Ravi the Unknown Prince (8 page)

After I checked in at the desk and my suitcase went through, I thought the next stage of my life had begun.

We all came outside to say our goodbyes to Imran and uncle Yunus, Ismael embraced his brother and they both shed some tears as they parted from each other.

We boarded a small cargo plane to Port of Spain, and waited for an hour before we embarked on a BWIA flight to our destination to Kennedy Airport in New York.

It was like a dream that came true for me. Who would have thought with my unhappy childhood and back-ground I would one day board a plane to the Big Apple a city that never sleeps.

My thanks were to God the Almighty and then to the family who were taking me across with them.

They had looked upon me as their son, from the first time I met them, and I intend to live up to their expectations.

We all sat in the middle row, of this massive plane with a huge wing span with 300 or more passengers on board.

It was an experience of a life-time one could not have imagined for an orphan and a country boy like me.

I sat next to Harun on our flight when food was being served I was not sure what to eat first.

I had to look at the other passengers sitting parallel to me and copy them and then Harun would copy from me.

We arrived the following morning; it was a beautiful summer’s day with a warm breeze blowing.

When we arrived outside Zaitun and her husband Ali was there to meet us and another man in a taxi.

All the women went in Ali’s car and us men in the taxi with some of the suitcases.

The house we were all going to reside in was in Richmond Hill, Queens; a three storey building with three apartments, top, middle, and a basement floor.

Harun and I took the two beds on the top apartment, Ismael, Maymun and Asma stayed in the middle and the basement was left vacant.

When I was unpacking my suitcase I came across the package Muna had given me and decided to look inside.

As I was removing the wrapping paper Harun joined me and he asked, “What is that.”

I told him that a school friend had given me this as a leaving present, and she told me that I should open it when I get to America.

“A girl,” he remarked.

“Yes a Muslim girl,” I answered. “In case you get the wrong idea, I used to help her with her Maths and she would correct my spelling. We went to the same school for four years.

I met her a month ago and told her that I was going abroad, and then I went to say goodbye and she gave me this gift.”

It was a white cotton embroidery handkerchief with a red heart shaped design on one side and my initials R L inside this heart.

“She is telling you something, Ravi,” Harun remarked.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Her name is Muna Khan, in case you’d like to know and please don’t get the wrong impression.” I told him.

“I like my cousin Ayesha, the girl with the long hair,” he confessed. “But I could not tell her in words. All I said to her was, please do not get married before I return.”

We were both laughing at our naivety with girls, and put it down to our upbringing.

Modesty, shyness, respect to elders and parents played an important role in our everyday lives when growing up.

There were certain rules and boundaries we were not allowed to overstep.

I put Muna’s handkerchief in my ward robe and never thought of it again.

Within two weeks we all found employment except for Asma. She had enrolled to attend school two blocks away from where were residing.

The four of us shared the rent and household bills, Maymun and Asma would cook and we all would eat together.

Harun and I would wash the dishes and tidy up the kitchen before going up to our room.

Ismael would come upstairs to check on us unannounced. He encouraged us to save some money and enrol in an evening college, which we did after six months.

Harun was doing a course in engineering and I continued my studies in Mathematics and chemistry.

A year later, I met a Muslim man by the name of Ahmad from South Africa; he was in my Maths class and a part-time student like myself.

On day we came out together and he told me about himself, his wife and son back home and his religious beliefs.

Every time we met I would ask him about his God [Allah] and he would answer any questions I put forward to him.

When I told him about the family I was living with, he said people Iman [faith] goes up and down, they would get back into it once they were reminded.

Islam was being revived he said, people were coming out giving dawah, [inviting people] but it had not reached all parts of America and the West as yet.

We were created to worship one God and that Islam is not a new religion it was around since time began, and all the Prophets came with the same message.

A week later he gave me an English Quran written by Muhammad Pickthall an English man and a translator.

I was puzzled at first and asked my South African friend whether any one can become a Muslim no matter what shades of colour they are.

He smiled and then told me that Islam came for the whole world and not only for the Arabs and brown skinned people.

I told Ahmad about my ancestors and how come they did not know anything about this religion.

He said they only follow what was handed down to them; they did not go out looking for the truth.

It began to make sense and I decided to look deep into Islam. I started reading the Quran he gave me before going to bed each night.

It was not a story book; it contained laws, practical advice, and talked about the past nations, the present, and the future.

It was a remarkable book, easy to read and understand; the same book the old lady had told me to read.

What was written down made perfect sense, and coincided with what the old woman had told me back home.

I had noticed that, to believe in one God and be kind to parents were always mentioned together and sabr [patience] was mentioned many times over.

I asked my South African friend again and he told me, that it was an important reminder to people whether Muslim or non Muslim and he went further into more detail.

There were certain rules that we must abide by if we want to enter into Paradise.

It took me nearly a year to read the Quran twice over and asked as many questions as possible.

That night I was going to tell Ahmad that I had made my decision to accept Islam with-out any doubt as a way of life.

When we left college, we decided to take a shorter route home and that nearly cost us our lives.

While we were walking and conversing three young men came out from a parked car and pointed a gun at us.

They were looking for money, presumably to buy drugs. We emptied our pockets and handed over the US dollars that both of us had in our possession.

One of them was cursing and telling the man holding the gun to shoot us.

My heart was beating so fast it could have easily flown out from my chest.

I thought I was going to die in a strange country and that my death had brought me to this place.

My friend said to the guy holding the gun, “Before you shoot us can we say our last prayer for today.”

“Go on, he yelled and don’t take too long.”

Ahmad prostrated on the concrete side walk and I did the same. We kept our heads there for a moment.

I was saying to myself “Oh God help us.”

Then I heard the slamming of the car doors and the screeching of the tyres as the car sped away.

Ahmad tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Get up, my brother they are gone and what was it you were going to tell me?” he asked.

I was still shaking and he seemed calm, as though nothing had happened.

“Why are you so calm, when we were about to die?” I asked.

“I am used to this type of scenario in South Africa,” he answered.

Then I told him that I was ready to accept Islam and that I had decided to get circumcised first before I took the Shahada [testimony of faith] and then added one Muslim name on all of my personal documents.

“I am happy for you my brother,” he said and he gave me a hug as we parted that evening.

A few days later, I told uncle Ismael and Maymun and they chose Hasan as my first name.

Two months later I accepted Islam and began to learn how to pray and the Surahs [chapters] in the Quran.

Uncle Ismael was impressed with how much I had learned and knew, and he would come upstairs to hear me telling the stories of the past nations as mentioned in the Quran.

I continued to work and study and to make regular visits to the Mosque in our locality for prayers and Jummah Salah on Fridays.

My knowledge of Arabic was very limited and in my spare time I would learn surahs with Harun and uncle Ismael.

That Ramadhan we all fasted. It was something new to me but I managed with perseverance and determination.

After three years in America, Asma now 18 years old had a marriage proposal from Ali’s younger brother Ishaq.

He worked in a science research Laboratory. He was ten years older than she was, but her parents agreed all the same, now it was up to her.

She was doing well in college, and was hoping to make a good career for herself.

She became confused over the proposal and came upstairs to see Harun for his opinion and advice.

Harun asked her if she liked Ishaq and felt comfortable with him, she said yes, that he was polite and respectful and was easy to please.

“He is a good guy Asma with a good job, you would not find better in New York. Dad checked him out so what is your problem?” he asked.

I was sitting there listening to the conversation when she said, “I like Hasan.”

I was thinking, who is Hasan and did not realise that she was talking about me.

“Hasan is already interested in a girl back home and he is still studying. Don’t let dad hear you say that,” he told her.

“At least I tried,” she said as she got up from the sofa. “Who is this girl, Hasan.? Do I know her?” she questioned.

I was looking at Harun, “Tell her,” he said.

“She is a school friend and I don’t think you know her,” I answered.

When she left I said to Harun when Asma mentioned Hasan I was wondering who this guy was and where she had met him, until you mentioned a girl from back home; then I realised that it was me she was talking about.

“She is becoming like the girls over-here,” he said. “Have you noticed how the girls behaved in the class-room with their teacher?

No matter how well parents teach morality and behaviour to their children at home, when they go out into the outside world, the society they live in, does not do them justice.”

I nodded my head, I did not want to make any comment regarding Asma but I was happy to see her get married.

I had a few encounters with her when I first became Hasan, one evening I came home from work early and went upstairs to finish my home work.

She knew that I was in or she must have seen me go upstairs. She stood at the bottom of the steps calling me to come downstairs to have some tea with her.

She was not allowed upstairs in the flat where Harun and I shared unless her father gave his permission.

I told her that I would be down in a few minutes I quickly put my coat back on and knocked on the door on my way out and told her I had to go out in a hurry.

It was a cold evening; I had to go into a shop to keep warm just to keep away from her.

Another time a similar incident took place I would not answer when she called out to me.

I locked my bedroom until I heard Harun come home from work. I felt intimidated by her.

She had a simple wedding with family and friends; and she looked beautiful and happy on her wedding day.

Life continued as usual in the Baccus’s house-hold, but much quieter without Asma around.

The following year, Harun and I both graduated from college. Harun went to Egypt to memorise the Quran.

I went to work full time to save enough money to do my PhD at Harvard University in Boston where my South African friend had gone a year ahead of me to do his PhD.

Ahmad had the ambition and zeal to succeed and not forgetting who he was.

He was poor like me but humble even though he was living through apartheid, and that did not deter him from success.

Uncle Ismael was missing his son Harun, sometimes he would come upstairs and sleep on his bed when he was on his days off.

He and I bonded like father and son, but I knew my place; that he was not my blood line.

Six months later, I went on to Harvard and met up with Ahmad, he was an intelligent student.

We would pray together and share the food we had between us to save money.

He graduated ahead of me, and decided to fly back home to his family and parents in Durban, South Africa.

We kept in touch and hopefully someday we would meet up again for a reunion.

After I graduated from Harvard, Ishaq got me a job where he worked in the research laboratory.

My salary was much higher than his, due to the fact that I graduated from Harvard University.

As I got to know him I found him to be helpful and a pleasant guy. He would invite home to see Asma, but each time I would come up with an excuse not to go there.

One day he said to me “Why don’t you come to see your sister Hasan? Is there anything wrong between you two?”

“No,” I answered quickly. “I like to get home when it is busy with other commuters going home.

I was held at gun point once with another student when we were taking a short cut home late one evening.

I do not want this type of incident to happen to me again I might die on the spot this time.”

“I am sorry” he said “I thought you were avoiding Asma, she always talked about her brothers.”

I felt awful and did not want him to get the wrong impression that I kept away from Asma because she once had a crush on me.

After a few weeks had passed I said to him, “Tell my sister that I will come to see her on Saturday afternoon if she was not busy.”

That Saturday morning on our way to work I told uncle Ismael that I would be home late; Ishaq had invited me over for supper.