| I have never been to the Ijtima at Raiwind before. I had always regarded it as something pedestrian, something others did. I had resisted going to this annual gathering of the faithful, said to be the largest congregation of Muslims after Hajj, partly out of indolence, of condescension, and if I am honest, a fear of self-consciousness, of being stared at as a shaven Muslim in a tangle of bushy beards, just as a hairless Sikh might feel out of place amongst a jatha of hirsute Sikhs. This year, I decided to take my own advice and attended the Ijtima’s final day, on Sunday 27 October. |
| My driver - a northerner from Kohat – and I left home at 4.30 am. We drove along the Canal to Thokar Niaz Beg, and took the turning eastwards on the dual carriageway to Raiwind. Even at that hour of the unlit morning, traffic had begun to stir. Cars of every make from straining Suzukis to luxurious Land Cruisers sped in the same direction, overtaking slower vehicles, motorcycles and the occasional line of ice-cream vendors, pedalling vigorously in single file. The road signs at regular intervals alerting us that the Ijtima was now ten kilometres away, now five, were in a sense superfluous for there was no mistaking our destination. One could see in the predawn darkness its glow rising like a premature sunrise above the distant fields. |
| Parking space was nowhere to be had – every demarcated parking area had already been occupied by trucks, buses, and wagons. The owners of private motor cars defied the police and left their vehicles wherever they could along the road. We parked before the policeman could stop us, noted its location and then, passing through makeshift stalls offering varieties of breakfast, we entered the congregational area. |
| Nothing had prepared me for sight of over a million and a half humans, accommodated under one vast open, makeshift tent. [EXTRACT] |
| Published in DAWN 2 Nov. 2002, and reprinted in WHEN BUSH COMES TO SHOVE A& OTHER WRITINGS (2006) |
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