To Cast an Iron Shadow
by
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11. Pakistan 1950 The light created by the wedding tent was like a diamond sparkling in the sun. Lights shot off in all directions and brought in masses of guests to observe the next in line of several unions. The street walks were dabbled with red rose petals and magnolias were strung together and hung upon an entrance that separated like a curtain. The street was blocked off at both ends and only opened for preauthorized invitations. Security for the occasion was tightly broadcast to everyone. There were textile owners and commercial manufacturers that had been turned away several days in advance. This was not business, for the most part. A parade was cast down the street in honor of Mohammed and Sophia and extended into the distance. Mohammed was arriving separately from his wife, on a white horse draped in flowers. Sophia was in the tent surrounded by other women who were pinning on lavish jewelry and putting together her extravagant red and gold wedding outfit. Mohammed had just come from a very successful meeting regarding the mosque he was set to build. Sophia was just taken from the playground she was playing on. His arrival was met with loud drums, applause, hugs and handshakes. Sophia’s was met with tears. He was nervous and overly joyful. She felt the same way but could not show it around her mother and mother to be. Inside the tent was a vast array of chairs and tables. Servants were secured at every entrance to make sure that every guest presented their invitation. Mohammed knew that people would become clever and try to mimic copies of his salutation. He was fully prepared to turn away anyone he did not know or anyone he didn’t care for. The fires used to prepare the food for the guests created smoke from behind the tent. Even though the invitations had stated an arrival time of five Mohammed and his bride to be knew that the guests would pay no attention to detail. Mohammed was strict on time. He instructed his servants to turn away anyone who did not show up before five thirty. He would not have anyone ruin his most anticipated day to build his life. He carried the same sense of urgency in all walks of his life. Karachi needed a strict rule to live by; he was only the budding microcasm that it would try to build from. Sophia could hear her husband-to-be beyond the silk covered walls. His intensity was something that Sophia admired. With every deep resounding echo in his voice the women around Sophia would giggle and smile at her. She knew that Mohammed was a very rare commodity to the families in Pakistan. Many fathers and mothers wanted him as a son and many girls wanted him as a provider. She looked at herself almost ready in the mirror. The red gown bled from head to toe. It was outlined with gold frills and gold jewelry that was sprinkled on her face. Her nails were painted beyond the hands and feet that were designed with henna. She imagined herself no longer in school with her friends but next to her husband. That would be her life from now on. She took pride in the fact that she was the first of her friends and family her age to get married. Mohammed anxiously waited for the ceremony to begin. He looked upon the crowd that was gathering below. His mother was near the entrance in her wheelchair wordlessly accepting people into the tented hall. His family and friends did not approach Mohammed on the elevated stage yet. Children Sophia’s age were running around skirting under tables. They were all waiting for the marriage to be completed before approaching and congratulating. His co-workers from the office entered clearly better dressed than most of the crowd. Jamal, one of his bold peers, had spotted Mohammed and uninvitingly approached him. He stuck out his hands and went for a hug. He embraced Mohammed tightly while pronouncing his soon-to-be wife’s name to him. “Sophia Ahmed. Mubarak.” He drew back while holding on to Mohammed’s shoulder’s “I have a present for you.” He signaled to his servant that brought forth a suitcase. “Not now Jamal there is a table for that.” Mohammed looked on to the crowd embarrassed. “No its very important you look at this.” “Can’t it wait.” “No its very important. Lets just say it’s from ‘my family.’ He winked at Mohammed. The servant walked up the two stairs to the stage where Mohammed sat. It was decorated with a sofa and two chairs, adorned with pillows, silk curtains, roman columns lights, flowers. He cracked open the suitcase. It was full of rupees and from what Mohammed could see a rolled up blueprint. Mohammed’s heart started to pound. Every ounce of decency in his body controlled him from attacking Jamal. Instead he calmly closed the suitcase and signaled for Jamal to follow him to the back of the tent. Jamal took hold of the suitcase. His servant dispersed into the crowd. Mohammed’s hands were clinching over and over again. He gritted his teeth and stretched his neck. Outside the tent servants were shuffling back and forth making fresh naan and preparing moist kabobs and uncapping several soda bottles. When Jamal made his way out following Mohammed, he was grabbed by the neck and thrown against the wall. “My wedding Jamal, I told you I want no part in this, and you bring this to my wedding! I am not nor will I ever be for sale!” Jamal knew in the back of his head he might have to deal with such a reaction. He didn’t react quite as Mohammed planned. Instead he laughingly proclaimed. “Not for sale Mohammed? You are sucking the life out of Pakistan. You make more than all Saleem, Nasir, and I make. And you snicker at us for wanting a life such as yours.” “My life is not yours to barter!” He pressed harder with his hands he could feel the air thinning from Jamal’s lungs. The servants had suspended their duties to watch without coming to Jamal’s aid. Mohammed looked at them. “Get on with it.” The servants stumbled back to their tasks. Mohammed let go of his neck. Jamal fell to his knees gasping for air. “You… don’t even know… who it is from.” “Even if it were from my father or God himself, it has no place here… And neither do you. I warned you Jamal, I warned you what would happen if you brought this upon me.” He grabbed Jamal by the hands and helped him to his feet. He was a little dizzy but for some reason not shocked. “It is not from a commercial site or mall it is for a mosque.” Mohammed sarcastically replied. “A mosque?” “Your mosque. The one you planned. The Suddiqqi Firm proposed a new plan for it.” Mohammed took the briefcase that was lying on the floor and opened it. He reached for the blueprints tucked in the back. Opening it he could see that it was a map and site planned for Tariq road. He bowed his head down in disappointment. “If there is one thing I can teach you Jamal it is this.” He drew his finger down the road toward the planned site. “Look at the size of the mosque Jamal.” Jamal peered closer. “It is large and only planned for a mosque. So?” “It is seven floors? Look at the buildings surrounding this area they are all flats.” He pointed out several other lots in the area. “What mosque have you ever been in that had seven floors Jamal?” Jamal’s facial expression told Mohammed his point had reached its destination. Mohammed rolled up the blueprints and put them back in the suitcase and locked it. He handed it to Jamal “Anything that sounds to good to be true usually is, Jamal.” He patted him on the back “Karachi is structurally unsound. Greed exists everywhere. Do not make the mistake of underestimating our country. It may be young but it is still clever.” Jamal straightened up and looked at Mohammed he turned in the direction of tent and made his way back in. Mohammed stopped him from continuing. “No Jamal I cannot have you back in there.” He signaled for him to leave out the back way, through the servant’s preparation area. Jamal was appalled. “Mohammed it is over. I apologize.” “You should know better Jamal. I’m sorry old friend. I cannot ha
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About the Book
December 18, 1973, was the most important day in Mohammed Ahmed’s life, but it did not come without warning. Mohammed was the master planner for the growing city of Karachi, Pakistan. In the tumultuous time of his life, corruption ruled his country. As Pakistan came to terms with greed, Mohammed’s attempts to build libraries and schools were often thwarted. What was a moral man to do? Through Mohammed’s childhood, he often fought for what was right. Beyond battles with greedy landlords and sudden family moves, he found his way to a prestigious school in the United States, where he not only earned an education but a drive to clean up his corrupt homeland. Along his journey, he also found time for love and children, striving to raise his offspring with similar upright values and ambitions. Along his path, Mohammed Ahmed made many friends—but he also made many enemies. As the most important day of his life approaches, he must answer to both. The decisions he has made will come back to haunt him; lesser evils will threaten to tear him down. Written by his grandson, To Cast an Iron Shadow is the true life story of a man who did just that. He fought corruption and greed, but did it lead to glory or defeat?
About the Author
Muneer Barkatullah resides in Denver, Colorado, with his wife and son. As Barkatullah grew up, stories and tales of his grandfather’s accomplishments were told every day. His grandfather’s story is important to tell in order to alter the perceptions of third world corruption and ethics. This is Barkatullah’s first novel.