Within the Walled City

As soon as Basant ended, Yasmeen's world was bright and new. Like flowers in bloom, everything around her literally did “spring” to life. Within weeks, Khan forgot about his promise to leave his kite alone, staying up late at night to reel in meters of string. Mr. and Mrs. Bajwa decided to open a second store so Mrs. Bajwa could sell her hand-made dresses. Mohammad was even preparing for a new boy's school in the capital city of Islamabad.

Even with all this activity, the biggest change for Yasmeen was the relationship with her parents. She jumped from child to pre-teen. Her mother had her looking after little Khan on a daily basis. Her brothers looked to her for dinner. Her father even let her buy grown-up clothes.

Yasmeen and Noor spent time with their mothers when time allowed. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bajwa was busy with the new store. On these days, Yasmeen rode into city on the bus with her aunt and cousin. Even this was a welcome escape from the walled city she called home.

After morning prayers, Yasmeen joined her mother, who was sitting with her cousin and aunt at the kitchen table.

“Mother, isn’t it getting late?” noticed Yasmeen.

“I’m spending some free time from the dress store today. I’d rather be with my family.”

Yasmeen did not know whether she should be happy or not. Her mother did not enjoy shopping. Worse yet, Yasmeen knew her cousin would soon return to India.

“What will you be doing with this free time?” asked Yasmeen.

“I thought we’d take a field trip to Badshahi Mosque.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“You are the occasion,” replied her mother.

“Why me?”

“I think it would be good to show you why we say Niyyah.”

“Can I come, too?” asked Khan.

“You’re all coming.”

“I have practice,” said Faisal.

“Practice can wait. Allah is first,” she replied.

The family caught a bus into town. One Bajwa child squeezed against the next during the short ride. As they emerged, they saw the Minar-e Pakistan, the metallic tower in the middle of Iqbal Park. The park sat next to the old Lahore Fort and Badshahi Mosque.

Construction of the Mosque began during the reign of Aurangzeb Alamgir, the last of the Mughal Emperors. Since then, 500 years passed. One wall of the Mosque sat next to the Ravi River. The front of the Mosque faced the walls of the Lahore Fort. Emperor Aurangzeb built a fortified gate across from the Mosque. It became known as the Alamgiri Gate.

Yasmeen walked hand-in-hand with little Khan. His free hand shielded his eyes from sunlight. A lush green garden with carefully pruned trees stretched to the far wall. The majestic Alamgiri Gate stood to Khan's left. Giant guard towers, made of yellow limestone, stood on each side of the gate. The Sikh Temple sat in the garden, separating Lahore Fort from Badshahi Mosque. As they proceeded through the garden, Khan turned his head to the right.

A dark red wall, made of sandstone bricks, stretched across the horizon. Three teardrop-shaped domes rose above the walls. Their white surfaces gleamed in the pale sunlight. As they climbed the stairs at the entrance of the Mosque, the Mosque seemed to grow taller.

At the entrance, they removed their shoes. No one was allowed to wear shoes inside the Mosque. Mohammad, Faisal, and Khan put on their knit white skullcaps called kufi. Yasmeen, Noor, Aunt Seema, and Mrs. Bajwa pulled on their Dupattas. Now they were ready to step inside.

The interior stretched nearly 500 meters from end-to end, big enough to hold an army of worshippers. In the center of the courtyard sat a water fountain for Wudu. Before they reached the fountain, an electric hum came over the loudspeakers.

“Allahu Akbar!” sang the voice.

Everyone proceeded to the water fountain. Little Khan stood next to Yasmeen. After he performed the wudu, he turned west toward the holy land. He closed his eyes, cupped his ears, and basked in the sunlight.

“Allah’s sunlight,” Yasmeen thought to herself.

The sounds of the prayer call reverberated deep in her chest. Yasmeen took a deep breath. She cupped her hands behind her ears, too.

After prayer, Mrs. Bajwa acted as historian while they explored the Mosque. She showed them the intricate stonework. Screen windows made of marble looked like fine lacework. Polished metal was set in the ceiling within the hall of mirrors. As with everything produced during Mughal times, there were delicate mosaics, too. Mrs. Bajwa placed her hand upon the wall.

“Be careful Mama!” exclaimed Khan.

“You’re right, my little one,” she quickly withdrew her hand from the delicate stonework.

The Bajwas continued through the courtyard until they reached the main gate of the Mosque. They stopped to put on their shoes and walked into the open garden near the Sikh Temple. Trees with thin trunks were delicated carved by garden shears. Their leafy tops were cut into a wide vareity of shapes, some round, some triangular, and some shaped like corkscrews, too. There were even a pair of lion-shaped shrubs near Alamgiri Gate.

Little Khan had a hold of Yasmeen's hand again. He pulled aginst her, wanting to spend more time in the garden. Yasmeen couldn't wait however, because her mother led the way. Instead of returning to the bus stop, Mrs. Bajwa passed through the Alamgiri Gate into the walled city of Lahore. She turned to the left and continued as everyone else followed.

"Where are we going now?" Yasmeen asked.

"I thought we'd stop for a bite to eat," her mother suggested.

"That's good," said Mohammad, "I'm hungry."

"Me, too."

They walked through the streets of old Lahore, passing by another gate installed along the old Fort wall. The fort wall was originally constructed with mud. Later, the Mughals used bricks to make the wall. The walls protected the palace and the original city.

The Ravi River once flowed alongside the Lahore Fort, acting as a partial moat. When the city grew, the river was redirected to flow around the city instead of through it. Now, highways passed by the old Fort. Traffic buzzed through the streets of the old city. Several restaurants lined the street.

"What are we eating?" asked Yasmeen.

"Let's let our guests decide," replied Mrs. Bajwa.

“Can we have Tandoori Chicken?” asked Noor.

“Sure we can. I haven't had Tandoori Chicken in a long time,” replied Mrs. Bajwa.

“I don’t think I've ever had it,” said Yasmeen.

“You have never eaten Tandoori Chicken?” asked Aunt Seema.

“If I did, I can’t remember what it was like.”

“Tandoori is my favorite," said Noor.

They stopped at one of the traditional Indian restaurants. A young man stood behind a large clay pot called a Tandoor while he rolled a ball of dough between his hands. He stretched it into a flat circle like pizza dough and tossed it inside the pot. The wet dough clung to the interior wall of the oven while hot charcoal in the bottom of the pot cooked the dough.

Aunt Seema ordered Tandoori chicken, naan, and rice. The man reached into the clay pot with two small skewers, pulling pieces of naan from the inside wall of the tall clay pot. He placed several skewers of Tandoori chicken inside the pot, leaning the handles against the inside lip.

As he worked, the Bajwa family sat at a nearby table. The old man served naan, rice, and tea before returning to his Tandoor. He used a poker to stoke the charcoal inside his Tandoor. The coals glowed bright orange as sparks flew from inside the pot. He brought the finished Tandoori skewers to the table. The char-grilled skin was rough and crispy.

As Yasmeen took her first bite, her Aunt Seema watched anxiously.

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

“Do you like it?”

The Tandoori chicken had been marinated in yogurt, chili powder, paprika, and curry powder overnight. It made the chicken tender and juicy. Yasmeen licked her lips as they tingled. She took a gulp of water.

“It’s hot, but it is good.”

“I’m glad you like it," replied Aunt Seema, "I can’t imagine someone living in Pakistan and not liking Tandoori Chicken. I absolutely love it.”

“Of course you like it. It's from India."

"That's why you should like it, too. Indians and Pakistanis are connected by their past, present, and future. We share the same culture. All rivers that flow through Pakistan come from India.”

Aunt Seema was right. Although Pakistanis and Indians had many differences, they had many similarities, too. They had to deal with many of the same enemies, whether by land or by sea. It was the reason the Mughal Emperors had to build castle walls around the old city. It was also the reason they built thirteen gates to keep guard of the palace and the Mosque.

After dinner, they returned to the bus stop. The evening busses were much less crowded than the one they rode earlier in the day. Mrs. Bajwa found a free seat and Yasmeen sat beside her.

"Did you have a good time today?"

"Yes," answered Yasmeen.

"I thought it was time to visit Badshahi Mosque. I want you to know about why you're Muslim and why you're Pakistani, too."

"It meant a lot to me."

Yasmeen glanced over to little Khan. For once, he wasn't attached to her side. Instead, he was asleep next to Mohammad. It was because of her littlest brother that she found another part of her faith. For Yasmeen, that was one of the best reasons to begin prayer.