Khyber Dreams Chapter 14: On to Multan

The first stop on our adventure to the outskirts of Pakistan was the city of Multan, where Abid's sister Razia lived with her family.  (Photo at left:  Me, Safia, Razia's children, Razia)

Multan is located in the Punjab area of Pakistan, close to the northeastern border with India--and relatively close to the city of Jalandhar, India, where Abid's parents had grown up, married and lived prior to Partition.

For those who might not be aware, Pakistan (both West and East--which is now Bangladesh) was a part of India as recently as 1947. That was the year the British departed and created in their wake the mess that was to become the political situation between the Hindu nation of India and the Muslim nation of East and West Pakistan. To make things even more interesting, they left the region known as Kashmir in dispute, and both nations have claimed it. That, as I understand it, is largely the basis for the animosity between the two nations today.

The area that became Pakistan was predominantly Muslim, so those Hindus residing within the newly-designated confines were obliged to move to India. Conversely the Muslims within the area designated as Indian were forced to pick up and move to Pakistan. That was the case with Abid's parents, who resettled themselves in the port city of Karachi. I'm not sure which of the ten were born after their move, but Abid was, as well as the younger brothers Akhlaq and Munnawar.

Truthfully I can't remember a lot about our visit to Multan. Something I remember vividly, however, is the mosque adjacent to the house where Razia's family lived. This wouldn't have been a problem except that the muezzin calls the faithful to prayer five times a day, beginning at dawn. And he doesn't do so quietly.

That first morning (at somewhere around 5:00 am) I shot straight out of bed as if I'd been shot.

"What the blazes is THAT?"

I knew full well what it was, having listened to it many times in Karachi, just not at ear-splitting volume since the mosque was at something of a distance from Britto Road.

The muezzin's call to prayer is loudly amplified so that all can hear it, much like a rock concert. Since the awful day of 9/11, the opening words of the call to prayer have become frightenly familiar to western ears:  Allahu Akbar!  (God is great!) The Arabic language of the Qur'an is hauntingly beautiful, and I love to hear it spoken. But it has become disgustingly associated with the terrorist element of the religion. That makes me very sad.

The photo above shows the mosque in question, from, I believe, the roof of Razia's house. It doesn't look so close in this picture. It felt like the muezzin was right in the next room, however, when he did his "performance" every day, five times a day.