Chapter Seven: Faithless

I stand in front of a gathering of 500 or so people at the most spectacular Mosque I have seen for a while.

Grand and beautifully structured, the design has gone for the more intricate Turkish or Moorish feel instead of the minimalist stylings becoming increasingly common the world over, and the bright white with the glistening of glass polished into the floors and walls makes it look like a smaller version of the Taj Mahal in India.

We weren't meant to be there though as far as we knew when we set off to Bangladesh. Plans being organised by mum's older brother, Dada, were that we landed, got to his house to change, freshen up and have a bite to eat before hitting the road again, but due to sheer number of people who wanted to pay their respects to mum but could not travel to her village, Dada had little option than to organise a service in Dhaka and for us to take a detour via the service before getting to his to sort ourselves out if we were to stick by the strict timetables that were in place to coordinate everything before this glitch; albeit a pretty big fucking glitch!

So half way from the Airport, dad was asked to hop into the ambulance with myself, Tanny et al to make our way there with mum whilst my poor sister was told despite having travelled thousands of miles, women were not allowed to attend the Mosque and she was still to travel to Dada's as planned!

My sister was devastated. I can still hear her sobbing as I dashed over from the ambulance to give her a great big hug as dad stepped off - my sister was surely more important than anyone at the fucking service yet here she was being told she meant less as she didn't have a dick. "They're assholes dude" is all I could get myself to say before being told the ambulance needed to get going if we were to make the service.

"Heartbreaking," I say as I lower the microphone bringing myself back into the present and preparing to speak.

I can hear the echos of people shuffling uncomfortably on the hard floor and whispering as they stare up at me and I, look back at them scanning them like a hawk searching it's prey.

Looking around I notice a few faces I know but most, I have no idea who they are. "Fan or foe?" I wonder as I spot tears sparkling in their eyes but uncertain whose are genuine. Sure there were many a friend amongst those I did not know that had gathered but seeing as not one had ever come to my attention especially over the few years mum quickly deteriorated, in the sense of enquiring about her I figured fan was a more apt word.

Fan. Foe. Friend. All of them apt words perhaps, but with mum gone - they lay empty and all at once, I get drowned once again by a wave of emotion. A sudden realisation hits me like a sledgehammer that my thoughts of who was who and how they related to mum and her life was pointless seeing as she had left me...left us!

"It doesn't matter...none of it matters." I mumble to myself as the speakers crackle and buzz around the Mosque and down its cavernous corridors.

I pause as tears well up inside and a lump in my throat appears as though I have swallowed an apple whole. My chest is close to bursting with all the hurt, anger and upset I'm holding inside but now was not the time to let it all out not when there was so much to do.

Dad and Tanny are sitting just behind me and I am gently shaken out of my thought by a tug on my trouser legs by Tanny at dad's beckoning, more likely than not, because dad could see the sadness in my face. I look over to them and both dad and Tanny give a warm smile of reassurance and I in turn, nod at them, take a deep breath and begin to speak.

"I have so many things I could say about mum but I cannot seem to find the words. My mind is full of confusion and disarray and frankly it pains me to think of anything to do with her. I hurt when I remember the happy upbringing my sister and I had and the wonderful wife she was to my father. I cry when I think about how much she touched not just our lives but the lives of others; how she was always there when you needed her the most but never asked for anything back. How she filled lives - through her humour, wit and poetry both in conversation and her writing - with laughter and joy.

I have so much to live up to; I have so much to give...to even come close to the blood sweat and tears spent tirelessly by mum working for one charity or another.

A giving heart - a kind heart, mum was snatched away from us by the All Mighty having fought against Allah's black racer, the angel of death for 3 years. In the end it took diabetes, pancreatic cancer and liver failure to take her away from us! The doctors were repeatedly amazed at her resilience and she would merely laugh and tell them it was pure, undiluted and unwavering faith that had been getting her through the bad times..."

I hesitate as the word faith topples out of my mouth and my heart starts beating wildly. After all, as far as I could see it, mum had been betrayed by having this faith. Faith in someone or something that didn't help her, but instead let her fade away. There was no miracle - no healing of the sick through some imaginary super power; mum had died and suffered a long agonizing death!

Tears push their way passed my eyes but I wipe them off my face as quickly as they appeared before anyone notices and my face begins to burn with a complex mixture of confusion, depression and rage, "Faith...I could spend a lot of time talking about faith - my lack of it and mum's total and absolute belief in it..." I stop myself before I say something I know I will regret for the rest of my life; now was not the time for religious debate particularly in a densely populated country of strong believers in Islam.

I clench my jaw and continue, "...but as I mentioned, I cannot find the words though to be honest, nothing can put in words what mum meant to me - what she meant to the world. If her spirit is watching, please pray for her and hope her wandering soul finds peace once she reaches paradise. Thank you."

There is complete silence in the Mosque as I sit down.

What is mere moments feels like a lifetime as I notice some of the onlookers glaring at me clearly because of my blasphemous confession of not having faith so I look over at dad worriedly to see if he feels the same but he just smiles knowing it took a lot of courage to say what I did. Besides, it was completely impromptu, from the heart and save for a few words, was entirely in Bengali no less plus I had stood in for dad who was actually the one the Molabhi or Islamic Priest had asked to say a few words but he could not bear to do so, so I guess there was little he could say even if he wanted to.

But then the clapping begins and before I know it, everyone is applauding me - not in a manic standing ovation kind of way mind, more a reserved "well done lad" kind of way with a pat on my back - and ushering me to stand, the Molabhi gives me a big hug and blesses me.

As he lets go to turn his attention to the microphone and wind up the service with a final prayer, I lean over to Tanny hiding cupping my mouth with my hand, "What do you wanna bet that he probably blessed me to save my soul from Satan for being a non-believer? Still, definitely better than a lynching I'd say".

Tanny practically splutters and coughs at my comment but manages to get himself himself under control just in time for the Molabhi to finish off and turn to us and usher myself, dad and Tanny to lead everyone out. Though I am confused initially, it suddenly dawns on me that the Molabhi knows mum and dad had two children so probably thinks Tanny is the other child and this is confirmed as he passes his condolences to all three of us. I guess it is hard to imagine that someone as fair as Tanny with the crazy beard and hair that he has could be anything but foreign!!

After chatting to dad for a few moments more, the Molabhi then says his final goodbyes and disappears back inside as we step out of the entrance into the forecourt of the Mosque and see a sea of people at the bottom of the steps eagerly waiting to pay their respects to us.

At first all I can think of is how unfair it is that women are not allowed to attend Mosques here in Bangladesh and therefore how cruel it was that my sister could not join us at the service here and more importantly, see all these people gathered here for mum. The tears in her eyes and sobbing when we left her on her carrier heading to Dada's were still killing me.

But these thoughts are quickly replaced with relief that my sister was absent when my eyes looked further afield and spotted the crowd growing bigger and bigger at the gate near the top of the walk way approaching the Mosque from the road; it was the media circus again - they may have given us a break inside but we were fair game again now we were outside.

Before we are hounded though, Dada who I had totally forgotten was even at the service, appears and steps in front of myself, dad and Tanny.

A short, stocky guy, he is the embodiment of what Action Man would look like if he became a pensioner - even at 32 I get embarrassed at how pumped up the guy looks!! Add to that a line of medals and awards and numerous political achievements as well, and you have a media magnet in his own right let alone, being the brother of my mum. His presence causes a real surge of excitement in the media camp all set up at the gates.

Forget us! The real story now was not only about mum dying but how this affected Dada!! Quite surprisingly, you'd think mum would have relished having such a well known icon as her brother but truth be told, she hardly ever told anyone they were related as she always wanted to make it big her own way so finding out they were connected was big news - two celebs for the price of one!

Relief washes over me as the limelight shines firmly on Dada. Seeing as when we get immersed in with family soon enough, everyone will want to either hug, kiss, treat or talk to us if not merely whale and cry with us for losing mum, I was happy to take every little bit of respite lady luck was willing to offer and now was one of those times.

I watched in amazement how Dada began walking down the stairs and greeted all those waiting and seemed out of every few people he talked to however briefly, one or two people added to a continually growing swarm surrounding him - all trying their best to get his attention and see if there was anything he needed in the vain hope that Dada's pleasure will translate to some exotic or political favour!

Being who he is though, Dada just ignores those taking up too much of his time and looking at his watch, snaps his fingers to beckon his security team over as he commands the sycophants to "Clear some room. We need to leave now".

Security push and shove through the collected bystanders and media hoards to give us a clear walk way to the vehicles waiting for us beyond the gate and I am in awe and how Dada has done that so quickly - it was chaos at the cargo bay!

"How organised does one have to be to have security on stand by and to sort a service of this size?!" I ponder as some people actually salute Dada, the former war hero - and us - as we march passed. However inappropriate, I even burst out laughing at one point as one reporter manages to muster up enough strength to ask half a question before being cut off by Dada with a simple, "Not now. Thank you."

As security urges us to jump on board the revving ambulance back with mum, I get in and sit with one arm stretched over her coffin and look back at the Mosque and Dada as dad gets on board to get settled and Tanny diappears to his banger ready for the next migration.

I find myself smile as I realise that though I may not have faith, there are plenty of those who I believe in.