saw a crowd gathered at the mosque's entrance, causing Dawood to snap out of his thoughts. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Dawood roared as he got out of the now stationary car. When he saw something that was downright wrong, his inner soldier always came out. Dawood made his way through the crowd and saw the sign that was posted on the mosque's gates. "He's trying to flex his power," Dawood thought and then took a deep breath once he pulled the "mosque closed for board meeting" sign off. The mosque had never been closed during peak prayer hours since it's inception and Dawood sure as hell wasn't going to let some scumbag who was only temporarily in charge come and change that. "Brother Ahmed, what is happening?" One of the oldest members of their congregation, Rahmat Bhatti, asked as he itched his beard and leaned on his cane. "I'm sorry, Brother Rahmat," Ahmed said quickly once he helped open the mosque gates. "I don't know who closed these gates, but I will definitely find out." "You do that, son," Rahmat said as he patted Ahmed's back and shuffled past Dawood. "Brothers, sisters, the mosque is open. We are sorry for the inconvenience caused. Again, the mosque is open," Dawood bellowed over the crowd, calming many of the irate congregation members. "I was wondering why they'd do this. My little girl is still in daycare," a woman whispered to another woman as they headed past Dawood.
"I'll go park the car. You go find out what asshole did this," Ahmed growled as he hopped back into his car. Dawood made sure the gates were fully open for the entrance and exit before jogging to the main doors of the mosque. He could hear many voices yelling at one another from the lecture hall and clenched his fist once he heard a heavily accented voice yell, "This will not happen here! I will not pray for a kaafir!" Dawood reached for the closed lecture hall doors and pushed them open with such force that the doors slammed against the walls and rattled violently. "Oh no," Dawood heard one of the women sitting in front of the podium mutter as Dawood made his way to the man at the podium. Iman entered the mosque holding Khadijah's hand while Dawood approached the man at the podium. Dawood spotted the little girl and looked at the Middle Eastern man who was now looking at him in disgust. "Are you the one?" Dawood asked as he fought to control his emotions. He forced a smile on his face and crossed his arms across his chest. "Who are you?" The man snarled with a thick Middle Eastern accent. "I am the reason the mosque is reopened. Now, are you the one denying Farrokh a funeral?" Dawood asked with a smile. He knew that his smile was barely masking the fury that lied behind his blue eyes. He also knew that the man in front of him could see that fury. "You must be one of his friends. I have said this before and I will say it again. As the acting imam, I cannot pray for someone who is in the kufaar army. He was killed while fighting Muslims. We, as Muslims, should be fighting kaafirs, not ourselves. Why did we come to this heathen country? We came to spread the word of Allah!" The man said angrily while he raised his fist and shook it violently.
"Oooh boy," Dawood whispered as he let out a whoosh of breath. He looked at the members of the board sitting in front of the man at the podium and could see some of the newer board members cringing at the old man's words. What bothered him was that the members said nothing. In Dawood's book, that was the equivalent of agreeing with the old warmonger. "Are you done?" Dawood heard a familiar voice call out from the back of the hall. Rana gracefully walked up to the podium and adjusted her hijab once she looked at the interim imam. She said nothing and simply waved her hand as if waving the man away. "What are you doing?" The imam asked with his brow furrowed. "I have very little patience for stupidity. Please step aside," Rana sighed. "Stupidity?" The man asked with a growl. "You think I'm stupid? I am talking about what Islam really is and you are calling me stupid?" "Oh, absolutely," Rana nodded. "You see, what you think Islam is, is as misconstrued as the poor idiots in the military who get kaafir tattoos. There is no difference between you and them. They think they're fighting some holy war against Muslims and make it a point to wear their "identity" on their chests. Great. Wonderful. They've established that they are non-Muslims because that is what that word kaafir means, non-Muslim. You, whatever your name is, want to put labels on people. Kaafir, kufaar, kafireen. They all mean non-Muslim, but what makes you Muslim? What is the goal of being Muslim?"
The man seemed to be foaming at the mouth as he looked at Rana with abhorrence, "I am interim imam. I will not let you desecrate this place with your ungodly acts such as praying for a man who killed Muslims." "That boy was a medic," Dawood began as he rummaged around the bookcase that was behind the interim imam. At least know the soldier you are disrespecting." "What are you doing?" The man asked as he looked at Dawood. "Looking for something, obviously. You see I find it worrisome that you are trying to entice hate at this mosque. You're bringing your political and cultural hate here and justifying it under the pretense of Islam. You called this a heathen country? You came to spread Allah's word? People like you are the reason people are being killed worldwide under the pretense of Islam. It's people like you who make decent people, innocent people, fear us Muslims. Many of our parents left their so-called "Muslim" countries for a better life here in the States. This country is one of the few countries in the world where you can have a cup of tea with a Muslim, a Buddhist, and an Atheist, all at the same table. Many people came here to escape religious persecution so who the hell are you to persecute ANYONE on a religious premise?"
"I am the imam of the mosque for now," the man repeated. "Well that's a mistake that was on us," another of the board members spoke up. "We had no idea you were such an extremist." "Extremist?" the man smirked. "I follow the tenets of our faith." "Then go back to whatever cesspool you crawled out of and follow in the footsteps of whatever teacher taught you that hate. He most likely blew himself up thinking he'd find seventy-two virgins in heaven," Iman spoke up. "People like you are the reason many Americans think that we practice suicide drills at mosques instead of simply worshipping our creator. People like you are the reason so many Americans think we are here on an invasion mission when this is our HOME. A man who thinks a convert can't speak on behalf of her community has no place in our mosque. We are a non-denominational mosque, which means we accept all in the brotherhood and sisterhood of Islam. Whether you are Sunni, Shia, Wahabi, or any other sect of Islam, you are allowed to pray alongside us as long as you do not infringe on or condemn the way others worship. We established this mosque to be a safe place to pray to Allah and Allah alone. Nowhere does that include those that wish to destroy the only home many of us have."
"Sister Iman, may I borrow your extra scarf?" Dawood called out and smiled as Khadijah brought it up to him. "Thank you, Shehzadi." Khadijah gave Dawood a thumbs-up and ran back to Iman to hold her hand. Dawood was grateful for the younger woman who protectively placed an arm around Khadijah. He wanted to help stabilize the mosque and make it a safe haven for future generations because of people like Iman. "I would call you out even if you were Nedim. You are wrong. You cannot try to indoctrinate our future generations with such hate. I am a soldier. She is a soldier. We ARE Muslims, but we are Americans at the same time. We do our duty to both our country and faith. How dare you try to alienate us?" "I will not pray for him. He is a kaafir in my book," the man said one final time. "That's good, because I will. I am a Muslim chaplain in the US Army. I am qualified to lead this brother's funeral prayer and I will do just that. Not only that, but due to my duty as a Muslim and an American, I will report you to the FBI for being a terrorist and enticing hate and crimes against this country." This seemed to make the man panic. He looked left and right and tried to dash towards the exit. Dawood grabbed one of the man's arms and felt a fist collide with his lips. "Grab him!" Dawood cried out and watched as many people in the congregation dived at the man. "Hold him down," Dawood said calmly and tied the man's hands behind his back with Iman's scarf. "Now you just wait here for some law enforcement officer to arrive and you tell them all your ideals."
"Baba!" Khadijah cried out as she ran, full speed, towards Dawood. "Hey, Hey. Slow down," Dawood smiled before kneeling down. He felt Khadijah's small finger trace his chin and rest on his lip. "You're bleeding!" Khadijah cried out as she neared tears. "Baba, that bad man hit you! I have to go destroy him!" "No, no, Shehzadi," Dawood said quickly as he wrapped his arms around Khadijah. "It's okay. I'm not seriously hurt." "But you're bleeding!" Khadijah whispered as she buried her head on Dawood's shirt. "Here," Iman said softly as she handed Dawood a paper towel. "Thank you," Dawood smiled and wiped at his mouth. "No! Let me!" Khadijah said quickly and licked the end of the paper towel before wiping at Dawood's face. Dawood smiled at Khadijah's innocence and concern before he sighed, "Shehzadi, I'm okay." "You need stitches!" Khadijah said as she finally burst into tears. "Why did he have to hurt my baba? Why did he have to make him bleed?" "Oh, Khadijah," Dawood whispered and drew her back into his protective embrace. "It's okay, princess." He kissed the top of Khadijah's head over and over again, "I'm okay, beautiful. I had to stop the bad man. It's okay, Shehzadi. It's okay."
Iman knelt beside Khadijah and calmly said, "Sweetheart, why don't we get your father a proper first aide kit?" Khadijah sniffed and nodded, "Okay, because he needs it. He says he doesn't, but he does. He always says he doesn't, but he does. That's just how he is." Dawood smiled and shook his head while Iman smirked and said, "I'm sure that's how he is. Come with me, sweetheart." "Don't move, Baba. Don't misbehave. I'll bring all the things you need! Don't move!" Khadijah cried out as she stormed off with Iman. "You okay?" Rana asked as she checked on Dawood. "Fine. Don't try mending me. We might have a hurricane of tiny proportions coming through here in a minute," Dawood smiled. "She'll have heads rolling if she doesn't take care of me." Rana smiled and nodded, "She is a princess, after all."
"I'm calling Auntie Tehmy," Ahmed said once he approached Rana and Dawood. "You alright, bro?" "Yeah," Dawood nodded. "I have to stay here because Khadijah ordered me not to move." Ahmed noticed the grape colored bruise that had begun to appear at the corner of Dawood's mouth. "I'm glad you volunteered to lead the prayer. If it wasn't going to be you, I would have done it." "This is more than a prayer though, man," Dawood sighed. "This is our stance as a community. Will we alienate all soldiers, officers, or those who work in the government because a few idiots believe their struggle, their jihad, is to kill people working for the U.S. Government? My jihad is to raise my little girl right. I want her growing up to make a difference in our community, in our country. How can I raise her right if I sit on my behind while someone else is being persecuted?" "I guess that's what Auntie Tehmy meant when she said you'd find a way," Ahmed nodded. "I'm going to go call her." "Yeah," Dawood nodded and looked at Rana. "What are you thinking?" "I think, it's time to call in the troops," Rana said as she pursed her mouth.
He didn't know what Rana meant by that and was about to ask her when he spotted Khadijah running lopsided towards him, carrying a first aide kit. "Don't move!" Khadijah called out as she hurried towards her father. Dawood got up in a flash as Khadijah tripped over her own feet and nearly fell face first onto the carpet. "Slow down, little one," Iman said as she quickly wrapped her arms around the little girl, steadying her. "Thanks, Ms. Abdullah," Khadijah nodded and flashed a thumbs-up at Iman. She then sat down on the carpet and patted the space in front of her, "Sit, Baba. I'm okay, but you're not. Sit down, please." Dawood sighed and knelt back down before saying, "You need to be more careful, Khadijah. You nearly gave me a heart attack." Khadijah wrinkled her small nose and skeptically asked her father, "From tripping, Baba? Don't be silly. Now, what stuff do I need?" "Here," Dawood said as he reached for the kit. "No! Don't misbehave, Baba! I have to take care of you," Khadijah scolded her father.
Dawood sighed and settled back down. Iman smiled at the way Khadijah carefully looked at her supplies and then glanced at her father's cut and bruise. "Let me help you, little one," Iman smiled as she opened an alcohol pad and added. "Use this to disinfect the cut. Do you know what that means?" "Yes, ma'am. It means to kill all the germs. We have to murder them and I feel bad but its them or us," Khadijah nodded and wiped at Dawood's lip with the alcohol pad. Dawood nearly snorted in laughter, but winced as the alcohol stung his wound and noticed the smile on Iman's face. "Thank you, Sister Iman," Dawood said quickly. Iman looked at the soldier in surprise, "Excuse me? For what?" "For calling me," Dawood said simply and nodded as if emphasizing his thanks. Iman nodded while she glanced at Khadijah and smiled as the little girl asked for what was next. "Use this bandage," Iman explained calmly. "Now, you're done. I'll take this back and you take care of your father, even if he says he doesn't need it, little one."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you!" Khadijah said quickly and gave the woman a hug. "You saved my baba." Dawood shook his head at Iman's surprised face and said, "We're a hugging family. She hugs when she's really thankful." Iman smiled and tried to hide her mild blush before returning the little girl's hug, "Will you excuse me? I have to get back to the youth center." Khadijah nodded and waved as Iman headed out of the room. Khadijah turned to face her father and gave him a hug while she rested her head on his shoulder. "You okay, Shehzadi?" Dawood asked softly. "Yeah," Khadijah whispered. "I just need a minute." "Take all the time in the world, beautiful," Dawood sighed and held the little girl against him. He had noticed that Khadijah felt like she needed to hold him when she was nervous or worried and was trying to calm herself down. It had become a sort of habit. Once Khadijah let go, Dawood smiled and whispered, "Better?" "Uh huh," Khadijah nodded.
"We have to get going," Rana called out. "I have to call people." "What people?" Dawood asked as he stood up. "You'll see later. Let's get this soldier the funeral he deserves," Rana said as she waved and headed out of the mosque. "I'm going to wait for the cops or whatever," Ahmed nodded and gave Khadijah a hug. "You're awesome." "So are you, Uncle Ahmed," Khadijah smiled. "If I ever get hurt, make sure you take care of me like that, okay?" Ahmed asked and grinned as Khadijah nodded. "Shehzadi," Dawood smiled at his little girl. "Do you understand what happened here today?" "Yes," Khadijah nodded seriously. "There was a bad man at the mosque. Also, Brother Farrokh died." "You knew him?" Dawood asked quietly. "I know you've seen me talk to him, but did you ever meet him?" "Mmmhmm," Khadijah answered affirmatively. "He always helped me tie my shoes when you weren't here. He was nice." "Yeah, he was," Dawood nodded. "Baba?" Khadijah whispered as she held Dawood's hand. "Why did the bad man say that Brother Farrokh was bad? He was a soldier, like you. If he was bad, that means he was saying you and Aunt Rana are bad too. That's not right. That's not true."
"Come here," Dawood said as he picked Khadijah up and placed her on top of the shoe rack in the hall, so they were both at eye level. "Did it bother you that he called Farrokh bad?" "Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded. "He always helped in daycare and helped tie my shoes. Why would a bad guy do that? He wasn't bad." "You know that and that's what is important," Dawood smiled and held his daughter's hands in his own. "There are people in this world who think they know everything. They try to sort people by saying who is good and who is bad. The problem with that is that they don't see the world through everyone else's eyes. They only see it through their own. They try to convince everyone around them that only they are right. However, people like you will always question what they hear. Even when the world says he was bad, because that's what they have heard, you know different because you knew him. He wasn't bad. Always remember that, no matter what other people say. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded. "What other people say isn't always true even if it's a lot of people saying it, right?" "You got it," Dawood smiled and gave his little girl a hug. "Dawood," Harun called out from behind his son. "Baba," Dawood smiled and turned around to look at his father. "You have given me a multitude of reasons to be proud of you. This is one that stands out from the rest," Harun said as he gave Dawood a powerful hug. "You are fighting not only for this young man, but for the future generations of Muslims who will walk down these halls. Don't you ever let our cultural thoughts meddle with what's right and what's wrong." "Yes, sir," Dawood smiled and noticed Mariam standing to the side with Jalal. "Jalal Bhai," Dawood said in surprise. Jalal looked at Dawood seriously as he approached the younger man. Jalal placed his hand on Dawood's shoulder before embracing him fiercely. Dawood coughed at the surprise hug and choked out, "Can't breathe." "Please, stop! My baba is choking!" Khadijah cried out in worry as she kicked her legs against the shoe rack.
"Sorry," Jalal smiled sheepishly and adjusted his glasses. "You sure do like making a scene. Where the hell have you been, man?" "Language," Mariam said simply as she smiled at Khadijah. "This is your Uncle Jalal. He's my husband." "He said a bad word," Khadijah shook her head in disbelief. "You're not supposed to say bad words." "What bad word did I say?" Jalal asked and leaned against the shoe rack. Khadijah looked at Jalal and wrinkled her forehead before saying, "You know I can't say it. It's a bad word." "I'm sorry, but I have to go crazy for a second," Jalal said before pinching Khadijah's cheeks and grinning. "She's so cute! Nothing like you, Dave." "Dawood," Dawood said simply. "I'm not a child anymore. My name is Dawood." "Oh. That's pretty grown-up of you," Jalal said as he nodded and glanced at Mariam. "Look at that. Dawood's grown-up." "He has a daughter," Mariam sighed. "I'd be surprised if he wasn't grown-up." "As I was saying," Jalal smiled, "she is adorbs." "Adorbs? Did you decide to eat the rest of the word?" Dawood asked as he shook his head. "Come here, Shehzadi."
Dawood carried Khadijah to the front of the mosque as Harun, Mariam, and Jalal followed. "I hate to have to reschedule our dining date, but I have to get things ready for Farrokh and his family, Baba," Dawood said as he looked at his father. "That's fine, my son," Harun smiled. "I will meet you at your home. I am sure Ahmed wouldn't mind giving me a ride." "Not at all, Baba," Dawood smiled. "Shehzadi, spend the day with your grandfather, okay? I have to make sure everything is ready for Brother Farrokh." "Can't I stay, Baba?" Khadijah asked softly. "I want to help for him too." Dawood looked at his daughter and saw the look of earnest behind her eyes. "I think this would be a great lesson for her," Mariam said as she looked at Khadijah. "You will get to see how much your father cares about his friends and family." "She's too young for this," Dawood protested softly while he placed his hand on Mariam's arm. "She should go home." "What if it's you?" Mariam whispered in Urdu. "What if she faces this again and it's you she has to bury?" "Why are you doing this,Baji?" Dawood whispered back in Urdu. "She's a child. She doesn't have to see life like this yet." "You are a soldier, Dawood. This is a horrid plausible part of a soldier's life. She may be young, but she needs to see how you deal with this," Mariam said and smiled at Khadijah. She switched to English, "Why don't you stay with your father?"
"I understood everything you said, ma'am," Khadijah said in Urdu as she looked at her father before switching to English. "Baba and Aunt Ruby teach me Urdu all the time. Baba, you won't die will you? You can't die." Dawood hadn't discussed death properly with his little one yet and frowned at being put in this predicament. He held Khadijah tightly and whispered, "Just stay with me today. We'll talk about everything that's going on. Okay?" "Mmmhmm," Khadijah nodded as she buried her face in her father's shirt. "You guys go on," Dawood sighed as he twirled Khadijah around in his arms to cheer her up. "I have to have some heart-to-heart time with my princess." "I'll meet you at home," Harun smiled and waved at Khadijah. "We'll get the address from Ahmed and drop Baba off. We might even make you guys dinner before leaving," Jalal shrugged. "Adios Khans!" Dawood waved and watched Harun leave with Mariam and Jalal. "Baba?" Khadijah whispered as she looked up at Dawood. "Why did Aunt Mariam say you were going to die?"
"Brother Dawood, may I see you for a moment?" Iman called out as she hurried over to Dawood. "Hold on, Shehzadi. We'll talk about this. Let me listen to Ms. Abdullah first," Dawood said as he kissed the top of Khadijah's head. "Okay," Khadijah nodded and rested her head on Dawood's shoulder. Dawood then turned to look at Iman. "Yes, Sister Iman?" "I require your help with the funeral arrangements. Since you've volunteered to act as the imam that day, you will need to help a little bit," Iman said and smiled at Khadijah. The little girl looked up and asked, "Can I help too? I liked Brother Farrokh." " If your father allows it, little one," Iman said as she looked at Dawood for an answer. "Sure," Dawood nodded and sighed. "Khadijah, you have to promise to listen to everything Ms. Abdullah says." "I already do, Baba," Khadijah nodded before resting her head back on Dawood's shoulder. "She does," Iman reassured Dawood. "I'll meet you in the office then?" "Sounds good," Dawood nodded and headed towards the imam's office.
He hadn't been in this room in years and smiled once he spotted pictures of Nedim's children, framed and sitting proudly on Nedim's desk. "Oh! That's Lejla!" Khadijah smiled. "I know her. She's in my Qur'anclass." "Really?" Dawood asked as he sat down at a table in front of Nedim's desk. He noticed a few notes scribbled on pieces of paper here and there and could actually see the amount of work that went into leading the congregation. Dawood glanced up as Iman placed a few files on the coffee table in front of Nedim's desk. He could see the strain in her eyes and wondered how many times she had gone through this before. He knew that Iman was the one who ran many of the events behind-the-scenes at the mosque. "Can I help you, Ms. Abdullah?" Khadijah asked quietly as Iman organized a few files on the table. "Yes, little one," Iman smiled at Khadijah and handed Khadijah a little note pad. "I know you can read and write quite well. Why don't you take notes while your father and I make the arrangements?" "That sounds like a good idea," Dawood nodded before handing Khadijah a pencil. "You know you can ask any questions that come to you, right?" "Yes, Baba," Khadijah nodded.
Dawood glanced at the piece of paper Iman placed in front of him with a phone number circled in red ink on it. "That's the agency we work with when planning Islamic funerals. They will go ahead and prepare a lot at the Muslim graveyard," Iman explained calmly. "Sister Iman, have you done this before?" Dawood asked as he looked up at her. He saw the small, sad, smile that played at the corner of her lips as she said, "I'm the funeral director here as well as the youth director. Might as well have both ends of the spectrum covered. No one wanted the job. They said it was too time consuming. I have nothing but time." "Ms. Abdullah, do you ever sleep?" Khadijah asked as Dawood spoke on the phone with the head of the funeral home. "I do, little one," Iman smiled as she scribbled something on a form in front of her. "I don't think you do," Khadijah shook her head and whispered to her father quite loudly. "She's a zombie." "Shehzadi," Dawood sighed and looked at Iman in surprise as she placed Khadijah in her lap. "I didn't mean you're an actual zombie, Ms. Abdullah," Khadijah quickly explained. "I apologize for my daughter's overactive imagination. Her uncle is a zombie enthusiast and he's somehow reeled this one into his zombie conversations," Dawood sighed.
"I appreciate her fresh outlook on life. Sometimes, as an adult, all I see is the negative. Khadijah makes sure to ask just enough questions to make my day brighter. Why do you think I'm a zombie, little one?" Iman asked as she brushed back a strand of Khadijah's hair from her face. "Ms. Abdullah, you're a professor and then you come to daycare and take care of us. Plus, we always see you at the mosque. Then, at night you're almost the last one to leave. I don't think you sleep which is why you have to be a zombie," Khadijah explained calmly. Dawood sighed and shook his head once Iman chuckled and gave Khadijah a hug, "Thank you for making me smile on this awful day, little one." Khadijah smiled and then pursed her lips in thought as she looked at Iman, "Ms. Abdullah? May I ask you a question?" "Yes, of course, little one," Iman replied absentmindedly while she filled in more forms and looked at her phone. "Do you have a family here? I mean when you go home. Like, do you have family when you go home?" Khadijah asked curiously. Iman looked at Khadijah and smiled before simply saying, "I live alone, little one. Brother Dawood, I'm going to go make the payment for the funeral arrangements. Could you record a message on our mosque's hotline so that those that wish to be at the janazah can come on time? The instructions are listed on a laminated sheet on Imam Nedim's desk. It should be bright pink." Dawood stood up and nodded once he found the worn bright pink page sitting on the corner of Nedim's desk, "Yeah, found it. I'll get this done. Khadijah, draw a picture. No noises, got it?" "Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded as she climbed off of Iman's lap.
Dawood looked at the worn page in his hand and noticed the notes Nedim had scribbled on the bottom before laminating the page. "Don't show emotion. Keep your tone neutral. Don't mention cause of death. NEVER mention cause of death," Dawood read softly and picked up the phone. He never imagined that recording a small update on the mosque's hotline could leave him speechless. He recorded and deleted nearly ten messages before slamming the receiver back on the hook. "What's wrong, Baba? Are you frustrated?" Khadijah asked as she looked up from her drawing. "Yes, Shehzadi," Dawood nodded. "I'm frustrated." "You should be more like Ms. Abdullah," Khadijah said with a shrug. "How so?" Dawood asked as he looked at his daughter. "Baba, she helps everyone, she pays for a lot of stuff in the mosque from her own pocket, and she's always calm," Khadijah shrugged. Dawood sighed, "Why would you ask about her family, Shehzadi?" "Did I ask a bad question?" Khadijah asked as she looked at her father and followed him with her gaze. Dawood sighed and rubbed his temples before saying, "Shehzadi, I've explained that there are certain questions you can't ask with other people because they might hurt them."
"I know, Baba," Khadijah nodded and then pursed her lips again before speaking. "I just wanted to know because she's very nice, but she always seems alone." "Not everyone has family, Shehzadi," Dawood explained. "I know, Baba," Khadijah sighed. "I don't understand though. She's so nice. Why doesn't she have family? I want to be like her. Should I wear the hijab?" "Khadijah, you're FIVE. Five year olds don't need to be focusing on hijabs. Also, you don't want our family?" Dawood asked quickly, but was met with Khadijah's giggles. "Oh, Baba," Khadijah giggled and patted Dawood's leg as she shook her head. "Why are you so silly?" "Why am I silly now?" Dawood asked with a slight smile. "Baba, I will always need you. You're my baba. You're my best friend," Khadijah explained calmly. Dawood smiled before picking her up and giving her a hug, "Shehzadi, why do you always sound so grown up? How do you pick up on so much?" "It's because I'm adorable," Khadijah nodded before giving her father's cheek a kiss. Dawood smiled before placing Khadijah back in her seat. He knew that Farrokh had brought a smile to his mother's face just as Khadijah did for him. Children meant the most to their parents and he would convey that with his message on the hotline. With that, he picked up the phone and recorded his message.
Dawood hung up a few minutes later and sighed while he absentmindedly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He had officially begun the process of saying goodbye to one of the kids of his community, a child he had a hand in mentoring. "Baba," Khadijah whispered as she patted her father's cheeks, snapping Dawood to attention. "Yes, Shehzadi?" Dawood whispered and tried his best to smile at his little girl. "You're sad," Khadijah noted and climbed onto Dawood's lap before giving him a hug. "It's okay to be sad, Baba." Dawood smiled and gave Khadijah's forehead a kiss, "I know, baby. Thank you." Khadijah nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before sitting on his lap and looking at the pictures of Nedim's children on the desk. "Baba?" Khadijah whispered and looked up at Dawood. "Yes, Shehzadi?" Dawood whispered before wrapping his arms around his little girl. "I don't like your sister," Khadijah frowned. "You don't like Rana Baji?" Dawood asked in surprise. "No way!" Khadijah said quickly and shook her head. "I LOVE Aunt Rana!" "Then who,Shehzadi?" Dawood asked with a smile. "Your sister. The one we met today. The one who was creepy and thought I couldn't speak Urdu," Khadijah frowned. "Mariam Baji?" Dawood asked and sighed before kissing the top of Khadijah's head. He smiled at Khadijah's assessment and added, "Why was she creepy?"
Khadijah frowned while she played with a pen on the desk. Dawood could see that his little one was deep in thought. "Khadijah?" Dawood called out softly and watched as Khadijah slammed her small hand down on the desk in frustration. "Baba, why did she say that you could die? Is she a bad person? Does she not love you?" Khadijah asked in frustration. "Hmm. You're angry aren't you?" Dawood asked as he kissed the top of Khadijah's head. "Mmmhmm," Khadijah nodded. "Why did she have to say that? I don't like her." Dawood kissed the top of Khadijah's head again and whispered, "I don't like her much either, but she had a point. I know you're still little, but you know that my job is dangerous, right?" "I know, but Baba that doesn't mean you have to die!" Khadijah said in anger. "Whoa! Calm down, little spitfire," Dawood said as he stood up and cradled Khadijah. "Have you calmed down?" Dawood asked as he held Khadijah. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry for raising my voice. I just-Baba, I love you. I don't want you to die," Khadijah whispered softly. "I know, baby. I know. Why don't we sit down and talk about this?" Dawood suggested calmly. "Okay," Khadijah nodded as she hopped out of Dawood's protective embrace and sat across from him on a couch. Dawood sat down and smiled at Khadijah before whispering, "You know that Farrokh's mother loved him, right?"
"Yes, sir. He always said he loved his mama more than she loved her. She always said she loved him more though," Khadijah nodded. "That's like when I tell you that I love you, right?" Dawood asked softly. "Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded but refused to smile. "Do you think Farrokh's mother wanted him to die?" Dawood asked as he studied his little one. "No, sir," Khadijah whispered and sniffed before looking at her father for some sort of explanation. "Just like Farrokh's mother didn't want him to die, I know that you don't want me to die. I know this, Shehzadi, but you know that my job is dangerous, right?" Dawood whispered. "Yes, sir," Khadijah nodded and pouted, "but I still don't want you to die." "I know, beautiful. Come here," Dawood whispered and hugged Khadijah tightly as the little girl clutched his shirt. "I know that you always want me to be safe, but sometimes bad things happen, Shehzadi. I pray to Allah that I'm always around to take care of you, but if anything ever happens to me, always remember that you're a Khan. Khans don't cower in fear. They face things head on. They are strong. They are brave. You are strong, my beautiful daughter. You are brave. You are a Khan. Never forget that," Dawood whispered. "Uh huh. I'm strong. I'm brave," Khadijah whispered in repetition.
Dawood let Khadijah return to her coloring and went back to the tasks Iman had given to him. Iman walked back into the room as Khadijah sat back down and smiled at the little girl before handing Dawood a stack of forms. "These are the payment forms that have to be filed. Did you call to make arrangements in the Muslim lot?" Iman asked before pulling files out of a nearby filing cabinet. "I-I was just about to do that," Dawood nodded before picking up the phone again. After nearly fifteen minutes of talking to the funeral director and groundskeeper at the graveyard, Dawood hung up and looked at Iman who had a neat stack of files next to her. He had a newfound respect for the woman who sat in front of him. He had heard numerous stories about Sister Iman. She had been called the spirit of the mosque since she seemed to be involved in nearly every aspect of the mosque's management. From youth director to funeral director, she seemed to run the mosque more than the board of directors did. "Baba," Khadijah called out, motioning for him to come over to her. "Yes, Shehzadi?" Dawood asked with a smile as he sat down on the couch next to Khadijah and across from Iman. "You should help Ms. Abdullah. She has a lot of things to do," Khadijah said as she colored on her papers. "I-It's fine, Brother Dawood. I do this regularly," Iman said as she shook her head. "Let's split it," Dawood said as he took half the files from Iman.
"I-uh-thank you," Iman said quickly. "You seem to be swamped with everything. You should have an assistant," Dawood said as he followed Iman's actions and looked through the files. "No one else wishes to do these things. You know that the only salaried person here is Imam Nedim. The rest of us are volunteers," Iman explained simply while she studied a file and filled out a form. "Ms. Abdullah, you're awesome. I want to be like you," Khadijah said and flashed a thumbs-up at Iman. "I-well-um, thank you," Iman said, flustered at the compliment. "I think I should wear the hijab like you," Khadijah said nonchalantly. "Excuse me?" Iman asked in surprise. "I do. I think I should wear it," Khadijah nodded. "Did you tell your father this?" Iman asked as she glanced at Dawood who in turn simply nodded. "What did you say?" Iman asked Dawood. "You're FIVE," Khadijah said as she tried her best at mimicking her father's deep voice. Iman smirked and covered her face while trying to hide her smile. "What? That's what he said! Right, Baba?" Khadijah asked as she looked at Dawood, who again simply nodded. "Little one, you ARE only five years old. Surely, there are more important things to worry about," Iman said softly. "Why does everyone keep telling me I'm five? I know that I'm five," Khadijah sighed. "I want to wear the hijab because I want to be a good Muslim and a good person like you," Khadijah added.
Iman looked at Khadijah in thought and then walked over to Nedim's desk. She pulled something out of one of the drawers and sat back down before looking at Khadijah. Khadijah looked at Iman curiously as the young woman held up two lollipops. She unwrapped one lollipop and placed both of them on the table in front of her. She then brushed them off the table, causing them to fall to the ground. "Oh no!" Khadijah cried out as she scrambled to pick up the discarded candies. Iman smiled while she watched Khadijah's anguish at one of the sweets being soiled. Khadijah pouted and held up the lollipops and whispered, "That's called wasting, Ms. Abdullah. Muslims aren't supposed to waste." "I know, little one and I apologize, but let me ask you a question. Which lollipop would you eat now?" Iman asked with a smile. "The covered one. Baba said not to try the five second rule all the time," Khadijah shrugged. "Some people, men in particular, will tell you that hijab is a lot like that wrapper. That it keeps women from being spoiled," Iman explained. Dawood had been paying attention the entire time and nodded. He had heard that analogy numerous times, mainly from men to justify the practice of wearing hijab by women. He now listened in intrigue as Iman looked expectantly at Khadijah.
"That doesn't make sense," Khadijah said as she wrinkled her nose. "Exactly. This explanation is stupid. Make sure you remember that," Iman smiled and held up the next pair of lollipops. "Please don't waste these, Ms. Abdullah," Khadijah said quickly as she looked at Iman. "I won't. Now I want you to look at these. What is different about them?" Iman asked as she handed the lollipops to Khadijah. Khadijah flipped the lollipops over in her hand and shook her head, "Nothing." "Now, what if one of the lollipops was moldy inside the wrapper. Would you like it?" Iman asked. "Ew. No," Khadijah shook her head. "The wrapper, or the scarf, isn't what makes us good Muslims, little one. It is what is inside that counts. There are people out there that wear hijabs, but are moldy on the inside. Then there are people out there who do not wear scarves, but are good Muslims. Never judge a person because they do or do not have a scarf. We are all created the same way, just like these lollipops. Your will to become a good Muslim begins in your heart. Wearing a scarf is easy, but wearing a scarf with the intention of being recognized as a Muslim is very difficult, little one. For now, just try being a very good Muslim. You have plenty of time to choose when you wish to wear the scarf. The scarf if your decision alone. Do not let anyone pressure you into wearing it and do not wear it to fit in either. Understand that it takes courage to wear your identity out like this. It is a commitment for life, not a toy or a fashion accessory," Iman explained patiently.
"That is a first," Dawood said as he watched Iman pull out a file. "I'm sure you've heard the age old lollipop analogy as well," Iman sighed. "Absolutely. I've even seen billboards about it in Arab countries," Dawood acknowledged. "In order to do good, you must have the desire to be good. If your intentions and your heart are filled with evil, you will always be evil regardless of any scarf you wear. Women need to understand that hijab comes from within. We must first make ourselves adhere to the straight path of Islam. The scarf and such is simply your projection of your identity on society," Iman explained. "Isn't it mandatory for women?" Dawood asked. "It is, but not simply because it's been said it's mandatory. A woman should understand the repercussions, the impact, her simple decision will have on her life. Donning the hijab and living your life according to the tenets of our faith is hard, especially since our lives are constantly surrounded by sin and the easy way out. Wearing hijab for the sake of Allah requires courage. I admire and respect all women who do it for the sake of being a better person. I also admire the women who are working their way to being a better Muslim and who may not wear hijab. I suppose I have seen too many men forcing their wives and daughters to wear the scarf when they simply have no understanding about Islam. Islam doesn't require blind submission. That only leads to ignorance. Islam requires critical thinking and understanding. If men and scholars spent half the time on actual Islam rather than focusing on what women folk do, we'd have a better world. Hijab is OUR choice. It should always be a woman's CHOICE," Iman explained.
Dawood pursed his lips as he looked at the files in front of him. He marveled at the mind that powered Iman. She thought differently. Her thought process was similar to how Amina used to think. Amina had always told him to never force anyone to wear hijab, especially not his wife or children. "Hijab is their choice. The ones who understand the importance of hijab and then don it are the ones who will change the ignorance that runs rampant in this world," Amina had explained to him. Dawood smiled as he thought of his mother and what a strong woman she had been. "Baba, you're smiling," Khadijah noticed as she looked up from her drawings. Iman glanced at Dawood and noticed Dawood's smile fade away as he brought a sheet of paper closer to his face. "Baba? What's wrong?" Khadijah asked as she walked over and touched Dawood's hand gently.
"I was thinking of your grandmother," Dawood began and looked up at Iman as he read the form, "and this came up. Sister Iman, did you fill this out when my mother passed away?" Iman nodded and watched as Dawood sniffed back his emotions and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. Dawood smiled at Khadijah who looked at her father in concern and whispered, "I'm okay, Shehzadi. I was just thinking about how wonderful Ms. Abdullah is." Iman looked at Dawood in surprise and said, "Excuse me?" "Yeah, she's the best!" Khadijah said as she pumped her fist in the air. Dawood smiled slightly and handed Iman the form that was in his hand. Dawood knew what she was reading. It was the form that Iman had filled out for Amina. Everything was just like the other forms, but there was a small scribble in the corner of the page that read, "Delay all procedures for Brother Dawood. He must make it for funeral. Eldest brother acting like jerk." "I did this because Brother Ahmed filled me in on your predicament," Iman explained. "Thank you, Sister Iman. You're truly the spirit of this mosque," Dawood whispered. Before Iman could react, Rana burst into the office and called out, "Khan! Quick word!"