Illustration by Abro
The shop from where I buy my groceries has a donation box in which people put money for the construction of a madrassah. That box has been there for the last few years and each time I see it I want to open it up, take out all the juicy red and green currency notes and distribute them among the usual set of beggars in that area.
A few days ago I finally managed to express my desire to the shopowner, Fareed bhai. “Fareed bhai, it has been so many years since you have been collecting money for this madrassah, I’m sure it is now complete?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Excellent,” I said, “then why don’t we take all this money and give it to the poor!”
He looked at me, surprised: “This money is for the madrassah’s maintenance. And anyway, I have seen you put money in the boxes at Noor Ali’s shop, but not in this one.”
“Fareed bhai, that is because Noor Ali’s shop keeps two boxes, one is for Kidney patients (SUIT) and one is for cancer patients (Shaukat Khanum Memorial Trust).”
“But Paracha sahib, giving money to a madrassah is also a naikee (good deed),” Fareed insisted.
“I am sure it is,” I replied, “but Fareed bhai, tell me this and tell me honestly: what do you think would make God happier? Giving money to an already complete and running madrassah, or to the poor?”
“But this money belongs to the people who donated it,” said Fareed.
“How much money is there in the box at the moment?” I asked.
“Not sure, Rs. 700 to Rs. 800 maybe,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“Ok, what if I add another Rs. 500 to it; will you then distribute all the money to those beggars outside?” I asked.
“Paracha sahib, why don’t you give your money to the beggars and I’ll give the box money to the madrassah.” He smiled.
But I was persistent: “No, Fareed bhai, I want money from this box to go to the poor!”
He laughed: “Arrey, why little brother, why?”
“Well,” I continued, “because I am convinced God will be happier if we donate money to the poor rather than to a madrassah.”
He shook his head and instinctively placed his hands on the sides of the box, as if unconsciously fearing that I would run away with it: “Little brother, why are you so against the madrassahs?”
“I am not,” I protested, “I just think there are more madrassahs in this country than there are hospitals and good schools, that is all.”
“So what?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders again, “that is for the government to think!”
“If that is the case, then mosques and madrassahs should also be the government’s prerogative,” I stated.
“The government is corrupt!” He reacted.
“And those who keep asking money for madrassahs are not?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” He asked, sheepishly.
“Oh, come on Fareed bhai, do not sound so innocent,” I said. “You know as well as I do how much money from these boxes land in the hands of extremist organisations or in the hands of questionable maulvis, and …”
“Enough, little brother!” Fareed interrupted, raising his voice a notch. “Are you saying I am some kind of a crook?”
“No, maybe not you, but I would love to be the crook who stole money from this box and gave it to the poor. Now let’s do it!” I exclaimed.
“Paracha sahib, what did you have for breakfast today?” Fareed asked with a wide smile.
“Fareed bhai, you people (the urban shopkeepers), traders and some industrialists believe that by giving money to extremists and fraud maulvis, you are being protected from the wrath, the chaos and dirt of the masses …”
“Bhai, what are you talking about?” he asked, in a condescending tone. “We do it because of our faith.”
“Well, Fareed bhai, this faith is first and foremost about helping the poor, and not fattening the egos and bellies of maulvis or those who preach violence and hatred to our children.” I stated emphatically.
“Paracha sahib, let’s drop the subject. I am not forcing you to put money in this box,” he said, finally picking up the box and keeping it in a closet behind him.
“God be praised,” I said, “now that is where that box really belongs. Locked and hidden in a closet. Safe from the preying eyes of the dirty, illiterate and irreligious poor people and mad men like me who want to steal it!”
Looking at my groceries, he said: “I see you are done shopping here. Should I make your bill … or did you want me to distribute that money to the beggars as well?”
“That would be lovely, Fareed bhai,” I said, giving him the money.
“Arrey bhai why don’t you understand? These beggars are part of a mafia. It is a business!” He said, handing me my groceries.
“Really?” I smiled, “And making madrassahs isn’t?”
He did not say anything. I picked up my groceries and knowing he would be making holes in my back with his eyes, I began distributing the groceries to the beggars outside. Then chanting “Allah-o-Akbar!” I sat in my car and
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