Joel Rosenberg - The Twelfth Imam

After a long day of ceremonies, speeches, and meetings, he arrived home late and collapsed into bed next to his wife, who was already asleep. He was exhausted, but his mind swirled with the plans he was making to confront the arrogant powers of the West. Then suddenly, he realized what day it was, what anniversary it was, and he found himself thinking back eighteen years earlier to the day when he’d knelt down with his three sons and prayed a final prayer with them.

“O mighty Lord. I pray to you to hasten the emergence of your last repository, the Promised One, that perfect and pure human being, the one who will fill this world with justice and peace. Make us worthy to prepare the way for his arrival, and lead us with your righteous hand. We long for the Lord of the Age. We long for the Awaited One. Without him-the Righteously Guided One-there can be no victory. With him, there can be no defeat. Show me your path, O mighty Lord, and use me to prepare the way for the coming of the Mahdi.”

He recalled opening his eyes and gazing upon those three beautiful and innocent gifts, the pride of his life.

“Come, boys,” he said, opening the car door for them. “It is time.”

“Where are we going?” asked Bahadur, who at the age of twelve was his oldest, and certainly the tallest, and whose name meant “courageous and bold.”

“We’re going on a mission,” he replied.

“A mission!” said Firuz, his eleven-year-old. “What kind of mission?”

“It is a secret mission,” Hosseini said. “Come quickly, and you will see.”

As the two older boys scrambled into the backseat, he lifted up his youngest, Qubad, and held him even longer. Kissing him three times, and receiving three joyful kisses back, he finally put Qubad in the back with his brothers, shut the door, got into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

It was a beautiful winter day, sunny, cool but not cold, with a slight breeze blowing from the east. The boys waved good-bye to their mother, whose eyes were filled with tears, and soon they were off.

“Why is Madar crying?” Qubad asked.

Hosseini glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the two youngest also had tears in their eyes. They were sensitive boys, and he loved them even more for it.

“She misses you already,” he said as calmly as he could. “You know her.”

“She loves us,” Qubad said quietly.

“Yes, very much,” his father replied.

“She tucks us in every night and sings us the songs of Persia,” the little boy said.

“She buys us pomegranates-the sweetest in the world,” Firuz chimed in.

Then Bahadur spoke up as well. “She knows the Qur’an almost as well as you do, Pedar.”

“Better,” Hosseini said, glad he had not brought her, for she would never have survived this trip.

After an hour on the road, the boys were getting antsy, poking each other, quarreling, and whining to stop and get something to eat. They still had another thirty or forty minutes to go, and Hosseini wasn’t yet ready to pull over for food.

“Who wants to play a game?” Hosseini asked.

“We do! We do!” they all yelled.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Here’s how it works. I’ll say a Sura from the Qur’an, and you must recite it to me precisely. For this you will receive a point. Whoever gets the most points, Madar will make a special cake just for him.”

The boys cheered with glee. They had all been memorizing the words of the Prophet since before they could read, in school and with the help of their mother. They each had to recite a whole chapter of the Qur’an to their mother before they could go out to play every afternoon. And once, when they had been invited to meet the Ayatollah at the palace, their father had made them memorize all of Sura 86 and the story of the Nightcomer so they could recite it to Khomeini.

“Let me go first; please, please, let me go first,” Firuz shouted.

“No, no. We will go in order, oldest to youngest. Are you ready?”

They all were. The pokings were finished. The quarreling was over. Hosseini had their rapt attention now.

“Okay, Bahadur, you’re first. Sura 4:52.”

“Thank you, Pedar ,” the boy replied. “That is an easy one. ‘Jews and Christians are the ones whom God has cursed, and he whom God excludes from His mercy, you shall never find one to help and save him.’”

“Excellent, Bahadur. You get one point. Now, Firuz.”

“I’m ready.”

“Good. Can you tell me Sura 5:33?”

Firuz’s face darkened. For a moment, he looked as though he might panic. Then suddenly his face brightened. “Yes, Pedar, I remember that one. ‘The recompense of those who fight against God and His Messenger, they shall either be executed, or crucified, or have their hands and feet cut off alternately, or be banished from the land.’”

“Very good, my son,” Hosseini said. “I was worried there for a moment.”

“So was I, but Madar taught that one, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“She would be very proud. I will be sure to tell her you remembered.”

“Do I get a point?” Firuz asked.

“Absolutely. It’s one to one. And now it’s Qubad’s turn.”

“I am ready!” Qubad yelled with such enthusiasm they all burst into laughter.

“Okay, here’s one I taught you myself, Qubad-Sura 60:9.”

“Oh, oh, I know that!” Qubad shouted. “‘For those who disbelieve, garments of fire are certain to be cut out for them, with boiling water being poured down over their heads, with which all that is within their bodies, as well as their skins, is melted away.’”

“No, my son, I’m sorry,” Hosseini said. “What Sura is that, Firuz?”

“That’s 22:19-20.”

“Correct,” Hosseini said, beaming with pride. “That’s another point for you.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Bahadur said.

“Yeah, that’s not fair!” little Qubad squealed.

“My game, my rules,” their father replied. “But I’ll tell you what, Qubad. I will give you another chance. What is Sura 60:9?”

Qubad closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He thought and thought, but it was not coming. Finally he said, “‘Fight against those among the People of the Book who do not believe God and the Last Day’?”

“Good try, Qubad,” Hosseini said. “Who knows where that verse is found?”

This time Bahadur shouted out the answer first. “That is Sura 9:29, Pedar!”

“Very good, my son; another point for you.”

Bahadur beamed. Qubad looked like he was about to burst out in tears. They were all very competitive boys, and none of them liked to lose, least of all Qubad.

Firuz now spoke up. “I know Sura 60:9. May I recite it, Pedar?”

“Of course.”

“It’s regarding our enemies-Jews and Christians and those who call themselves Muslims but are not faithful to the Qur’an-isn’t that right?”

“It is,” Hosseini said. “But to get the point, you must say the verse.”

There was a long silence.

“Are you sure you know it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“‘God forbids you…,’” Firuz began.

“Forbids you to what?” Hosseini asked.

“‘… forbids you to take them… for friends and guardians…’”

“Go on.”

There was another long pause.

“I can’t,” Firuz said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” his father said. “Bahadur, can you finish it?”

“Yes, Pedar . ‘God forbids you to take them for friends and guardians. Whoever takes them for friends and guardians, those are the wrongdoers.’”

“Very impressive, Bahadur,” Hosseini exclaimed. “Okay, you get half a point, and Firuz gets half a point.”