<\/p>\n
One night Faiz was having dinner when his wife Gulalay suddenly held her belly and screamed, as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Faiz gave her a glass of water to drink, but it did not help. He ran to the yard, found a brick, warmed it over the gas stove, wrapped it in a piece of cloth, and set it on Gulalay\u2019s belly. Ten minutes later, Gulalay was still crying in pain. Finally, Faiz took the Holy Koran sitting on the windowsill and put it on his wife\u2019s chest so the healing powers of the book would cure the pain. Even the Holy Koran could not relieve Gulalay\u2019s suffering. Faiz had no choice but to leave their two-year-old son with their neighbor and rush Gulalay to Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital downtown.<\/p>\n
The long corridor in the hospital was lit with flickering neon lights, and the patients behind the closed doors on both sides were moaning faintly. The whole place smelled like rotten fish and feces combined with the strong stench of chlorine and medicine. There were more flies in the hospital than in any restaurant in Kabul, and they had turned the white walls and the ceilings gray with their droppings. The medical equipment seemed old and worn out. The squeaky metal beds with caved-in mattresses were covered with dirty sheets and they looked uninviting.<\/p>\n
Faiz took Gulalay to a stuffy room full of flies and laid her in a bed. Three young physicians gathered around her. The first doctor injected Gulalay with yellow liquid, which made her lose consciousness right away. The second one hooked her to an I.V. bag. The third doctor, whose head looked twice as big as everyone else\u2019s in the room because of his fluffy hair, tried to find the source of her pain. First, he said Gulalay\u2019s intestines were twisted, then he said her gallbladder was punctured, then he said her colon was blocked. After an hour of probing every inch of Gulalay\u2019s body, he was convinced that the pain emanated from her womb.<\/p>\n
Faiz\u2019s skin prickled from shame when he watched the doctor with fluffy hair take off Gulalay\u2019s pants, bend down between her legs, insert a medical tool into her private parts, look at the computer screen next to the bed, and talk to the other physicians using words he could not understand. What would his cousins in the village say if they found out strangers were touching and looking into his wife\u2019s secluded parts? He pushed the doctors away and covered Gulalay with a white sheet full of yellow stains. \u201cHave some shame and respect!\u201d he jeered at them. \u201cDon\u2019t you have wives? What will you do if I look between your wives\u2019 legs?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are not a doctor, are you?\u201d the physician with fluffy hair retorted with wide eyes, holding a tool that looked like scissors.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I\u2019m not.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen don\u2019t you want us to cure your wife?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do, but I need to know what is wrong with her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHer uterus is dangerously inflamed. She may have cancer in her womb, but I\u2019m not entirely certain. If you want a quick result, take her to Pakistan or India. They have the right tools to diagnose her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere can a jobless stonemason get the kind of money to go to Pakistan or India?\u201d<\/p>\n
The doctor with fluffy hair shook his head and left the room. His colleagues followed him.<\/p>\n
An old janitor was mopping the floor. \u201cIf I were you,\u201d he said as he leaned on the handle of his broom,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d take her to Mullah Malang.\u201d
\nThe name sounded familiar, but Faiz could not remember when he had heard it. He went on looking blankly at the custodian, whose craggy face and neck carved with many layers of wrinkles reminded him of his father in the village.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhenever these medics can\u2019t cure a patient,\u201d the old man went on, \u201cI tell their families about Mullah Malang.\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly, Faiz remembered when he had first heard about Mullah Malang. A year earlier, his next-door neighbor\u2019s daughter had been coughing day and night. Her mother took her to many doctors, but the medicine did not have any effect. Someone told her to take her daughter to Mullah Malang. She did, and the next day the little girl stopped coughing.<\/p>\n
\u201cMullah Malang will fix your wife in no time,\u201d the janitor added. \u201cHe is a miracle healer.\u201d<\/p>\n
The custodian\u2019s confidence was so absolute and reassuring in the face of the doctors\u2019 uncertainty and coldness that Faiz was intrigued and filled with hope. He wanted to detach the I.V. bag from Gulalay\u2019s wrist and carry her to Mullah Malang, but he did not dare wake her. She would scream in agony. The physicians would return and inject her with more sleep inducer, then feast their eyes on her private parts. \u201cCan you give me Mullah Malang\u2019s address?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
It took Faiz four hours to walk to the northernmost neighborhood of Kabul, Khir Khana, because there were no buses at that time of the night to take him there. As he wandered through the empty streets, looking for Mullah Malang\u2019s place, the sun slowly rose from behind the mountains. Finally, he saw a sign above a rusty metal gate:<\/p>\n
Seeing the word cancer made Timur feel hopeful. He knocked on the rusty door. No one answered. He pushed the gate open, revealing a dark, narrow staircase leading down to a basement. He could hardly see his steps as he descended and reached a wooden door. \u201cAnybody here?\u201d he yelled as he banged hard.
\nThe door opened a crack and an eye peered at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m looking for Mullah Malang.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man opened the door and let Faiz into a windowless room with a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. He was short and stocky with a missing eye, which made him look scary and mystical at the same time. The floor in his room was covered with a red carpet, and posters of Kabba and calligraphies of verses from the holy Koran hung on the walls. A desk in the corner was loaded with stacks of books and papers.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want the servant of Allah to do for you?\u201d the one-eyed man asked.<\/p>\n
Faiz was stupefied. \u201cServant of Allah?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Allah\u2019s slave, Mullah Malang.\u201d His working eyelid went down in a wink, by all appearances involuntarily.<\/p>\n
\u201cA janitor at Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital told me you can cure my wife\u2019s illness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t cure anyone. Allah can. If you put your trust in me, I can plead your case to Him.\u201d Mullah Malang walked to his desk and sat in the only chair. \u201cYour place is on the floor,\u201d he commanded Faiz.<\/p>\n
Faiz sat in front of the desk and leaned against the cold concrete wall.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me about your wife\u2019s sickness,\u201d Mullah Malang demanded, stroking his beard.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is suffering from a mysterious abdominal pain, and the doctors can\u2019t figure out what is wrong with her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOur doctors are soulless assassins,\u201d Mullah Malang said with a wave of his hand. \u201cAll they want are fees only to prescribe some quackery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is why I came to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll see what I can do for your spouse.\u201d Mullah Malang closed his working eye and hummed for a few minutes like a monk in a temple. \u201cNow be frank with me. Do you love your wife?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course I do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t care for pretense. Tell me the truth. Do you really love her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of question is that? I don\u2019t only love her, I love her devotedly, and I want to do anything in my ability to help her regain her health.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang closed his working eye again and clucked a few times as if he was trying to imitate an invisible duck. His long white beard shook with each quacking sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you making that noise?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t interrupt me when I\u2019m chatting with the angels.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hearing the word angels made Faiz apprehensive. He looked around the room before he buttoned the collar of his kameez and straightened his white cap. His legs were stretched out. He moved into a cross-legged position and put his hands on his knees, as if he was about to start meditating.<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang stopped quacking. \u201cThe angels conveyed my message to Allah, and our savior told them that your partner has a serious ailment,\u201d he said with a wide eye, nodding thoughtfully. \u201cHold on, hold on.\u201d He closed his eye again, hummed for a moment, and added with a shut eye: \u201cNow the angels are telling me that your wife is lying at the edge of her grave but still breathing, and you\u2019ll be dumping dirt on her corpse next week if we don\u2019t make her some pills out of barley right away.\u201d<\/p>\n
A cold sweat broke throughout Faiz\u2019s body. He cursed himself in his heart for moving from the village to Kabul two years earlier. Now how would he raise his son without his wife? He was shaking all over. \u201cPills out of barley!\u201d he yelled. \u201cHow do you make pills out of barley?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang opened his eye, took a deep breath, and looked at the disco ball as if angels were sitting on it. \u201cProphet Mohammad once said that Allah never inflicts a disease unless He makes a cure for it first,\u201d he said calmly. Then he turned to Faiz and continued: \u201cAs for the barley, you should ask where it grows. Of course, on the ground like wheat, but not all farmland is holy. The barley I prescribe to my clients is no ordinary grain. It\u2019s especially made for ill people like your wife to restore their health.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow? Is it like magic? Do you have magical barley?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a mullah, Allah\u2019s representative on earth, not a sorcerer,\u201d Mullah Malang retorted. \u201cYou should never use the word magic in my presence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was a farmer until three years ago, and I\u2019ve grown wheat and barley all my life. How does your barley work?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst you must ask about the price to see if you can afford it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy wife is lying at the edge of her grave, and you are concerned about your prices. Tell me! What are you waiting for? Hurry up!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are three prices: $30, $40, and $50.\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz was shocked by the steep cost. \u201cWhat can a $50 bag of barley do that a $30 bag can\u2019t?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are variations of holiness. Some farmers use fertilizer, and I\u2019m sure you were one of them. But that lowers the level of sacredness in the grain. Some farmers use pesticides, which also destroys the piety of the grains. There are some farmers out in the depths of the countryside who don\u2019t have access to anything except shovels and water. Their barley is the holiest. However, when their grains make it to the Kabul markets, the traders mix them with the secular, profane, and democratic grains and sell them as one product. I have to buy a large bag of barley and give it to my assistant to go through the grains one by one, sniffing them each to find the divinest ones, and make you a bag. As for my assistant, he was born with a dog\u2019s sense of smell. Only he can tell me which kind of barley is holy and which kind isn\u2019t. The $50 bag of barley doesn\u2019t contain a single blasphemous or even a semi-unholy seed. I\u2019ll say my blessings over the bag using some special verses from the Holy Koran and offer it to our savior, Allah, who\u2019ll put His healing power into the grains. Your spouse should eat the barley raw and boiled, wear some around her neck like an amulet, and tie the rest of it around the part of her body that hurts. She\u2019ll regain her health in no time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m dealing with a witchman,\u201d Faiz told himself. He stood to leave.<\/p>\n
\u201cI see doubt in your face,\u201d Mullah Malang went on. \u201cDo you know doubt creates suspicions, suspicions create skepticism, skepticism creates disbelief, and disbelief converts a man into an infidel?\u201d Then he took a copy of the holy Koran sitting among his papers on his desk, flipped through the faded yellow pages, and recited some verses in Arabic.<\/p>\n
Faiz was surprised to note that the one-eyed man had a soothing voice.<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang paused and looked up at Faiz. \u201cDo you understand Arabic?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Faiz could not read and write Dari, let alone Arabic. He had never been able to attend school. All his life he had worked with his father on a tiny piece of land to feed their large family. \u201cNo,\u201d he answered, \u201cbut I believe in the healing power of the Holy Koran. Sometimes when I get a headache, I put the holy book on my forehead and ten minutes later the pain is gone. It didn\u2019t work for my wife though.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want me to translate the passage I just read?\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cSurely Allah causes the grain and the stone to germinate. He brings forth the living from the dead and He is the bringer forth of the dead from the living; that is Allah! How are you then turned away?\u201d Mullah Malang scrutinized Faiz. \u201cHow can you deny Allah\u2019s words, turn your back, and leave?\u201d he said scornfully. \u201cOnly infidels would act on Allah\u2019s words with such disregard. Thankfully, you\u2019re a Muslim, and you must show respect to Allah and His promises. I\u2019ll prescribe your wife the same grain that Allah has mentioned in these glorious lines.\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz knew the one-eyed man would not invent false verses. If the Taliban found out they would stone him to death. He sat back in his place. \u201cCan you translate those words for me again?\u201d he asked Mullah Malang to make sure he heard everything correctly the first time.<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang did.<\/p>\n
Faiz was comforted that there truly was a verse in the Holy Koran about the grain and its curative powers. \u201cCan you lower your price a little if I choose to go with your $50 bag of barley?\u201d he asked in a cold tone so Mullah Malang would not detect his excitement and refuse to give him a discount.
\n\u201cUnfortunately, no.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t give you a discount on behalf of my assistant who helps me detect the celestial grains, and I can\u2019t give you a discount on the blessing because I give away half of my share to the beggars. Besides, I\u2019m a human like yourself, and Allah wants me to eat and feed my family, doesn\u2019t He?\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz did not know how to haggle over the price. He was not buying fruits and vegetables, but rather a cure for his ailing wife. \u201cI\u2019m a country boy, and I\u2019m good with my hands,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m an excellent stonemason, I know how to lay bricks, and I can fix crooked doors and windows. Would you be willing to accept my labor instead of cash?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI live in a rental,\u201d Mullah Malang said before he started reciting some more verses in his soothing voice.<\/p>\n
$50 was a lot of money. What would Gulalay say if Faiz told her that he paid so much for a bag of barley? He stood. \u201cI need to think about it a little more,\u201d he said as he walked to the door.
\nMullah Malang stopped reciting. \u201cYou don\u2019t seem to love your wife as devotedly as you claimed earlier,\u201d he said. \u201cMay Allah bring solace into your heart and guide you on the thorny path.\u201d Then he went on declaiming the verses.<\/p>\n
Faiz climbed the stairs. Once he was out on the street, he felt relieved. What were his choices now? Obtaining the passports and visas alone for Pakistan or India would cost him over 400 dollars, not to mention the bribes he would have to pay various officials. All he had to his name was $208. How could he pay for plane tickets, hotels, doctors\u2019 fees, medicine, and food? \u201cAt the same time,\u201d he murmured, \u201cI can\u2019t allow those impotent doctors to inject more sleep inducers into Gulalay\u2019s I.V. bags and poke their scary medical tools into her private parts to torture her more.\u201d He sat on the curb, trying to think about his other options, but the lack of sleep made his head feel as small as the head of a pin. How nice it would have been if he could just stretch out to have a little nap.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe the barley will work,\u201d Faiz told himself when he could not come up with a better solution for his predicament, but he was not sure whether he was trying to convince himself out of desperation or whether there was truth to the magic of barley because it was mentioned in the Holy Koran. \u201cI\u2019m a Muslim and I shouldn\u2019t doubt God\u2019s words,\u201d he reproved himself right away. \u201cI better put all my faith into the grain and give it a try before God gets angry with me for doubting Him.\u201d He turned around and descended back down the dark stairs. \u201cI must ask Mullah Malang to show me a sign before I give him the money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re back,\u201d the one-eyed man said as soon as Faiz entered the room. \u201cI just had a revelation from the most merciful, telling me that you are indeed a poor man, and I should give you the portion I\u2019m supposed to share with the beggars.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d Faiz asked excitedly. \u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFive dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz retrieved his wallet. \u201cI swear on the grave of my mother,\u201d he said, \u201call I have is $108 to my name. I need to pay the hospital bills, my rent, and save some cash for food so I don\u2019t end up on the street begging with my sick wife and two-year-old son before I find more work. Can you please give me a larger discount?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang gazed at Faiz for a long time. \u201cYou are a hard bargainer,\u201d he said. \u201cFine, $40, but not a penny less. Take my offer or leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz counted four $10 bills and held them in his right hand. \u201cLook, Mullah Malang,\u201d he said, \u201cI want to give you all this, but it\u2019ll make my decision a lot easier if you show me a sign.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA sign? What kind of sign?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. Anything that convinces me you aren\u2019t swindling me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang reached for a few envelopes on his table, opened one, and started reading it: \u201cDear my guardian angel Mullah Malang, You are the father of the sick and helpless, and the benefactor of the human race. Before I came to you I\u2019d gone to dozens of doctors. All they did for me was to drive my pain into the depths of my bones after robbing me of most of my money. When you gave me your $50 bag of barley, I was suspicious of it of course, wondering how those small grains could cure my long-standing prostate cancer. I wrote my will and sent it to my sons in Kandahar and Nemroz provinces so they wouldn\u2019t fight over their inheritance when I died. Now I have no pain, absolutely none! You are a miraculous healer, and I kneel before you to express my bottomless gratitude. Respectfully, Haji Shir-baz.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe is a 70 year-old man, only two years younger than me,\u201d Mullah Malang said. \u201cNow let me read you another letter.\u201d He opened a second envelope and recited: \u201cDear doctor Mullah Malang, You should call your $50 bag of barley The Wondrous Allah Pills. My daughter is as healthy as a butterfly, and I\u2019ve been so happy over the past two weeks that hair started to grow back on my bald skull. I\u2019m recommending your barley to my family and friends because modern medicine has looted us but given us nothing in return except agony. I kiss your hands and feet in earnest. Sincerely, Ahmad Jawad.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can send those letters to myself through my friends,\u201d Faiz challenged. \u201cI need you to show me a sign.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe angels told me earlier in your presence that your wife lays dying in the hospital,\u201d Mullah Malang hissed with one enraged eye, \u201cand you want me to perform magic for you? I\u2019m not a magician or a showman, I\u2019m a healer, and you are insulting my integrity!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t feel offended by my request. After all, you claim you can talk to God and angels. If I were you, I\u2019d ask God to restore my blind eye first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me tell you a story, son,\u201d Mullah Malang said in a softer tone, stroking his long beard. \u201cSome years ago when I was young and foolish like you, a stunningly charming woman came to me asking for an amulet so her husband would stop thrashing her. Instead, I appealed to the most sublime to kill her husband so I could marry her. Allah took my eye from me. As you may know, even the holiest of men is capable of sinning at least once in his life, but he must pay for it too. I\u2019m paying for my sin by seeing the world with one eye.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, $40 is a lot of money, and I\u2019m happy to give you these bills, only if you can prove you aren\u2019t thieving me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right,\u201d Mullah Malang said. \u201cI\u2019ve never done this before because people may think I\u2019m a sorcerer, but you\u2019ve left me with no choice.\u201d He leaned back in chair and started rubbing his hands together. \u201cAs you can see I\u2019m not smoking. Now the walls will smoke for me.\u201d He closed his eye and went on rubbing his hands as if he was cold and trying to produce some heat. Suddenly, he stopped, put one hand under his desk, and pointed to the disco ball with the other hand. The light went out and it turned pitch black. A moment later the light returned, and the room was filled with smoke that smelled like burning plastic.<\/p>\n
Faiz recalled the games he had played with his cousins in the village when he was little. \u201cI\u2019m not a gullible little boy who gets fooled by your tricks,\u201d he said. He went around the room to study the walls for cracks.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook everywhere you want,\u201d Mullah Malang said with self-assurance. \u201cDid you find anything?\u201d he asked after a while.<\/p>\n
Faiz returned and sat in his place. \u201cNo,\u201d he answered, feeling defeated.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you believe me now?\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz was not fully convinced by Mullah Malang\u2019s sign, but he blamed it on his lack of sleep, and he thought he was incapable of fair judgement. \u201cHere is $40,\u201d he said as he put the cash on the desk.
\nMullah Malang reached for the bills, hastily counted them, then took off his turban, planted the cash in his hat, and put on his turban again. \u201cNothing is worthier than saving a person you love,\u201d he said with a smile, which made his mouth crooked.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I have a receipt?\u201d<\/p>\n
The smile disappeared from Mullah Malang\u2019s face. \u201cAllah doesn\u2019t give receipts,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut humans do, and you are no God.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI work for the Almighty, and He hasn\u2019t given me a book of receipts with his signature at the bottom to pass on to my clients.\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz squinted at Mullah Malang with displeasure.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen you were born, did Allah give your mother a receipt saying, \u2018I granted you a son, and here is a receipt to prove that he was from me, and look, I signed at the bottom, and you can show my signature to people so no one will accuse you of lying?\u2019\u201d Mullah Malang paused, scowling at Faiz. \u201cWhen you deal with the Benevolent, don\u2019t think of Him as a businessman. He is the creator of humans and angels, life and death, heaven and earth. Only another supreme power like Him can get a receipt from Him, but there is no god but Allah, and Mohammad is his messenger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen money is exchanged in a deal, it is business, and there should be a receipt. How can I prove I paid you if something goes wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you think will go wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. Let\u2019s say the barley doesn\u2019t work, will you return my money?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are wasting my precious time,\u201d Mullah Malang grumbled as he took off his turban and handed the warm bills to Faiz. \u201cHere is your cash. Leave! Get out! Leave! Out! Out!\u201d<\/p>\n
Faiz put the money back on the desk. \u201cWhen can I come to collect the barley?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang glared at Faiz for half a minute before he answered, \u201cTomorrow morning.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo quickly?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t your wife dying?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want you to rush. I want the barley to work.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang started tidying the papers on his desk. \u201cJust go and look after your better half,\u201d he said with annoyance. \u201cLet me do my job.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShould I bring a wheelbarrow tomorrow, or can I haul the barley on my back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is only a pound.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo little?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang stopped shuffling his papers. \u201cYour wife isn\u2019t a horse or a donkey, is she?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is more valuable, a mountain of rocks or a fistful of diamonds? It isn\u2019t about the quantity but quality.\u201d He stood, which was a clear sign for Faiz to leave. \u201cGoodbye.\u201d<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
The street outside was packed with Taliban cars whooshing up and down with loudspeakers attached to their roofs playing chants describing their fellow Taliban going to wars: how those who died on the battleground were martyrs and were now in heaven with Allah, and those who returned alive would one day go to paradise.<\/p>\n
Faiz hurried to the main road to get into a bus and go home to check on his son. He was wondering if the neighbor\u2019s wife had fed his toddler anything. That was not his arrangement with the woman, but he would explain everything to her and she would understand.<\/p>\n
While waiting at the bus station, Faiz recalled his conversation with Mullah Malang and was assaulted by doubts. \u201cDid God make the smoke happen or did Mullah Malang trick me?\u201d he asked himself. \u201cI didn\u2019t check the beams in the ceiling. He must have a can filled with smoke somewhere hidden outside and its pipes are hidden between the beams. When he reached under his desk, the power went out. There must be two switches under his desk. With one he controls the light and with the other the smoke.\u201d Faiz looked at the other men standing next to him for confirmation, as though they knew what was going on in his head. \u201cI\u2019ve been fooled!\u201d he mumbled as he ran to Mullah Malang\u2019s place, pushed the metal door open, and rushed down the stairs. The second door was locked. He banged on it with both fists and waited for a few seconds before he hammered again. No one opened. He dashed back to the street and asked the passersby if they knew where Mullah Malang had gone. No one knew.<\/p>\n
A little boy playing soccer with his friends pointed to a white mosque with a large blue dome on the other side of the street. \u201cHe is leading the noon prayers there,\u201d he said before he kicked the ball.<\/p>\n
Faiz leaned against the electricity pole on the sidewalk, waiting for Mullah Malang to emerge so he could demand his money back. \u201cIf the conman refuses me, I\u2019ll call the Taliban on him to investigate his room and find the source of the smoke.\u201d He knew the Taliban would stone Mullah Malang to death for scamming simpleminded people like him. He did not care about Mullah Malang enduring a painful death. He was desperate and needed his money back. But then he wondered if Mullah Malang could actually charm God with his beautiful voice. \u201cHe is a mullah leading the prayers for hundreds of men in that large mosque,\u201d he thought. \u201cIf he were a fake, someone else would\u2019ve already discovered him and reported him to the Taliban. I better not get the Taliban involved. What if he curses me and I catch some kind of incurable disease? Who will look after my family?\u201d Nonetheless, he remained standing there, trying to decide what to do.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf he refuses to give my money back,\u201d Faiz concluded after some reflection, \u201che is a scam artist, and it is my obligation to report him to the Taliban to turn him into a lesson for other conmen not to cheat people like me.\u201d He felt satisfied with his decision.<\/p>\n
Faiz sat on the curb and looked at his wristwatch; it was one in the afternoon. Sleeplessness, stress, and hunger had made his five senses very sensitive. He could distinguish many scents in the stench of the street. He could smell the donkey droppings in front of his feet combined with the sweet aroma of naan and kabob coming from one of the houses around him. The delicious fragrance of food tickled his palate and nostrils. He moved his jaws as though he were chewing a piece of warm naan wrapped around a chunk of juicy lamb. \u201cI\u2019m daydreaming while my wife is lying in the hospital and my son is with the neighbor,\u201d he reproached himself before he got up, crossed the street, and went to the mosque to get his money back and return to his family.<\/p>\n
The place was packed with hundreds of worshipers. Mullah Malang was sitting on a chair at the front of the mosque, talking into a microphone about paradise and painting an elaborate picture of it with his fanciful words, as if he had visited the place the day before.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere on earth,\u201d Mullah Malang\u2019s soothing voice echoed in the lofty room, \u201cwe think of wealth as big houses, lots of jewelry, cars, and millions in our bank accounts. Have we not seen the richest people leading a miserable life, trying to guard their treasures day and night? In paradise, you\u2019ll have more than you can imagine without any worries because there is no competition between men. If you think of any food, fruit, or drink, it\u2019ll appear in front of you in a shiny golden tray. There are no pit toilets in paradise. You don\u2019t need one. Everything you consume will turn into sweat, and your perspiration will smell better than the best perfume on earth. There are rivers of milk, honey, and wine flowing everywhere, and you can drink from them day and night and live in complete intoxication.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought the Holy Koran forbids drinking alcohol,\u201d one of the worshipers protested.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is why you can drink as much as you want in paradise,\u201d Mullah Malang responded. \u201cAllah wants to compensate us for not drinking now. Furthermore, every man in paradise will have 72 virgins at his beck and call. You can sleep with them every night, and the next day they\u2019ll turn into virgins again. The nutritious food will keep you virile and you\u2019ll never get tired of sleeping with your virgins. Anything in paradise is possible. If you want, you can live in perpetual orgasm ecstasy.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was something spiritual and otherworldly about Mullah Malang\u2019s heartening voice, which brought smiles to the faces of the worshipers. Faiz felt his anger slowly ebbing away. He wondered if he should follow the example of these men, put his faith in Mullah Malang, go to the hospital, return the next morning, and retrieve the bag of barley. \u201cIt may work,\u201d he thought. \u201cIf he can charm all these men with his calming voice, he can probably charm God too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMuslims\u2019 final destination is paradise,\u201d Mullah Malang went on. \u201cThere, we\u2019ll be healthy and never get sick again. We\u2019ll be young and never grow old again. And we\u2019ll live in joy and never feel sadness or pain again.\u201d Then he stood. \u201cI\u2019ll end the sermon here today.\u201d<\/p>\n
Most of the worshipers got up and left. A few of the young Taliban were so moved by Mullah Malang\u2019s sermon they gathered around him, plying him with admiring questions. Faiz was among them. He wanted to congratulate Mullah Malang for such a poignant speech before leaving.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the fastest way to paradise?\u201d one of the Taliban asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cKilling infidels, of course,\u201d Mullah Malang answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow could killing another human being get anyone to paradise?\u201d Faiz wondered. \u201cIf God created us all, why would He want one group of people to kill another group?\u201d Now he was fully convinced that Mullah Malang was nothing but a sham, a first-class schemer. He pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the conman. \u201cI changed my mind,\u201d he said. \u201cI want my money back.\u201d<\/p>\n
The smile disappeared from Mullah Malang\u2019s face. \u201cDon\u2019t you believe in Allah\u2019s words?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do,\u201d Faiz said. \u201cBut I want my $40 back.\u201d He started to feel agitated. His lips and eyes twitched uncontrollably.
\n\u201cIf you believe in the Holy Koran, you won\u2019t doubt me,\u201d Mullah Malang remined him. Then he turned to the young Taliban standing around him. \u201cAren\u2019t we Allah\u2019s herd and isn\u2019t He our shepherd?\u201d he demanded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes!\u201d they answered in one enthusiastic voice.<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang turned back to Faiz. \u201cHow can a sheep doubt his shepherd?\u201d he asked in a voice full of reproach. \u201cI read you the verse from the Holy Koran about the grains. How can you distrust our glorious benefactor\u2019s words? Are you an infidel?\u201d<\/p>\n
A pit opened up in Faiz\u2019s stomach as he remembered an incident two weeks earlier when a highly educated girl his age\u201422 years old\u2014went to a mosque in their neighborhood and challenged a mullah about the verses of the Koran he was reading and interpreting incorrectly in his sermon. The mullah called her an infidel. Faiz was crossing the road with his hands full of grocery bags when he saw hundreds of young, ignorant, angry, and sexually frustrated Taliban running after the frightened girl. They kicked her, hit her with their thick sticks, then stomped on her until she was dead. Then they dragged her to the main road and set her corpse on fire while people watched and did nothing out of fear.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I\u2019m not an infidel,\u201d Faiz replied with a tremor in his voice, \u201cbut I want my money back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mullah Malang pointed his finger at Faiz. \u201cInfidel! Infidel!\u201d he yelled.<\/p>\n
Faiz was in motion before he even knew it. He stormed out of the mosque and tried to run the run of his life. The young Taliban charged after him like a flooding river, all eager to reach their final destination.<\/p>\n
A Bag of Barley One night Faiz was having dinner when his wife Gulalay suddenly held her belly and screamed, as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Faiz gave her a glass of water to drink, but it did not help. He ran to the yard, found a brick, warmed it over […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8422,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1306"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/8422"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1306"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1306\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1338,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1306\/revisions\/1338"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1306"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}