Request for Help!

[Badlun]

In ancient Greece it varied. The Spartans, with their warrior school and battlefield homosexuality, did not seem to need to cover their women to the same extent. Other Greeks cities were surprised to see Spartan women showing their thighs. Perhaps it was allowed as a sexual inducement to marriage. At the opposite end of the scale, the women in Athens were housebound, for when the Persians invaded and the Athenians had to evacuate, there was one citizen who resisted because of the dishonour of allowing his wife to leave the compound, and had to be compelled.

Very interesting comments about purda not being as rigorous as Arab and Persian customs - many thanks for your first hand input on this. The comments on the Mullah and purda since the Russian invasion seem to suggest that war and religion often go hand in hand - and not just in Islam either.

House binding of women in Ancient Greece may be a war time measure. I do not see any precedent in the whole world that women are kept housebound throughout their lives like more than 90% Pashtuns do.

Except few crusades and few religious wars in the West and in the non Muslim East, I do not see the connection of war and religion in other religions except Islam. I do not know any concept of holy war in other religions as we see in Islam especially in Wahabi salafi Extremist Islam.

All the major wars in Muslim history are fought in the name of religion while many other international wars like WW1 and WW2 were not religious wars.

[Mellish]

Except few crusades and few religious wars in the West and in the non Muslim East, I do not see the connection of war and religion in other religions except Islam. I do not know any concept of holy war in other religions as we see in Islam especially in Wahabi salafi Extremist Islam.

All the major wars in Muslim history are fought in the name of religion while many other international wars like WW1 and WW2 were not religious wars.

I think the connection of war and Islam is more explicit than in Christianity. Though, I read that the original jihad wars - at least for two hundred years or so - did not allow the conquered to become Muslim. You had to be Arab, or sponsored by an Arab. And part of this was so as to impose taxes, take slaves etc. In practice, the money came first, then the religion. Presumably after the conquerers intermarried, interbred, this distinction became harder to make - i.e. just who qualified as Arab, and the option of becoming Muslim was opened up considerably to subject populations. (Interestingly, this is the origin of the caste system in India, where the gradations of intermarriage after an original conquest by 'paler' so-called Aryans was carefully observed.)

But my point is, that Christianity did a whole lot of conquering during the colonial years - and today we realise it was all about the money - in the name of religion. In those days, Western populations were convinced it was about bringing 'the Light' to the so-called savages. I went to Fiji in the early 90s and stayed in a small village - there were 5 missionary church sects in one village. So that missionary business is still going on. (There, the old Polynesian religions demanded that every house post be buried over the body of a slain enemy, every new canoe rolled into the water on the fallen...! And I believe it was a Queen of Tonga who greeted the Prince of Wales when he was young man by saying, 'I believe my great grandfather ate your great grandfather' !)

Now of course, Western populations are convinced their governments are bringing democracy to the world - not religion. Anyone who looks a little more closer sees it's just a different form of colonialism but via big companies - though there were always the companies, East India etc. Democracy has replaced religion in that respect, but it is a very similar model.

And hence the first suggestions that oil was the motivation behind the proposed invasion in Iraq were greeted with disbelief in the Western populations. When it sunk in, of course, there were demonstrations by the millions in cities all around the world, all to no avail. So much for democracy.

So - what I am suggesting is that the link between ideology and conquest is not as explicitly drawn in the West as it is in Islam, but it is still very much there.

[Mellish]

I would welcome any comment on the validity of the following section of my novel, which I think is correct, but based only what I can find out in print:

"Jahangir remembered his uncle explaining how the Taliban became popular in many places across the Federally Administered Tribal Areas. “The first thing they do is execute known criminals. This is their signature. In Pakhto, the word ‘taliban’ means ‘student’. It all started in Kandahar when a local military commander kidnapped two boys to be sex slaves. Mullah Omar gathered his religious students together and attacked the military, freeing the boys and leaving the commander hanging from a tank gun barrel. In the Federally Administered Tribal Areas they control, they kill known bandits and drug traffickers, and such assassinations are very popular."

I'm sure in real life it is much more complicated!

[khushal]

^^Taliban is plural, talib is singular and its an Arabic loan word, it is used in Pashto.
The commander kidnapped two girls and the parents of the girls went to the local Mullah who was Omar for help. But that's how they gained popularity in Kandahar and the rest of Afghansitan, they were not in FATA at the time. The Taliban came to FATA after the US invasion of Afghanistan. FATA is an autonomous region in Pakistan out of government control. It has always been out of government control. Their signature is quick trial and punishment and they are not corrupt, they can not be bribed.

FYI, the son of the commander they hanged from the tank barrel is now the brutal police chief of Kandahar.

[Badlun]

I think Talib in singular is Arabic but the plural Taliban is Pashto. In Arabic the plural is Tulaba.

Your description is good but two sex slaves as boys may seem very strange although having boys for sex is found in reality. I suggested earlier to change Jahangir into some Pashto name.

On war and religion I agree that what matters is money not religion. But there is a big difference in war based on religion and missionary work.

This is very surprising for me that Arabs did not allow people to be Muslim in first two hundreds years. Can you please quote some source for this very interesting information.

[Mellish]

I think Talib in singular is Arabic but the plural Taliban is Pashto. In Arabic the plural is Tulaba.

Your description is good but two sex slaves as boys may seem very strange although having boys for sex is found in reality. I suggested earlier to change Jahangir into some Pashto name.

On war and religion I agree that what matters is money not religion. But there is a big difference in war based on religion and missionary work.

This is very surprising for me that Arabs did not allow people to be Muslim in first two hundreds years. Can you please quote some source for this very interesting information.

"Arabs did not allow people to be Muslim" - I can't seem to find the actual quote (!), but looking further into it, there is the whole issue of the mawali during the early conquests (e.g. Islam, The Spread Of Islam) and the dhimmi. I think this is what is the basis of whatever it was I read: it is clear that conversion to Islam was definitely possible, but even then as mawali, you had to pay more.

One forum I looked at had an interesting comment: "the islamic historical tradition is full of traditions that claim that as per Q14:4 Islam is really the religion of the Hijazi Arabs only but later on when there were too many mawali (or those that wanted to convert to the religion of the Arabs and who were told that they have to become Arabs first and this can be achieved by being sponsored by an Arab wali)..." However, I could not find much more on this tradition (Islam is really the religion of the Hijazi Arabs only :: Reader comments at Daniel Pipes).

There is a recognised academic argument about the degree to which early conquests were religious vs materialistic (Bonner, Michael (2006). 'Jihad in Islamic History', p62-63) - a footnote in Jihad - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Omah rescuing boys or girls. I'm sure I read that there was an argument about whether it was boys or girls in Wikipedia - but looking now it's girls all the way. Though girls with shaved heads in one account: Taliban - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia . I'll change that to girls.

I also read that there is a Pakhtun saying, something along the lines of 'girls to make families, boys for pleasure'. Would it be wrong to assume that this is fairly widespread? As a Westerner, I have perhaps a biased view that this is something relatively common in the Muslim world, but I'm not sure to what extent it is really true. One Pakhtun person I spoke to mentioned a town somewhere in the North West Frontier where this was particularly common, but I can't remember the name of it.

Any help much appreciated.

[Badlun]

Islam is really the religion of Hijazi Arabs seems to be an axiom as today we see that the Salafi Wahabi Islam is practiced fully only in Saudi and few small states like Kuwait, Qatar, UAE etc. Even in Syria, Egypt and the whole of North Africa you will find non Salafi and even Sufi Islam.

Rest of the non Arab world has Islam completely mixed with local traditions, mysticism, poetry, folklore, magic, occult sciences etc.

I have no problem with the religion of Islam, its faith, worship modes, morality and spirituality but once the Arab culture, wars,society and politics become part of Islam then it gets horrible.

I have not heard of this saying 'girls to make families, boys for pleasure' but I see it in practice daily in Pashtun lives. Especially after the introduction of Wahabi Islam girls start wearing shawls, veils in a very early age like 5 years and remain restricted to homes or schools.

I remember in my childhood we used to play together, boys and girls, in Kunar and Dir but after passing of one or two decades now you will not find such scenes. Complete segregation of boys and girls is now in vogue.

[Mellish]

Hi - this post is asking something of an extreme favour, as I've posted a whole chapter below. However, because it involves my main character going into a masjid for prayers, I thought it important to ask for comments on how realistic my descriptions are. Of course, if I went into a masjid myself, I suspect I would understand very little, so if I can ask this favour of the forum, responses would be very much appreciated.

The background is that Jahangir's brother Janan was taken as shaheed by the TTP. Jahangir and his uncle were trying to rescue Janan when a Hellfire missile strike killed them both. Back in London Jahangir was cornered by MI5 who have coerced him to spy in a militant masjid, and hence he goes unwillingly to Jumu'ah with a bugged telephone.

I have put in a sermon that I think is a fairly convincing account of why suicide bombing is not haram. Of course, I don't believe this myself, but I think it is important to set out why others might think so - not only so the story is realistic but also to force readers think about such issues in more depth. Also, plot warning - Jahangir's uncle Khoshal is an apostate, in case this worries anyone. All in all, it's a topical chapter, and so all the more in need of good sets of eyes looking over it.

Plus - even if you don't like the chapter - that is good feedback, especially if you tell me why and I can improve as a result.

Here goes...
----------
Chapter 21: Jumu’ah

The black-cab driver, a balding white man, asked his mother to repeat the destination several times, turning very slightly further in his seat each time. The white stubble on his pasty jowls caught the grey light from the windscreen. At last he nodded, after Jahangir’s mother repeated the name of the mosque in an accent he could understand.

“Wait,” Jahangir said in Pakhto, “I can’t go there. We have to go to the Lyme Road masjid.” Jahangir reflected how his mother went alone to the mosque without the permission of her husband, not wearing a full chadri, and with a driver who was not mahram or close family. In Pakistan the Taliban would accuse her of adultery and beat her. Fortunately, this was London.

“I can’t go there. They don’t let in women.”

“You’ve been there before.”

“It’s all changed. All this new Arab money. They’ve got money for everything, but never enough to afford a separate area for the women. Technically, we are allowed, they say. They can’t stop us according to the teachings of the Qur’an. So they said we could worship in what used to be a broom cupboard, can you believe it.”

Gazing out a window hazed with urban dust, Jahangir wondered whether it really had been a broom cupboard, or his mother was exaggerating. “I still have to go there.”

“Why?”

“My uncle asked me to see if an old friend of his was there.”

“Khoshal?”

“A dead man’s wish,” Jahangir said.

“From two years ago?” His mother thought a while then shrugged. “How will you get home?”

“I can take a taxi.”

“You want to see your father don’t you? He’ll probably be there, won’t he?”
Jahangir shrugged.

She banged on the glass partition separating them from the driver.

“Take my son to Lyme Road mosque,” she said in English, “then drop me off at …first place.”

As the car moved, Jahangir read the various signs pasted on the glass partition window: no-smoking signs, a photo identity of the driver that looked more like a bloated, drunken mug-shot, and a few advertisements he didn’t quite understand. The glass shield and photo identity were evidence, Jahangir considered, that London was not as civilised as many people in the North West Frontier of Pakistan would like to think. How many taxi drivers had been attacked by their passengers, he wondered, or passengers attacked by drivers?

His mother was wearing a deep indigo niqab, so dark a blue it was almost black, and its sheen caught what light South London’s grey skies offered. A style of indigo material found in the Sahara, the creased material covered her head, mouth and nose and, though the Pakhtun preference was for the full chadri, she wore a long, fawn-coloured kurta that showed her youthful shape. This was liberal London.

Earlier in the flat, Patasa was watching daytime television under a duvet and grunting her refusal at her mother’s exhortations for her to accompany them to Friday prayers. “She has become Westernised!” her mother lamented. “Useless! A TV zombie!” Holding Jahangir by his white kurta, she had made him take off his patkay and put on a white, embroidered pakul cap, one his father had left behind. He smiled to himself as she mothered him: after two years with his uncle it was a novelty.

“Women shouldn’t go to the masjid,” Patasa said in response. “They should pray at home.”

“That’s not what is written.”

“It is so.”

His mother rolled her eyes and Jahangir saw her shoulders slump as she gave in.

The terrace houses and shops flashed past. On her lap Jahangir’s mother’s pale, smooth hands rested upon a handbag made of tired, black leather, the creases in the two handles revealing the grey-brown leather underneath. Her knees poked forward, covered by the hem of her kurta, and her calves covered by matching tights.

“Why did Father leave?” Jahangir asked.

“He married a young girl. I would not have them in the house.”

Jahangir nodded. Even though Islam allowed it, his uncle told him the women didn’t like it. “Patasa said he paid a lot of money. For the bride price.”

“So I heard from friends of her family. But your father didn’t have a job. He’s always been on benefits. Then he buys a girl from one his friend’s sons in Peshawar. Ten thousand! He always did like them young.”

“But how did he get so much money?” Jahangir thought of the money he had hidden in the couch, and the mad idea of buying a wife had arose in his mind even as he immediately dismissed it as insane.

“How else? For Janan.”

“The Taliban gave him money for Janan?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he told them he would give them trouble. I thought you would know, you were out there. She flew out to some family here and signed the nikah contract in the mosque. Then he tried to bring her into the house. I said I would stab them both. I went to the police but they told me if he hasn’t formally registered the marriage, it doesn’t count as bigamy. A nikah marriage doesn’t count.”

Jahangir thought there would be no chance of his father causing “trouble’ for the Taliban. More likely it would be the other way around. Who could tell when some madman would visit you in the middle of the night, or stalk you, then shoot or stab you in the name of Allah.

“Has Patasa spoken to him since then?”

“Of course not!”

In the North West Frontier it was perfectly normal to have more than one wife, though usually it was after a first wife had produced no offspring and typically when the man was very rich. Every Islamic wedding, his uncle had explained to him, is a financial contract. It is not valid without some form of payment, and the payment was meant to go to the bride, but it almost never did. The bride’s father or brother got it, depending on who was selling her.

“It is your choice whether you go and see your father,” his mother said, “but if I mean anything to you, you will cut him off for what he did to us. Imagine trying to bring a young girl into our flat. She’s barely older than Patasa!”

“How did he get so much money. You should ask people.”

“You can ask him at the masjid.”

Then Jahangir remembered that Shahzar was listening to all of this, from the special mobile phone he had been given, and decided to change the subject. Driving slowly in the long line of traffic, a queue of multi-coloured cars, they were nearly at the Lyme Road masjid, which Jahangir remembered as a small building that looked more like a community centre than one of the minaret-bestowed architectural wonders.

In Pakistan he had attended Salat al-jumu’ah prayers every week with his uncle, except when they were away climbing in the mountains. Once there they did not pray at all. Jahangir questioned his uncle about this, for surely they should also make salah prayers five times every day and especially on Friday, even if they were away in the mountains? It bothered him that they were not as devoutly religious as they were when in the villages. Did they only do it to keep the Taliban and their informers off their backs? His uncle had smiled at his confusion.

Hoar frost had filled the beard that protruded from the hood of his uncle’s khaki waterproof. “Jahangir, it is time for me to tell you something important.”

When he was with the commandos his uncle’s specialism was mountain warfare. For a Paktun who had grown up in the mountains of Mohmand Agency it was natural. In the 1980s, he spent years alongside the mujahedeen fighting Soviet troops in the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan. Even after so many years he had an easy familiarity with living a scant centimetre from a thousand-metre fall. Instead of manufactured climbing harnesses, they used a rope sling loosely shaped into three bows, one going forward between the legs, the other two at the sides, and where all three bows met under the belly button, they were joined with a karabiner, or sometimes tied with strong rope. In contrast to his uncle’s easy ways with the ferocity of mountain life, Jahangir could hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest and blood pumping up through his neck as he stuffed the tips of his goatskin gloves into ice-covered crevices in a cliff face. While his uncle laughed away, Jahangir’s breathing was a series of painful gasps for oxygen at such a high altitude. Twenty metres below, Uncle Khoshal would be leaning out over pure, empty nothingness, suspended by an ancient climbing rope over instant death, comparing Jahangir’s thin legs to those of a mountain goat, his white teeth blazing beneath his thick dark moustache, or singing a traditional song, all of which Jahangir took as a bad sign. It signified that his uncle was ready to go so much further up the frozen mountainside.

“Think of when you were most frightened today,” his uncle had said later in the afternoon. They had stopped for the day because of the risk of the ice softening in the sun.

They were in goose down Army-issue sleeping bags, side-by-side in a two man tent pitched on a ridge beside a cornice, the guy ropes held in with ice screws. A powdered soup his uncle had tapped out of a foil packet into an aluminium pot simmered on a small solid-fuel stove. Earlier Jahangir had asked his uncle why he carried so much water and didn’t just melt snow. He had explained that snow melted away to very little water. “We would have to carry a very big pot and lots of fuel just to quench our thirst.”

The front flaps of the lightweight khaki tent were tied open and the view across the ice-laden mountains was a wonderland of jagged ice peaks Jahangir would never forget. His uncle thought the weather would be mild enough to spend the night on the mountain, and in any case said they could abseil down quickly enough should it turn vicious.

“When you fell today. I bet you were frightened.”

It was a heart-gripping fear. Falling to the “friend" secured to the cliff face, though only two metres below, meant a fall of four metres, enough to badly bruise his arm and shoulder. The adrenalin pumping through him as he had dangled nearly a thousand metres over the valley had been so vast he could barely control himself sufficiently to reach out and pull himself back onto the mountain face.

His uncle secured the rope at his end and climbed up whistling all the while. It was strange how, while helpless and suffering on the cliff face, his mind had continued to drink in the beauty of the mountain range, the cold silence of an ethereal, blue sky, over the infinite shades of russet and ochre of the rocky valleys far below. It was the beauty of death, Jahangir thought as he clung to a crack in the rock face, the cold biting through even his thick fur gloves. Sweat was soaking through the layers of clothing covering his body. Then, his uncle reached out and secured him to a "friend" using another karabiner. “This is what ‘friends’ are for,” he’d said, with a chuckle.

In the tent, he handed Jahangir a mug of the hot, salty soup, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “Let’s try a mental experiment. Just as an experiment, OK?”

Jahangir nodded.

“Think to yourself, ‘There is no god.’”

Shocked, Jahangir did not try, but the words echoed in his mind, and he was overcome with fear. To his core, his very being, he could feel such a statement was wrong, without even knowing quite why.

“Just as an experiment. Say it to yourself as though you were preparing to accept it as true. ‘There is no god’. Of course, you don’t have to go all the way. God will welcome you back.”

The plastic mug of soup warming his hands through his gloves, Jahangir did as he was told, and the alarm at what his uncle had said, drowned out all thought. He felt defiled, nauseous, and to alleviate the wrong in his mind, he said instead to himself: “Allah akbar.”

His uncle laughed through his thick beard. “I bet you thought nothing could be more frightening than your fall today? Did you feel that fear inside your head? A Hindu will feel exactly the same way if they tell themselves their gods do not exist. Buddhists too. Christians. Papua New Guineans who worship headhunting spirits would have felt the same way when the kaffir missionaries told them their idols were false. It’s a fear put into you during your childhood, like the fear of snakes or spiders. This is why the religions of the world teach children, not adults, because it is then they can best put this fear into you. And when they have you, they have your money too.”

Jahangir wondered how this could be true. Were the holy men of the world’s religions no different to the medicine men who wandered through the mountains of FATA, selling their fake cures and foretelling the future?

“As the police detectives will tell you, follow the money.”

In the taxi beside his mother, he examined the people they passed in the streets for any sign of hostility. Jahangir remembered Shahzar last night, while they were waiting for Hercule to check through the contract, telling him about a Catholic priest who went around Europe buying the timers for IRA bombs. “This is why we keep an eye on religions.” Could this really be so, Jahangir wondered.

“This fear is why you and I must pray in the villages,” his uncle had said. “We do not want them to kill us.” His uncle sipped from the mug of Army-ration soup through his frosty moustache, then smiled inwardly, as though coming to an admission of weakness. “And we need to mingle with these people, because amongst them we will find who took your brother.”

The following day, even before the sun had risen, they left the tent and their sleeping bags. Roped up harness to harness, with the excess rope coiled over one shoulder, and with about six metres between them, they strained up the steep mountain ridge of ice and snow. Every step was an agony to Jahangir. The crampons strapped underneath his boots crunched and scraped on the crust of ice over the cornice surface. Eventually in the light of the rising sun they reached a snow-laden summit. Jahangir stood on a large, pointed rock at the highest point and took in the beauty of the world, the sun just rising in the east, and the moon fading in the pale blue of the west, like two heavenly rulers, male and female, presiding over a fairy-tale castle of desolate jagged mountain tops.

Seeing Jahangir’s exhilaration and wonder at the spectacular scenery, his uncle had said: “If you could not get over your fear, you would never have made it here.”

The taxi slowed to stop outside the Lyme Road masjid and Jahangir noticed the growing number of young people on the streets, youths of all sorts willing to join any attack on the establishment, the pack instinct running strong. The detectives had expected an increase in such groups as the day wore on, yet there still was no threat of a riot, that point when the smaller groups coalesced into a rampaging mob too strong for the police to contain.

“Maybe all that money was a reward,” Jahangir’s mother said. “Poor Janan blew up something important, and they paid your father a reward.” She put her hand to her forehead and with thumb and forefinger resting over each eye, and tried to stop herself from weeping. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide to drain away the forming tears. “What has happened, has happened. I can’t change that. Insha’Allah.”

Jahangir didn’t think the Taliban paid rewards. Martyrs were given 72 virgins in Paradise. His uncle had said there was no reward in the military either. “If you do something brave, or die, they give you a tiny bit of metal with a ribbon. Napoleon manufactured thousands of medals, and his army took over Europe.”

On the hotel room TV in Ghalanai, they watched a young teenage boy behead a bound and gagged Pakistani government official. His face concealed by a black patkay. The boy might have been Janan, but neither of them said it out loud.

Shouting through the glass divide, his mother reminded the taxi driver that he had to wait for her. She would go on to the more liberal mosque, and hurriedly found her purse in her dilapidated leather bag. Her hands, Jahangir saw, had the soft skin of a young woman. She was just over thirty years old, he remembered, for all her mothering ways. She gave him several pound coins.

“For the sadaqah.”

Jahangir took the money and felt an enormous love for his mother as he recalled the brick of banknotes he had left in the backpack back at the flat. Already she was outside beckoning for him to follow her to the masjid entrance. There, two men were standing guard. It was a converted community hall, with no indication that it was a mosque other than the Arabic sign on a glass notice board. The muezzin, the call to prayer, began as they approached, the wailing words broadcast through speakers mounted above the front door. It would be a while yet before the imam mounted the minbar for prayers.

“Asalaam alaykum,” Jahangir said to the men.

“Wa 'alaykum aalaam,” they both replied. Jahangir shook their hands.

“This is my son Jahangir,” his mother said to them, and the men nodded.

“I remember you from several years ago. You came with your father then. You have grown a lot. Soon, your beard will come and you will be a man.”

“Welcome back to our masjid,” the taller man said also in Arabic, gesturing for Jahangir to enter, and his mother nodded goodbye and walked back to the waiting taxi.

Inside the building, Jahangir slipped off his sandals and pushed them into a chest high shoe rack that extended right across one wall, half-filled with all manner of shoes. Taking off his pakul cap and putting it into his pocket, he then went into a room where there was a long communal washbasin. Three men were washing themselves further along.

“Asalaam alaykum.”

“Wa 'alaykum aalaam.” They replied. They were large men, and Jahangir wondered whether these fighters had been especially called in to help protect the mosque.

To begin the ritual of wudu washing, he whispered under his breath a bismillah, “In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful,” then washed his hands three times. Cupping his hands under the flowing tap water, he rinsed out his mouth three times, rubbing his teeth with his fingers each time. Then he cleaned his nostrils, snorting water in and out of each with a finger pressed against the opposing nostril. After, he washed his face three times, and washed each arm up to the elbow three times. He wiped his wet hands over his hair, and cleaned his ears with a finger in each, and rubbed behind them with his thumbs, then rubbed his wet hands over the back of his neck. Lifting his bare feet one at a time into the sink, he washed them, rubbing in between the toes with a finger. Replacing his pakul, and standing upright and facing the Qiblah in Mecca, he raised his hands to the side of his head and recited the shahadah.

“There is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God. There is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God.”

The others were watching him, but he tried not look at them as he completed his wudu.

Jahangir struggled with the knowledge that the shahadah must be recited with absolute sincerity. Ever since he had climbed the mountains he had found it difficult to ignore his uncle’s words of doubt. His uncle who had been so right in everything. “Watch when we go to prayers today,” his uncle had once said in Ghalanai, walking through the dusty streets of the town. “Watch them bowing prostrate behind the imam up at the front. It is the same in all religions. It’s what conquering armies once made their subjects do.”

One of the three men who had also been washing in the masjid entrance followed Jahangir and touched him on the shoulder.

“Wait,” he said in Arabic.

The other two then approached, their black bisht robes, white keffiyeh head scarf bound with a black agal, confirming that they were from the Gulf. All had large, wide moustaches and clean-shaven chins.

“While you are welcome, we do not know you. Would you mind if we searched your pockets?”

“If you do not wish to be searched, you are of course free to leave,” said another with a polite smile.

Jahangir shrugged. “Nothing funny,” he said in jilted Arabic.

“In regards to that, you can trust us absolutely.”

Jahangir showed him his phone, the money his mother had given him and his house key. “That is all I have.”

One of the men in black patted down his kurta and was satisfied he had nothing else on him. A man with streaks of grey in his moustache took the phone and examined it. Jahangir wondered whether it would pass scrutiny after Frank had earlier dismissed it as “rubbish,” but he recalled Frank’s assessment stemmed from the lack of applications it had installed. Jahangir himself did not know enough about mobile phones to judge, but he assumed MI5 would not have given him a phone that was easily detected as a bugging device.

“It looks expensive.”

Jahangir shrugged. “My mother gave it to me after I returned from Pakistan.”

“When did you come back?”

“Tuesday. I was in Mohmand Agency for two years. With my uncle.”

The older man seemed pleased by this. “I thought you were Pakhtun. There is a man here who is also Pakhtun, nodding over the hall to man dressed almost exactly as a Taliban warrior might have dressed, with a black patkay headscarf, long dark hair and beard. The only thing missing was an AK47.

“I’m sure he would like to meet you.”

Jahangir followed the older man from the Gulf over to greet his countryman. It was entirely possible that while Jahangir was Pakistani the man he was going to meet could be from Afghanistan; the Pakhtuns had been divided by the Durand Line, a line drawn across the Hindu Kush by the British after several attempts to invade Afghanistan. Jahangir remembered his uncle’s retelling of how the Pakhtun had massacred of 16,000 people of General Elphinstone’s invading army, including troops, wives and servants, with many vanishing into slavery. The British response to the massacre of their invading force had been to raze Kabul and several other cities to the ground.

“Asalaam alaykum,” Jahangir said to the man, the custom being the younger should greet the older. “I am Jahangir Halamzai.

“Wa 'alaykum aalaam,” he replied and they shook hands.

“He said he has returned from Mohmand Agency only two days ago,” said the man with the salt-and-pepper moustache.

“Ah, I am Pason Rehman from North Waziristan, Utmanzai clan. Though I was in Mohmand Agency myself only a few months ago. We probably passed each other at some point. Where were you staying?”

“With my Uncle Marwand near Ghalanai.”

“I didn’t stay in Ghalanai. I was studying in a madrassa high up in the mountains under a very holy man, Imam Nur Darwesh. Have you heard of him?

Jahangir knew who he was, though he had never seen him.

While he and his uncle were climbing in the mountains, Bazir had heard from a friend that there was a man at a nearby town who was in communication with the Taliban. His uncle’s plan was to pretend to know people in the Tehreek-e-Taliban, and perhaps get information about where Janan was being held captive.

Jahangir remembered how his uncle tried smooth-talking the man, a truck driver whose vehicle was being repaired in the village, offering him money for information, but the man refused all approaches. In his truck he moved black market timber, but also smuggled weapons, his uncle told Jahangir later, so he did not need money. Though, he did say he was sleeping in his truck rather than the village guesthouse to save money.

Later in the night he said, “Wait here. If anyone asks for me, say I’m asleep and not well.” He did not return until the early hours of the morning, when he told Jahangir to pack his things. Jahangir saw spots of blood on his clothing and guessed what had happened. Later, on Bazir’s farm, his uncle knew exactly where Janan was being held.

The imam, Nur Darwesh, would collect boys and girls from all over FATA, then prepare them at the madrassa for their eventual destruction as shaheed, a suicide bomber. He and his Taliban irregulars sometimes targeted travelling families, just as his brother Janan has been kidnapped, sometimes lured in orphans and children displaced as a result of the military interventions of the Pakistan Army, the drone attacks on villages, and even from the casualty aftermath of the Taliban suicide bombings.

Some of the imam’s children were bought from traders who had collected such children in war-torn Afghanistan, where the aftermath of the American-British invasion had left many children without family. The imam was kind to them, and eventually after religious indoctrination they would be happy to enter jannah, paradise, by detonating a bomb strapped to their chest.

“Imam Nur Darwesh? I think I might have heard of him,” replied Jahangir. “In the mountains? I never went there.”

“An American missile killed him and his family in the compound and many of his students, just two weeks ago, may their souls rest in peace.”

“You were fortunate not to be there, Insha’Allah.”

“I would much rather be enjoying the delights of paradise with my imam,” said Pason Rehman, smiling.

“Look at them,” his Uncle Khoshal had said, pointing out a group of Taliban-trained youths sitting near the market in the village. “What have they got? No property, no prospect of money. No-one will give them a daughter for a wife. But if you tell them they can have much, much more than this in paradise and 72 virgins to lie with, girls so clean they do not even use the toilet, then they will fight to the death for you.”

Jahangir understood that Pason was an advocate of extreme violence when it came to a question of religion, and his large hands, thick neck and solid jaw suggested he was more than capable of meting it out to unbelievers.

“And why were you not there during the attack?” Jahangir asked.

He laughed. “I sense you have intelligence but also courage to ask me such questions so bluntly. We can always use people who have intelligence and courage. Will you use that courage to serve Allah?”

“I am here.”

“Will you fight the kaffir who will attempt to destroy the masjid?"

Jahangir knew that Shahzar would surely insist that he did. “Of course. I will do anything to protect the masjid.”

Pason Rehman nodded, satisfied by Jahangir’s resolute tone. Encouraged, he asked one more question. “But are you willing to die for Islam? To become a shaheed?”

“I am willing to die an honourable death.”

Pason’s expression became sceptical.

“You mean according to Pakhtunwali?”

Jahangir gave a brief nod.

Pason Rehman smiled, but his eyes showed a disappointment. Jahangir watched him stroke his dark beard with thick, tanned fingers. Pason had an inner calm, a grace that people would naturally trust, but Jahangir would not trust anyone who had asked, in a round about way, whether he was willing to be a martyr. Not after what had happened to his brother.

“Stay with us then. After prayers we will prepare for their attack.”

“It is too early.” Jahangir shrugged. “I will return later this afternoon.”

Pason Rehman smiled briefly as though to say he did not believe Jahangir, then turned away.

As Jahangir stood there, he looked about the congregation, at least at the people who were near him. He hadn’t expected Arabs to be here, not such wealthy Arabs in any case. He listened as two Pakistanis discussed the Gulf visitors. Speaking Urdu, one man said one them was only distantly related to royalty and probably not a true prince, but even so was incredibly wealthy. All oil wealth. The friend added that he had heard that whenever the ‘prince’ is in London he occupied the penthouse suite of a hotel near the City that belonged to one of his relatives. Then, a third Pakistani man then asked in Urdu which hotel it was.

“The Golden Horn.”

The imam passed through the congregation and went to the minbar just as the call to prayers, a recording relayed through the P.A. system, came to a close. All talk came to a stop and the room was silent. The true believers formed ranks in rows, facing the Qiblah in Mecca. Swathed in loose robes the old imam stepped forward, slightly hunched from years of reading the Qur’an and Haddiths. From under a loose white hood, his grey beard reached down to a portly belly pushing out his white robes. The devoted formed ranks just behind him, orderly lines an arm’s distance apart, and followed the imam into a bow as he began the prayer, the words of the dua, half-spoken, half-sung, in a guttural and times, nasal, melody.

Jahangir admired the singing voice of the imam, reciting with the congregation the words of a prayer he knew so well. Bending at the waist, then on his knees and finally touching his head on the ground, Jahangir could not help but remember his uncle’s mocking words how, when in this position, he was really in supplication to a foreign conqueror.

After the dua prayers were finished, the imam addressed the congregation. It was an unusual congregation in that it was almost entirely composed of young men, and certainly no women. Each was willing to protect the masjid in the event of trouble from the riot later in the day. The imam spoke through a microphone, though in truth his deep voice would have carried across the hall without amplification. Occasionally referring to notes on a podium, he emphasized key points by stabbing a thick forefinger into the air. His salt and pepper beard was thick and robust, signifying a manliness Jahangir knew was admired in an imam almost as much as a good voice. After a pause, the imam raised his hands to capture their attention, and resumed his sermon, gazing across the room from one face to the next as he spoke. He spoke very slowly in Arabic, so that the congregation could follow, and Jahangir understood most of what was being said.

“So often we hear the outrage of Western government spokesmen and their media outlets that Islamic communities should resort to what they call ‘suicide bombing’. Never asking the question why such a desperate measure is considered necessary, they instead point to the undeniable fact that suicide is forbidden by the Prophet, may he rest in peace. Westernised imams echo the voices of the kaffir. Of course Western governments say such actions should be stopped. It disrupts their economies, and economic activity means wealth. That is their god.

“But what is Western wealth? The kaffir fill the minds of our young with pollution so they may take their money. Whether fast food, entertainment or cigarettes, pornography, alcohol and drugs, cosmetics and clothes - all manner of things that are not needed. To make us buy, these companies would eliminate our culture, our religion and our communities. That is what Western culture has become, the mindless consumption of useless items.

“But let us consider the legality of the shaheed bomber. The Qur’an does not forbid the suicide military mission, where the mujahidin may attack a host many times their number, in the full knowledge they will die. They are the shaheed. At the birth of Islam, how else was it Islam swept away the armies of the world? Islam was founded on jihad. The shaheed are the weapon our enemies do not have. It is because we are each prepared to die that Islam remains strong.

“One who commits suicide seeks to avoid a painful fate. The shaheed instead avoids nothing. He embraces his fate as a mujahidin.

“The Westerner media protest that our shaheed target civilians. Most of the citizens in the West do not know how American drone attacks kill many families in the mountains of Pakistan. And when they find out, they do not care. These missiles target religious leaders and others who resist the Western invaders, but they do not care if they kill an innocent family in the process.

“Westerners have never spared the innocent in their own wars. None of them seem to think there is anything intrinsically wrong with the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, or the cities bombed into rubble both by Germany and Britain, in wars which killed millions of innocents. Millions of children were sent by Western nations to their deaths as soldiers in the trenches of World War One. Such, they say, is perfectly legal.

“But it is not Western civilians that Islam targets. It is the systems of occupation and enslavement of the West, which are run by civilians, exactly the same as it is civilians who are the vanguard of the Israeli invasion of Palestine, the settlers who have stolen almost everything from them. And it is not the Western military that decides to put puppet dictators into less powerful nations all over the world, so that they may despoil them of their resources. It is Western civilians who make these decisions, and it is the Western public who vote such people into power.

“The Islamic shaheed seek to destroy financial, military and transport systems, and commercial centres where they peddle their filth, or embassies that monitor and spy on their hosts. The shaheed target their godless jahiliyya governments. It is not civilians in their homes, but the Western systems of control that are targeted. As the Qur’an allows: if unbeliever hostages are amongst the enemy, you may still attack if the need is great enough. What is at stake here is the one true religion of Islam.

“Do not be fooled by the stated desires of Western governments, which for centuries have said they are bringing benefits to the poorer countries of the world.

“During the Crusades they said were bringing Christianity to areas controlled by Islam. But rather than the peace demanded by the prophet Christ, they brought murder, rapine and theft on an enormous scale.

“In colonial times they claimed to be bringing the light of Western civilisation. Instead, they brought genocide and oppression on an unbleievable level, with social hierarchies based entirely on race. Can anything be more shameful than the genocide of Native Americans or the Opium Wars? But such was the true nature of colonialism.

“Over the last 50 years, the West now proclaims it is bringing democracy to such countries it dominates, but mostly it has only brought dictators. Murderous dictators installed by military coups. Puppets who do the bidding of the West, who let kaffir companies strip the earth and its populations of all their wealth.

“We must ask, who can stand up to these invaders and with what weapons?

“True believers, we must fight with the only weapon we have that can cower the West, our shaheed.”

The imam turned in the direction of the Qiblah and once more began to recite the dua prayers. Jahangir followed the abasement of the congregation as they joined in the prayers, bowing and kneeling. The imam’s speech did not disturb him at all, he had heard similar rationalisations of suicide bombers in the past.

Jahangir focussed on the present once more as the imam turned to address the congregation for the second part of his sermon.

“All of us know that there are many enemies of Islam. The godless jahiliyya government and its people tolerate us in this country because each of us has become part of its system of domination, and in its hunger for money-making it sets a value on every individual. That is its strength, but also its weakness, for Islam will not be so tolerant of them when we are finally ascendant.

“Islam is the purest form of government, and we here are the small beginnings of the enlightened conversion of this country. Eventually all countries will be converted until there is just one Islamic authority governing the world with peace and justice. Before we reach that blessed state of harmony, many wars must be fought. Today is just one of the battles ahead.

“We do not seek to fight our black brothers. We noted their jubilation when our shaheed brothers were successful in destroying American and British targets a few years ago. They are considered a fertile ground to plant the seed of Islam. None of us had anything to do with the shootings of a few days ago. We have made this clear to their community over the past few hours. However, the elders of the community have admitted to having little control over what the youth are doing in the streets.

“We must defend our mosque to the death. Islam is here to stay. You must all be prepared to give your life should the rioters attempt to destroy our mosque. We must not run. True believers do not run. We are here and will stay until Islam is victorious.

“Ameen.”

There was rumble of approval at these words. After the imam had said a few more prayers, the strict lines of worship began to break up and each man spoke with his neighbour and glanced about to see who was there that they might know. Jahangir smiled and nodded, but did not join in any of the conversations. He was wondering instead whether he would give his life for Islam, and he thought not, though the thought was soured by the appreciation that perhaps he might have done so before his uncle had undermined his belief.

Then the imam spoke again. “Now is a good time, while you are all here, to witness the marriage of Abd’Allah ibn Da’ud al Badawi. He is to marry Lorelei, daughter of Valon Markaj. Both of these men, many of you will know, are loyal supporters of our community.” The imam looked at the sea of faces before him to determine whether the two parties were close by and ready.

“There you are Prince Abdallah. Valon, come forward.”

Abdallah nodded and made his way to the front, with Valon following clutching a sheath of papers in his hand. Following them in turn were two men dressed in suits but wearing white caps decorated with lacework patterns. Jahangir wondered which country they came from. At a small table to one side, the imam took the papers from Valon and examined them. Then he turned to the two men in suits following. “Are these men witnesses?”

“Yes, they are business associates I have known for many years.” Valon Markaj was wearing a similar lace cap covering his silver hair.

“Asalaam alaykum,” the men said.

“Wa 'alaykum aalaam,” the imam replied, shaking hands with them. “These are your names are on the contract? Yes? Let us begin.”

The imam said several duas and then recited the sunna khutba, the marriage sermon, quoting from the Qur’an and several hadiths on marriage. As the marriage formalities progressed, Jahangir remembered that Shahzar was interested in Valon Markaj, but a marriage was not very important. He wondered whether he could slip away, to help Frank find Lorelei, but so many of his fellow worshippers had stayed to watch the marriage of the Prince, he was trapped in their ranks.

“Valon, you are the wali,” said the imam, “and you have there a birth certificate of your daughter Lorelei. Do you give consent for your daughter to be married to Prince Abd’Allah ibn Da’ud al Badawi for a mahr payment of two million pounds?”

“Yes, I consent to her marriage.”

There were whisperings across the hall from people who did not believe what they had heard. Jahangir too was stunned by the amount of the mahr. He knew there was no maximum amount for such payments, but that was the highest he’d ever heard of for a bride price.

“Prince Abd’Allah ibn Da’ud al Badawi,” the imam asked, “do you consent to marrying Lorelei, daughter of Valon for a payment of two million pounds?”

“I accept her in my marriage.”

With a thunderclap of realisation, Jahangir realised that the Lorelei whom the imam was marrying to the Prince, in his heavy Middle Eastern accent - Egyptian he guessed - was the same Lorelei from his class. Of course, Valon was her father, the man Shahzar said he should watch. He was only several metres away as he examined Valon more closely, noting his massive frame and large head covered with close-cropped silver hair under a white, embroidered pakul. Despite his handsome features, Prince Abdallah was somewhat portly, and the snow-white cleanliness of his robes and glistening black agal headband, let alone the extraordinary dowry payment, made Jahangir conclude he was a very rich Arab.

“This mahr been paid?”

“Yes,” said Valon.

“Paid to my friend with pleasure,” said Abdallar with a smile, his teeth flashing white in contrast to his dark, well-groomed moustache.

“May Allah bless you and have His blessing descend upon you and unite you in goodness,” the imam prayed, then went on to recite several duas.

“When is the walima celebration?” the imam asked. “I hope the troubles here will not delay the festivities.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Abdallah. “We’re booked to fly out to Dubai tonight and my uncle will put on a feast over the weekend.”

The imam looked impressed and if his smile contained the barest hint of envy, it was suppressed successfully. “I hope you both will be very happy.”

“I am sure we will, Imam.”

One the guards Jahangir had seen stationed at the entrance made his way to the front and spoke to the imam quietly.

Then the imam raised his hands for attention. “Before you leave, let us talk about preparations. There doesn’t seem to be any trouble outside at the moment. A few police cars are parked further down the street. If you wish to go home to eat, then do so, but the defenders of the faith should return as soon as possible. It is not known if or when we will be attacked, but we need to be prepared.”

At these words, the crowd began moving towards the exit and Jahangir wondered whether he should take the opportunity to try speaking with Valon, but even the thought of it rendered him tongue-tied. Rather it would better to go back to the Farm Estate and tell Lorelei’s mother what was happening. Moving toward the exit with the crowd, he listened to the conversations about the size of the dowry.

Near the front doorway, Pason Rehman touched his shoulder and Jahangir turned.

“We will see you later this afternoon?”

Jahangir nodded. “You will.”

[Badlun]

The description is excellent however I will hint at few points:

You can use wording like in the early years of Islam women used to offer congregational prayers in mosques

On Jummah(friday) after noon prayers the scheme of things is like this

Muslims arriving mosques

performing ablutions(wadu)

offering some non obligatory prayers (nawafil)

Sermon is started by Imam sitting on the pulpit or standing on one side of mehrab. This sermon has two parts. One is usually in local language like Pashto, English etc where the Imam talks of various subjects depends on his school of thought. If he is wahabi then usually he will talk of monotheism, grave worship, jihad etc. If he is a sufi then he will talk of love, Prophet Muhammad as a blessing for humanity, spirituality, tazkiya nafs(cleansing of soul), prayers etc.

The imam sits for a while after finishing the first part of sermon and then he stands again and recites few verses, hadith, prayers, mentioning the 4 caliphs, Fatma, family of the Prophet , all in Arabic and then he steps down to mehrab

Iqama is recited by a Muslim behind the Imam and Imam after Takbeer e Tehrima offers two rakaats of Jumma prayer

After the prayer, usually the wedlock/nikah ceremonies are observed and then some informal discussions like the one you described above to protect the mosque , community matters are discussed.

[khushal]

The "women are for families and boys are for pleasure" is a greek saying, not pashto. This practice only exists in parts of afghansitan, not as a whole. in Kandahar, Logar and the northern areas mostly situated around Mazar. The practice does not exist in FATA. I think the town your referring to in the NWFP which is now KP is either marwat or banu, I Forget which one it is.

Badlun claims he sees it in everyday practice because he is a Kandahari himself. We in Paktia used to make jokes with friends if a certain friend was invited to a Kandahari house for dinner, then he was damaged(jokingly ofcourse). Not all kandaharis are like that but its stereotyped.



FYI: Wikipedia is not a good source for research especially political matters.

[Mellish]

Hi, I have a another query that I hope someone might answer for me - about Pakhtunwali - or maybe just personal honour.

I know in the old Albanian code - and probably all the older systems of honour including in the old days even the West too, that a man's word was his honour. Just to double check, is it the same with Pakhtun honour?

The sentences I use go like this:

“On principle he doesn’t trust me. However, I am Halimzai Pakhtun and I knew his uncle Khoshal when we were younger. Jahangir knows that as a Pakhtun my word is my life.”

Am I correct to word it like this?

Thanks in advance.

[Pakwatan]

The description is excellent however I will hint at few points:

You can use wording like in the early years of Islam women used to offer congregational prayers in mosques

On Jummah(friday) after noon prayers the scheme of things is like this

Muslims arriving mosques

performing ablutions(wadu)

offering some non obligatory prayers (nawafil)

Sermon is started by Imam sitting on the pulpit or standing on one side of mehrab. This sermon has two parts. One is usually in local language like Pashto, English etc where the Imam talks of various subjects depends on his school of thought. If he is wahabi then usually he will talk of monotheism, grave worship, jihad etc. If he is a sufi then he will talk of love, Prophet Muhammad as a blessing for humanity, spirituality, tazkiya nafs(cleansing of soul), prayers etc.

The imam sits for a while after finishing the first part of sermon and then he stands again and recites few verses, hadith, prayers, mentioning the 4 caliphs, Fatma, family of the Prophet , all in Arabic and then he steps down to mehrab

Iqama is recited by a Muslim behind the Imam and Imam after Takbeer e Tehrima offers two rakaats of Jumma prayer

After the prayer, usually the wedlock/nikah ceremonies are observed and then some informal discussions like the one you described above to protect the mosque , community matters are discussed.

You forgot the part where after the prayer, you realize some punk has stolen your sandals.

Or does that only happen in Pakistan??

[Badlun]

Hi, I have a another query that I hope someone might answer for me - about Pakhtunwali - or maybe just personal honour.

I know in the old Albanian code - and probably all the older systems of honour including in the old days even the West too, that a man's word was his honour. Just to double check, is it the same with Pakhtun honour?

The sentences I use go like this:

“On principle he doesn’t trust me. However, I am Halimzai Pakhtun and I knew his uncle Khoshal when we were younger. Jahangir knows that as a Pakhtun my word is my life.”

Am I correct to word it like this?

Thanks in advance.

Sorry I could not see this post earlier. You can send me a PM or some indication if I miss some post and you need my comment.

Pashtun society is very unique in this regard. Till date there are many areas where there is no land record as all transfers, transactions, deals, deeds etc are done verbally not in writing because the word to sell and to buy are taken seriously. If a person conducts a huge financial transaction just by words then in all other matters of life word is automatically the way and means of decisions and commitments.

The promises, commitments, agreements are done verbally called prekrha or lawaz. If you give your word then its like a signature and full affirmation of your agreement and you are bound to accept, obey, endorse and abide by what even you have said.

Now a days because of the modern judicial and financial systems, written agreements and commitments are getting currency in some areas. Literacy has also do do with it. Still more than 40 Millions of Pashtuns are illiterate but many are literate and thus can write and sign documents now a days.

Thus word or verbal promise is part of the honor code. Even in engagements of a boy and girl just word is given. This is called niwaka in many areas. Niwaka is from niwal or nisal means to get hold or catch. The parents verbally commit the relation of a boy and a girl and this is like marriage certificate. No body can violate it. the Islamic Nikah is just a formality.

[high]

Great guys!
The excellent place where we all get help.

[Lila]

If everyone is good then form of government is irrelevant- let’s suppose everyone is good even so some form of government is necessary- would u say Republic is best?
according to traditionalists of India monarchy is best
the mulato monarchie proves Republic is better
let it be known i recognize absolutely none of the lines on a map drawn by war criminals the world over: i know amErica is already dead but just to rub salt in their wounds
DEATH TO AMeRICA
speaking of namakh (i like the song namakh namakh a little bit but it is inferior quality to what it is really supposed to be - that much is obvious-the choreography I’m not sure because the first casualty of unjust war is loss of genetic and cultural integrity -note that slav wymyn in sari is utterly repugnant as much as Chinese entering Russian ballet competition and expecting to win - it is beyond cringe because of history- chengiz tocharian- uigher- Panjabi word for luggage can be found embedded in the name of once dominant Tocharian tribe - grim lol - idi ami mugabe &yelo & euro & jew chieftains harbour high level hate for hindu- there is significant hidden negro ancestry in all the works except Aryavartasthan “Bharat” - at one time everyone had kesh- never cut hair & all were pure vegetarian—i think that that is the key- causing harm to enemy animals gave the nonArya a perverse sense of pleasure as well as ruination of their body due to absence of milk - all the wars r milk wars not just land gold girls- it is land gold girls milk- kith kin kine kinder kindness to ones own- the guest as god bull**** ****ed up everything - I once asked father why some people r fair and other dark- his response “ whom do we call a paki” iow the multispeciesMob known as the notorious genocidally bent mujaheddin- Croat girls know this - won’t divulge this story as i am capable of keeping secrets unlike most females of this black age- now the multispecies mob of nefarious to dharm hopelessly inept clueless and just as genocidal Nato this includes blackwater and dravid spies lol haha

see how the tides of time operate- karm.

it is horrid to be far away and know ones sacred ancestral land is violated by hostile genocidal thieves - sympathy pain is caused by shared genetics- I cannot concentrate on anything while war of neocolonial criminals plus family tragedies far away r unfolding- hindoo fanatics tell us to create Khalistan in Canada but this is crazy because surely as hindu they must know of the significance of ancestral land- yes all land is sacred but some are more sacred- I do not wish to have sacred land defiled by presence of historic or current enemies who will not be satisfied until I and all similar to me r extinct and then they put a distorted photo in a museum to gawk mock laugh while out on a “date” with a fellow cannibal etc
so it is fight between milk drinker and cow blood drinker (ode )—somaLia soMALia mal is word for diseased in French Soma is a beverage from RigVedic times - 90000 years ago
Im not sure of the hatred between the so-called Horn of Africa and Ind~Iran
Some people did something in the 70’s involving uno pak soldiers somalia- there is significant grudge and hatred - they r oriented to collective mob retaliatory violence just like hindu even though Geneva Convention prohibits collective violence as does Dharmik law - it is immoral to judge persons on their tribal affiliation because as per reincarnation anyone can take birth anywhere anytime in any form but Hinduism also has a revenge clause vigilante justice is inbuilt- if ones family has been wronged and proper justice has not been meted out the family member will be punished for not having exacted revenge badla- honour killing is a hindu phenomenon- it is said that in the ancient past women were liberated free in highest sense- not free to be promiscuous but free to think breathe walk study work(honourable work not slavery of pimps badmash) freely with intact bodies and not have to worry about being attacked at any time day or night— USA has identical ideal- at one time usa had no police- honour system prevailed- there was an expectation of good conduct - it was unthinkable for anyone’s child to be hurt -nobody had to lock their doors - it is well known that at the beginning of the Experiment that is America a female could walk the length and breadth of the American landmass and not be hurt or be fearful of being hurt. Xtianity is different that parents forgive killers of their children- this is very hindu antidharmik and antiamerican- for usa is not officially a semitic country christism is not the official religion- that is why in this air of freedom hindu thrive well economically even though vegetarian ethic is always mocked and caste system is reviled and morality of hindu marriage practices mocked as well- so it is complicated- but Osho said in west there is a death tabu and in india lust is tabu- odd that jewnitedStAtes engages in unfair unjust immoral wars of neocolonial looting in global policemen capacity and india has overpopulation overpoopulation lol
hinduhumanrights website explains Xtianity created schizo mind in pagan europe aka as western Aryan lands
as people remark Islam is poor fit on nonarab it is obvious Xtianity is fits badly on everyone except leb lol joking- Xtianity makes leb more criminality oriented- the whole born sinner perversity is responsible for the abuse of flora fauna waters air earth all ethnic groups of the planet- it’s justify any action if one is admittedly a born sinner plus all of creation is deemed cursed

Vadakayil says there has been no peace in earth since the burial religions came to prominence but I think it has more to do with non intact body - but sivananda is a nutcase— he is a criminal who praises all except Panjab and Sikh - this Swamy a male of tropical bengalia “gaud” says drink ice cold water When body feeling extremely cold when it is extremely cold and when dying of heatstroke have a piping hot beverage- what a ****ing masochist actually he was an obese effeminate incel squatting in the Nonpareil Himalya - I believe that is one of the among many stomping grounds of Pashtun, no?

look the so called f word has been plucked- lifted - from the word bader**** or persiaan— word for frustration such as for example one needs a specific garment so one goes shopping but finds nothing suitable and the whole day is tiresome for other reasons too - micro aggression no suitable veg snack conveyance issues sunlight waning onset of darkness getting home to upset family members having something important task like bill payment

the. One is legitimately bader**** so Anglo dickshunari fibs when it is claimed that origin of **** word is unknown **** no

I expect a jew to plagiarize this info
Damm u joo at Haryana we will go “bullet for bullet”


I do not possess energy to finish this comment
connect the dots

I have contempt for sivananda abhay charan the unsightly bengala who started deadly iskcon aka iskhan

puranic Hinduism destroys brain cells
any left over r ruined by the jew industry known as shrinkology

i ponder upon how the original form of the first dance was the Nataraj of Shiva aka Rudra of RigVedic fame) salt is what poland needs— salt warsaw— there r torture chambers operating at warsaw right now and cuba— see how casually in flippant mode of communication enemy says gitmo— for this abuse of language for speech vak in Sanscrit is sacred - the only suitable response is to criminalize angereji english lingo of quasialbino ameritrash and their coalition of willing who live to regret being complicit in criminality of attempted extirpation of dharm law religion order. I think cutting out their tongue is too gruesome but certainly these criminals deserve to once again return to the khad or cave from whence they sprang- said cave is where in the words of the inimitable Vadakayil they had “ grunt grunt for language”- back to the roots for what i term as the bethlehemBantu*******yoftheBarn Make cross illegal— not sacred Swastik- yes i am thankful Khanda is still “legal.” As per noahide “law” this system of noahNooa goes over my head cross is actually sign of the international thief- the angryquasialbino certainly is that - theft of material wealth instigating racial ethnic strife criminal monetary system that keeps majorities of earthlings in state of penury and a nonsensical nonexistent religious tradition that is from a genocidal terror manual known as talmud torah new testaments r entirely plagiarized verbatim from sanscrit texts of Gautam AryaSaka Buddh - not one quasialbino eurotrash is capable r correct pronunciation of Gautam Buddh or Buddhism- yet criminal chinky jew xtian have audacity temerity to declare him as European to r Mongoloid - infuriating
Egypt is entirely of AryaSaka Vedic Settler phenomenon- egyptians at some level know this for they attend goddess devi worship festivals here in the iglooLand canada


Never really heard of him noah or blasted bethlehem then again r u people serious u r all offspring of Adam eve that is really too repulsive to contemplate- bible bakwas is a menace- my peerlessBrahman source assures me the bible stories r fictional fraud badeytelaykai fraud to perpetuate neocolonial atrocities and Instill epigenetically feelings of inferiority due to genetics- normal children of man walk in the morning towards the direction of most sunlight westwards- originating point of Aryaman is Aryavartasthan! Criminal jewesses have hijacked academia pushing Semitic slavery and these criminals themselves understand reincarnation- jew say people who don’t share with needy become crows but jew say thoughts don’t matter: dead flat wrong - jew created shrinkoligy to figure out thoughts - as per arya tradition what is thought is what transpires - i am trying to figure out where exactly how thermonuclear blasts are to be detonated- even the animals in mlecch territories r sinister even though I occasionally feed them bread because my dad says the birds are starving but my mother says not to handicap the birds they r independent beings German science proves feeding animals is more effective than recitation of mantra - I always knew that pankaj naram dr claims descent from brahma he brought this info to my notice - the logistics of feeding birds daily is possible but the eurotrash object or might these freaks as Sanjay rath nonPanjab origin Astrosquatter of Delhi - delhi belongs to Panjab yet madrasi vadakayil objects to Panjabi language being taught or spoken in
Delhi — criminality of genocidal pathocracy kakistocrats must be summarily hanged at Ayodhya ASAP- Astro Sanjay- and now I know why he won’t speak with me - also he has fight with Balkan man and America man anyway Astro says westerner like to lord it over everyone-but obviously fake hindu humility and passive aggressive snarkiness is just as infuriating- why can’t they be like me - I have one word for all- no it is not the f word but rather “smellian “ all purpose catch phrase- eurojew they only like bantuchink their obvious physical inferior but 27 hrs day some days have more than 24 hrs if reckoning day from sunrise to sunrise depending on latitude etc yes so all the day they devote to mocking Aryavartasthan- this is why in traditional hinduism Aryan hinduism knowledge is not ever to be shared with the unworthy because it will become problematic when the unworthy becomes an enemy combatant
now u might feel the Mind Born Sons of Brahma r laughable- it seems freakish but there will be anymore mind born sons so when the final Final solution is undertaken make damn well sure not everyone is fish food. Bharat Mata di jai F
khoa is Superior to fudge infinitely so
why u people obsess over dahl especially since r favourite is and I feel like a traitor but r favourite is not mustard green rapini what a dangerously triggering kind of name for a green rapini or rupini I don’t like bitter greens
my favourite is palak panir spinach
I haven’t seen any igloos yet but these persons here think spinach is not sweet
palak is sweet spinach and panir go well together
cheddar cheese I am convinced causes “ cellulite” but the dairy bureau will not admit this - they blame coffee
so yes I need help: how to be an activist for the sake oF avenging atrocities against Aryavartasthan- should not be difficult since our arsenal is more advanced than amerijew
condemnable cia keeps murdering women weapons scientists of india— i saw on the aeroplane - i was not even afraid because of the retarded “ guest as god” principle- not that anthropology studies r winding down, I realize that guest as God only applies to us apney
these people and their pet dogs have different rishta than in r family- these people keep canine as weapon like ✂️ scissors
i am an expert on wolves so it is laughable they think their pathetic poodle mix wearing kapra raiements is supposed to arouse what feeling? Even the dogs of first world r dressed up
we can easily make a compelling argument that this place is not really that advanced because their dogs r slaves on leash
canine on the Subcontinent have more freedom than billionaires of fiat currency swindles quasihumanoid anywhere else in the world.
i hear india is jungle law
anything is better than noahide or its sharia shadow— if u think chopping off hands is justice then I’m not sure how long it will take for me to be removed from this forum
hands r beautiful why destroy something that u personally cannot replace chinki plastic surgeon geneticst notwithstanding apologies korean I get the different varieties of monolids mixed up in fact they also too cannot tell each other apart lol
what if a mistake has been made and the accused is innocent and hand is amputated is this not a grave miscarriage of justice- a heinous sin and criminal offense against the Creator?
during childhood my greeki neighbour girlchild tried to tell me with diagrams on blackboard the difference between chineee japani and korean- i did not take her lesson seriously as I was laughing uproariously- one of the interspecies marriages of our neighbourhood a frenchiefemale & chinki resulted in misshapen eyelids of the offspring - misshapen in that she would never not ever be able to wear mascara this was analysis of one of the greeki girls- this was serious not mocking just statement of fact
mascara is not something from my traditional heritage- i have visible eyelashes that are in no need of artificial “beauty product”
but still I remember the horror that halfchinkiFrenchie would never have simple pleasures of enhancing beauty of eyes with mascara shame shame- if only the village caste council held sway then weirdo alliances would under no circumstances be permitted
i love my Aryavartasthan panchayat is good - we already have all the democracy we need the problem is neocolonialism
Here is my theory on joint family vs nuclear family— I think joint family is modeled around ashram life or gurdvara or dharmshala - a place for sojourners on this Earth plane of existence- whereas nuclear family is modeled on nation state - the biological state - conform to one ethnic group one language one religion one culture one life to live— yolo freakz
so now I wonder r some individuals only here for this one life - if so I’m not going to bother with my activism because ultimately all issues ( issue is archaic English for child) have to do with Time— concept of time is different for semitics
if I know I am eternal and that time never runs out and that to destroy something I can’t recreate myself personally and that the ultimate reality wishes only absolute tranquility then I will not bother with any involvement in activism because I know sooner or later those who wrong me or hurt my feelings always end up in wretched state why should I personally bother with revenge
but hinduism is vigilante justice mob rule even though collective punishment is illegal according to Geneva convention and according to dharm (law)
esoterically (covertly) every religion whether Semitic or Aryan or any other all of them full well understand and acknowledge and accept transmigration cycles- sivananda swami of bengal i know respect because he was a fatso incel doctor catering to hippies- osho is much more honest than sivananda- as a bengala he only has bad things to say about Sikh religion and female persons belonging to Panjab- he sivananda is a criminal of genocidal intent towards Panjab plus his knowledge of female psyche is nonexistent haha lol he was no celibate- he is a fat loser practicing an inferior colonial system of medicine designed to keep indiots diseased— vaccines for polio r responsible for inflicting about 40000 forty thousand healthy hindu with disease of polio- you read that correctly- 40 000 healthy indiots became disease ridden with polio caused by f’ing vaccine- vaccines r nonveg. Sivananda fellow frail effeminate bengaley rolled out red carpet for colonial criminals- couldn’t be bothered to resist- they were looking for a “genetic upgrade” as pointed out by realhistoryindia utube channel- who cares about bengal- they r headed into the sea courtesy Prakriti aka Nature aka Kudrat aka Climate Change. thnx Greta. Finally something truthful at jewnitedStAtes organization- but - real cause of bad weather and cataclysmic tectonic shapeshifting of Earth planet is wellknown to all God~fearing children of men of Superior honour, namely SIN, fullstop.
advances in health r due to sanitation and hygiene and improved water - vaccine autism r thought to b linked

not every one in immediate prior life was homosapien - this explains nonveg because they have a settling of scores with animals - I prefer word janver it is evident that sacredness of life is for all creatures not just quasialbino bantubethlehem*******yofthechinkee
Jaan janver
there is only one issue neocolonialism — I see one more bantu with bible ruining my perfume shopping experience i will seriously start plotting how to make vanish bantu*******yofbethlembarn
they mock me as pagan headed for eternal hell this is spiritual terrorism i want to kill them all especially since I am aware of these black criminals mistreatment of nonbantu in africa - by the africa and india were once conjoined so...I personally don’t wish to get violent with my hands I am a product of ahimsic india though nonhindu - what to do when attacked?

i was almost murdered by Carib bantu******* in 8 th grade - naturally there was no teacher or anyone around - i was attacked from behind- but punched in the abdomen so hard I thought was going to die- the most pain I’ve ever felt in my life except for when italian jew dentist for no reason extracted remove a lot of teeth from my mouth - embarrassing story - before departing the Subcontinent I had no idea who is a Jew or Negro but I do now - literally for no reason I was punched by the jamaica pupil - if I had not been desensitized by Sesame Street jewnitedStAtes children program on tv I honestly would have thought a negro is a monster and I would have terrified crying for my mummy but fortunately I knew from tv that African origin negro black bantu bible thumper too is some sort of person also. Every day at supper time we my mummy daddy and me would discuss “who are these people” how did they get to be so different from us - simpleton that we were we chalked it up to climatic (climactic?) difference however now that I am acquainted with Brahman I have all the real anthropology answers Plus I have read a bit of Blavatsky but vadakayil dismisses her as a Jew. I was running late for gym class but anyway I didn’t even tell anybody this hamla attack until about four or five years later the jewspaper local newspaper that has never even once reported any positive story of Aryavartasthan Civilizations of the Indian Subcontinent- not once- maybe because we all love Hitler? reported his imprisonment - i told my father that day the story- he was euphoric as was i and said “ see there is a God”
ever since the ode showed up - I laugh in derision at the euroanthem ode to joy
if they only understood rudimentary Panjabi they never would have picked this song as anthem - it foreshadows euroAfrica migrations haha
first these eurojew loot bomb into oblivion disperse homosapien ( wise children of men) all over the world and then have audacity to claim multiculturalism doesnt work
within Aryan paradigm multiculturalism works exceedingly well- i elaborate-
chinki insectoid
negro criminal a Gujurati academic has penned a treatise on the Negro propensity for crime i look forward to studying this actually
eurotrash quasialbino this is my analysis because albino trait is anger so quasialbino with bad book(s) bad books ruin lives more so than drugs — see how these criminal wars insult by saying take ur meds really albino go sterilize yourself at siberia then drown h cold ocean we know u brag about this kind of lunacy of ice water explains the anger rage why because we will under no circumstances accept neocolonialism or ur bantubiblebadyardyofbethlem barn— look born sinners must be dispatched they ruin india fabric of life then these wretched criminals claim t be Buddhist or agnosticism remember their science is still at a primitive stage
there was lots of time to excel in science first get rid of the menacing subhuman yolo *******y
camp of the saints is good they should be so lucky
one saint can create a perfect world
I am personally pacifist I was yesterday not today but I know beyond a shadow of any doubt the subhuman neocolonial criminals are on their way out— they’ll never not ever see this planet again
just for the heinous atrocities against the Chechen boy child usa and their decrepit coalition of the willing deserves extinction
Final point for now - definition of wealth varies according to culture- for the Bantu bethlehem *******y of the upper east side of jewyork****ty it is all putrid rank materialsm the stench was f which is unbearable- I stopped looking at newspapers long ago but once a photo of local elites at gala was shown— every single damn anglojew was dying of wretched disease- then I was horrified felt sympathy now since being here i just lol good for their diseases
why the criminals don’t stigmatize physical disease - they tarnish good name of normal children of men with fraud of mental illness
good news one scientist a real one not fringe stAted the entire infamous diagnostic book of psychiatry is a fraud- it is designed to persecute children of Men who do not torture
but see Semitic does not want existence of anyone but his own trailer trash wholly inbred nucular famili
bethlehem*******yofthebarn mustvknow theybcannot become hindu sikh buddhist Jain Zarathustran pagan unless by birth - but Osho says let child decide religion and make sure mother language is the same for both parents
osho says only egotistical people enter politics - i am just angry over torture and I know what the only befitting response is Thermonuclear bomb blasts
sin creates natural disaster
the law of Anglosphere Commonwealth is trash rooted in wholly atheistic materialistic dialecticalism they see body as machine not as microcosm Of all the realms levels of creation
english is shytt for explaining advanced concepts
next time euroalbino take credit for Tesla explain Tesla’s Guru is nonalbino of Aryavartasthan
ww2 created labour shortage - Xtianity’s thankless wretches now wish to create what exactly? An ethnostates laughable because ethnostates only applies to Aryavartasthan where we acknowledge sacredness of every electron in air earth fire water aether etc flora fauna etc
plus we have our ethnic groups overlaid with poorly understood caste from word chaste and we have the little issue of 300 trillions Gold heist
boychild activist from Wondrous Pakistan abducted murdered tortured by criminal nike— what a wretched crime for crookest company with chinki slavery insect labour to link with devi of hellenic- well neutron bomb is not enough Beaverton Oregon surgical strike — feel the heat albino*******y of christendom
Death to America
changing Language of usa is insufficient— the continent is doomed- if the amerRats flee underground they will be caught with cheesethe best froggie bread is nothing compared with dehiprantha wretched Roman script wont let me write properly homemade yoghurt dehin
long and short i hate usa I never did used to love USA but not the hate has hardened because liar obama said he would shut down torture chamber he did not
thats when hatred began then just by chance i found poland has set up torture chamber so I think poland needs lesson salt it nothing should ever grow there for aeons