The Victory Boys. Jamal Orme
to his eldest daughter.
‘Yes Baba. I did some stories of the sahabah with them last week, just like you suggested. The younger ones really like that. I’m enjoying it, alhamdulillah.’
Ruqayyah smiled cheekily. ‘She doesn’t have a choice,’ she joked. ‘I’m not having my sister teach me!’
Fatimah gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and they both laughed.
‘Ah yes,’ said Imam Munieb, stretching his arms in relaxed contentment. ‘We’ve been enjoying stories of the sahabah too. It’s so much easier to cover subjects like that when the boys are keen, like they are now.’
He smiled peacefully.
‘Alhamdulillah.’
He had no idea that the peace was about to shatter …
3. Black Sheep
‘Saleem!’ came a voice from downstairs. ‘Saleem!’
Saleem sighed heavily.
‘Yes, Ubba?’
‘Saleem! Come downstairs now!’
Saleem trudged from his room and found his father glaring at him from the bottom of the staircase.
‘What is it Ubba?’
‘Heshe kita khorray?’
‘I’m … I’m not sure what I’m doing later. This and that.’
‘You will help me in the restaurant from four o’clock.’
‘I … I can’t, Ubba. I said I’d play football after college.’
‘I need your help in the restaurant,’ insisted his father. ‘I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.’
‘But Ubba, I told the guys …’
‘You told me you didn’t know what you were doing!’ interrupted his father. ‘It’s beginning to sound like the story of your life!’
Saleem threw him a resentful look and then quickly looked down at his feet.
‘Don’t look at me like that boy! You’re eighteen years old and you’re growing up to be a nobody! In Bangladesh eighteen makes you a man! Take a look at yourself, boy! Your brother Junayd is more of a man than you and he’s only twelve!’
Saleem was stung by his father’s words.
‘More of a man because he helps you in the restaurant, you mean?’
‘Kita khoss?!’ roared his father, bursting up the first few stairs. ‘What did you say?!’
‘Nothing,’ mumbled Saleem.
‘Kita khoss?!’
‘Nothing!’ he repeated angrily.
‘Don’t you raise your voice to me, boy!’
He paused, hunting furiously for the words with which to chastise his eldest son.
‘You’re bringing shame on this family, boy! Nobody in our family has ever been in trouble with the police before you! I’m ashamed of you! How can I tell your dadi about your behaviour? You’re a disgrace to the family!
‘And when I try to help you … try to involve you in the family business, give you some grounding … you throw it back in my face and go off to play football! You’re not a man, you’re a child! You’re meant to set an example for your little brother … what sort of an example are you, boy?’
‘What sort of an example am I?’ spat Saleem. ‘What sort of an example are you?’
‘I beg your pardon!’ shouted his father, shaking with rage.
‘I said what sort of an example are you? You’re always coming out with this right and wrong stuff … you’re right, I’m wrong … who says you’re right, huh?’
‘Who? Who? Allah in His Holy Qur’an tells us what is right and …’
‘Really?’ interrupted Saleem. ‘So what does Allah say about selling alcohol in your restaurant? And what did He say about missing your prayers so you can get ahead on chopping onions? I must have missed that bit in madrasa …’
Before Saleem could finish his sentence, his father charged up the remainder of the stairs and made a grab for his son.
Saleem dived back and scurried into the bathroom. He slammed the door and slid the bolt into place.
‘O bydee ai, you dog!’ yelled his father, pounding the door with his fists. ‘Come out now!’
Elsewhere in the house, Saleem’s mother made a silent prayer for her family amidst the heart-trembling sound of banging and yelling.
In his room, Junayd crept nervously into his bed and pulled the covers over his head.
***
‘So what did your brother do anyway?’ asked Ibrahim, as curious as always.
‘He was with some people who stole a car,’Junayd sighed. With the Imam’s imminent arrival at madrasa, this was not the topic he wanted to discuss.
‘He stole a car! No way!’
‘No, he didn’t steal it. He was just in it …’
‘Yeah well obviously he’s not going to say he stole it, right!’
‘He didn’t steal it!’
‘Alright, chill bro! So he didn’t steal it. But he went to prison?’
‘No, you weren’t listening!’ Junayd was beginning to get a little impatient. ‘He got put in the cells. My dad had to go and collect him. He just got a warning, or something, because he didn’t know the car was stolen.’
‘I suppose,’ admitted Ibrahim. ‘If they thought he was involved he’d be going to court or something, right?’
‘Whatever, I don’t know,’ sighed Junayd. His heart felt heavy whenever he thought about his brother. With all the tension between dad and Saleem, it was better to be anywhere but at home these days. In fact, Junayd realised suddenly and to his surprise, it was much better to be at madrasa.
‘So, we’re playing same teams as last week today?’Junayd asked, changing the subject.
‘Yeah – it was a draw last week so we need to settle it, right?’
‘We should have penalties if it’s a draw again …’
‘That wouldn’t be fair,’ Ibrahim interrupted, ‘your team’s got Hasan. He’s a wicked goalie. You’d win the shoot-out.’
‘Exactly!’ laughed Junayd.
An hour and a half of madrasa later and the boys were happily – and silently – involved in another epic game of yard football.
“With only a minute left on the clock, Faris and Adam linked up to give Khalid’s team a 6–5 advantage.
Ibrahim, dispensing with usual caution, rallied his troops excitedly.
‘Come on boys!’ he yelled. ‘We can’t lose this!’
‘Come on!’ repeated his team-mates. ‘Let’s get this back! Let’s get a goal!’
‘Sshh,’ attemped Khalid, but his opponents had already kicked off and were calling directions to one another.
‘Man on!’ Yunus warned Ismail, who promptly passed him the ball.’. Yunus sprayed it to the wing where Ali was in some space. Ali took a touch, and then slid an inch-perfect pass into the space ahead of Ibrahim, who