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By Root 687 0

taken away their glory, and now no material or worldly gain was possible for a Muslim unless the broken bridge between believer and Creator was first repaired. Tablighis were of the opinion that Muslims—each and every true Muslim—were facing failure in the world, and that indeed those in the world who happened to be successful were successful only because they had left Islam behind. The organization’s specific goal was to go to these people and bring them back to true Islam, which belonged to the unsuccessful. To this end they organized themselves into cells, and every few evenings they went door to door to the homes of Muslims, encouraging them to give up their work and wives and take a chilla, a devotional trip that lasted forty days. Pops had never been on a chilla, but Dada Abu and Tau had been many times. During a chilla the Tablighi leaders forbade discussion of worldly things like jobs, politics, and education and focused on things that made one a good Muslim—things like what supplication to recite before washing one’s posterior, whether Allah Azzawajal was the Lord of all the worlds (or if there was only one world which He owned in its entirety), and whether eternal damnation literally meant forever or whether eternity could be cut in half. Talking about these things, they asserted, would turn every failed Muslim into a success, would give Muslims financial prosperity, and would raise their status in society. The organization wasn’t against money; it was just against non-Tablighis having it.

Every year the Tablighi Jamaat met in a virtual tent city on the marshy salt plain in Raiwand. After Mecca, it was the largest single gathering of Muslims in the world. It was called Ijtema.

“Get on the bike, shabash,” Pops said one morning. “We’re going to Raiwand.”

I sat on the motorcycle and wrapped a checkered scarf around my mouth to protect against the dust. On the Suzuki we sped past the slums that surrounded Lahore. Soon we were on a flat highway cutting through fields of barley. A multicolored bus with mirror-work and murals on its exterior passed by. Outside of a small town we stopped to help an old peasant with a donkey cart. His lord had heaped too much weight on the cart before sending the peasant off, and the donkey kept getting tipped into the air.

Nothing could have prepared me for Raiwand’s immensity. There were thousands of tents on a burning-hot white plain. Countless men in shalwar kameez and beards, most carrying backpacks, walked around greeting one another. Vials of musk, tasbih beads, and tapes of religious instruction were on sale. I saw Mongolian men and Caucasian men and African men. There was considerable discussion among them about the possibility that Nawaz Sharif, General Zia ul Haq’s favorite politician (and a future prime minister of Pakistan), would be coming in by helicopter.

I was marched endlessly around the plain as Pops searched for Dada Abu and Tau. He eventually found them standing around in a large circle of men who had also come up from Dada Abu’s village, and there were loud introductions all around.

Dada Abu pinched my cheeks. Tau went to his stuff and pulled out one of the backpacks he had sewn at his workshop; he threw it around my shoulders.

Dada Abu and Pops stepped away from the group, me tagging at their heels, and discussed Pops’s practice. Dada Abu was trying to convince Pops to forget Lahore and move back to the desert where he had grown up (and where Dada Abu still lived) and start afresh. They talked in hushed whispers for a little while; then Pops grabbed my wrist angrily and we rode back home. Pops was upset about something and drove so fast that we flew into a ditch. After that we had to limp home, pushing the motorcycle along.

Over dinner Pops told Ammi what Dada Abu had suggested, and she also dismissed the idea. Schools were better in Lahore, she pointed out, and there was more opportunity there even if expenses were greater. However, a few days later, Lahore made the decision for us. A local businessman who was friendly with Nawaz Sharif sent his thugs to