This is the penultimate chapter of Spacetran. Beverly's hopes look like being fulfilled thus freeing her of her self imposed obligations.
Spacetran 20.
NEW SPACETRAN 20
Girls,
Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.
Having finally detected Khatia’s feeble brain patterns it was easy work to locate her. The telepathic search team now numbered thousands and as they spread out in an intensive pattern all over Britain, they quickly located Khatia being held in a tiny ramshackle barn high up in the North Yorkshire Dales, this was a bleak, remote country. The issue now was how to approach her without alerting her captors who would probably finish her off in a fit of hysterical bigotry if they thought they were going to die. Fortunately, the telepathic aliens were able to monitor the captors thought patterns and they simply had to wait until nightfall.
The bizarre, bigoted logic of her kidnappers had convinced them that there had to be ‘due process’ according to their misconceptions of Sharia Law. To this end they were holding the injured Khatia captive until a formally convened court could sit. The events in the village had curtailed the arrival of their preferred local judge because the man could not leave the village without being changed into a woman. In their eyes, the presidency of this particular judge would have made the outcome of the trial a foregone conclusion but he was now trapped in the village. As the telepaths enlightened Beverly with this news, Beverly smiled grimly. Her earlier actions had inadvertently delayed Khatia’s trial but they still had to rescue the girl before events got out of hand. Some of the kidnappers were becoming frightened and fear often precipitated stupidity. Khatia had now become a liability and some were all for disposing of the body immediately. The idea was gaining support amongst the half dozen kidnappers. Beverly was getting worried.
She held a council with the senior aliens and they concluded that there was still time. Only two kidnappers had decided on the former course of immediate murder whilst a third was wavering in favour. As the afternoon wore on the Aliens prepared a plan.
Beverly had approached the local farmer who owned the barn and she had explained the situation.
“You understand Mr Pritchard, my daughter in law is being held hostage in that barn. The police will take ages to get here and an approach with a patrol pul would only alert the kidnappers. They are on their way though.”
Jim Pritchard nodded and smiled as Beverly explained her plan.
“Perhaps you could approach with your dogs and a flock of sheep with a view to pretending to use the barn. How fast could you assemble a handy sized flock?”
Jim grinned.
“It’s mid autumn missus. At this time of year I’d only ha to rattle a bag of food nuts and the whol’ dammed flock’d cum runnin’. Minutes it’d take tha’s all.”
“Can you do that then? I’ll make it well worth your while.”
“Are they armed?” Jim Asked.
Beverly shrugged then glanced at the senior alien who wagged her head. Their telepathy had determined that the kidnappers had no weapons. The plan had been to execute Khatia simply by the brutal, ritualistic, blasphemous act of ‘stoning’.
The aliens were not powerfully built individuals for their telepathy had been one of the main evolutionary survival devices in their planet’s faunal evolution. Jim Pritchard could see that the strange little beings would be useless in a physical fight but he was surprised and impressed by their strange telepathic abilities. He was ex military and understood the value of perfectly accurate intelligence. With a smile he invited Beverly to ride in his ‘agri-pul’ as a short whistle brought a pair of willing sheepdogs from the barn and always eager to run the hills. They stacked a few of bags of sheep-nuts to make it look realistic then invited one of the aliens to hide in an empty bag to collect information telepathically as they approached the barn.
Within minutes the agri-pul was hurtling over the rough pastures from the farmhouse to the high barn. Then in plain view of the barn they dismounted and Jim set his dogs to herding the sheep. Beverly was pretending to be the farmer’s wife as she casually dipped her hand into one of the food bags and spread the nuts around the field. At the same time the telepathic alien was keeping up a running commentary on the kidnapper’s thoughts and behaviour. They were staying hidden in the barn on the assumption that they had not yet been detected. The alien telepath described their conversations.
“They’re nervous. They don’t see us as any sort of attacking force but they’re frightened of discovery. They are wondering what to do with Khatia. They think they can pretend to be a group of hill-walkers who have taken temporary shelter in the barn but they are afraid that Khatia will scream.”
“Well they’re right on the hill-walking story,” Jim concurred to Beverly. “There’s a footpath running through t’ gate beside barn. Walkers often use t’ barn if weather turns.”
“But they still outnumber us.” Beverly observed.
Jim gave Beverly a slow soft smile.
“I don’t think so Missus.”
Beverly looked puzzled.
“How d’you mean?” She asked.
“They’s thee, me, two dogs ‘n a couple o’ thousand sheep not to mention yon telepathic one in t’bag. You’d be surprised what a flock of sheep can do when they’re gettin’ lively.”
A slow tight-lipped smile crossed Beverly’s lips.
“You mean drive the sheep at, -“
“Precisely love. I’ll herd sheep into’ barn and that’ll fettle em’.”
“But what if they harm the girl? The sheep that is.”
Jim turned to the alien for a situation report.
“The girl is in some sort of side room and the door is secured.”
Jim smiled at Beverly again.
“I thought that’s where they’d be holding her. Don’t forget lady, tha’s my barn an’ I know my own buildings. The barn used to ‘ave a small stone built stable in it, that’s the stone enclosure they’ve got the girl secured in. There’s a stout wooden door and it’d make a fine prison. Some walkers have even overnighted in it. It used to be a sort o’ loosebox but fell into disuse. I leave t’ barn open now and the sheep take shelter there just like t’ walkers but I usually leave t’stable door closed though not locked. Sheep can’t open it but people can; i’ss not locked now. The loosebox is a useful space if I ever need storage but I don’t much need it. Makes a perfect prison cell though.”
Beverly sighed with relief as the alien gave a situation update.
“She’s lying on the floor of the stable and she’s trussed up like a chicken. The kidnappers are content to sit in the barn and ignore her. It seems they know not to develop any sort of ‘relationship’ with their victim. They’ve done this sort of thing before. It’s in their memories.”
“So what’s the plan then Mr Pritchard?” Beverly asked the farmer, content to see if the sheep flocking thing worked.
“Well I’ll set t’ dogs to gatherin’ em and then I’ll get them a little agitated before driving ‘em into barn. They’ll be invisible from the front of the barn and there’s no windows at t’ back cos that side faces north an’ east. Once I’ve got ‘em good and restless I’ll drive ‘em through side gate and herd them into barn. They’ll not all go of course but that’ll set um up all frettin’ and jumpin’ It gets pretty lively then. If they’m city folks, they’ll get a shock! They’ll not like it. Jumpin’ sheep can knock yer f’ six’ if’n you’re no familiar wi ‘em. An’ it’ll all seem like an accident cos we don’ know they’re in there, do we?”
Jim smiled evilly.
“Sounds like a plausible plan,” Beverly nodded approval.
“Right soonest done, soonest mended.” Jim finished as a he whistled off the dogs to start the round up.
Beverly watched fascinated whilst occasionally scattering a few desultory handfuls of sheep-nuts to look as though she was used to the whole scene. Soon the paddock behind the barn started to fill up with milling bleating sheep. Eventually one of the kidnappers noticed the noise and he emerged from the barn. Jim hailed him in his thickest ‘North Yorkshire’ accent to create the illusion that he was a dumb ‘country bumkin’.
“Eee, laddie, they’ll nobbut be safe there lad if’n woollies come at yer. I’d be scarperin’ ifn I were you.”
The kidnapper just stared uncomprehendingly so Jim decided to advance the plan. He gave another couple of whistles and the dogs immediately stopped circling the sheep before driving the excited flock through the side gate. Then the dogs snapped at the sheep’s heels and the panicked animals immediately sought the sanctuary of the barn. A barn only big enough to hold perhaps a few hundred sheep was now under siege from a thousand. Chaos ensued as animals struggled to get in whilst the kidnappers struggled to get out.
In the melee some of the kidnappers got knocked down and failed to get up again as thousands of ovine hooves kept prodding and kicking them down again. By Beverly’s reckoning the remaining pair of kidnappers had already scrambled to safety and were standing nervously by the wall of the paddock undecided what to do. Jim went over to them under the pretence of concern for their downed friends.
“I’ll try an' get t’ dogs te’ dig the sheep out of the barn. I didn’t realise they was half a dozen oy yus’ in there. Why did’n ye’ say?”
So saying the dogs were ordered to scramble over the panicking sheep’s backs and eventually the whole flock scattered back into the field. Lying injured in the mud were four of the kidnappers all looking very much the worse for wear as they eventually got to their feet. Once more Jim made a pretence of solicitousness as he invited the kidnappers down to the farmhouse to recover from their ordeal. They were too disorientated and injured to refuse; indeed a couple of them had broken ribs where the sheep had scrambled frantically over their prostrate bodies. With these words he phoned his wife on his mobile and suggested she ‘put t’kettle on lass’ as he motioned to Beverly to secretly go and check the stable under the pretence of staying behind to continue scattering the sheep nuts.
“Just carry on spreading these nuts to yon woollies love while I see these men safe.”
Beverly made a show of scattering sheep nuts and lifting the bags off the quad-bike whilst making sure her telepathic alien friend was still safely hidden in one of the bags. She remained on the hill with one of the dogs ‘tending’ the flock while Jim led the kidnappers off the hill. As soon as they were out of sight she dashed into the barn and found Khatia trussed up like a chicken scrabbling helplessly in the dirt of the stable floor as she squealed behind her gag.
“Mmmmph! Mmmmmm!”
Beverly immediately untied the gag then addressed the ropes as Khatia let out a huge squeal of joy at seeing her.
“Oh thank you Beverly. Allah be praised. Ouch!”
“Sorry love. Where does it hurt?” She asked as she stared stupidly at Khatia's battered face.
“All over.” Khatia replied as she slowly flexed her legs and arms that were stiff with cramps.
Beverly freed the last knots then massaged Khatia’s legs and arms as the girl continued sobbing with unadulterated relief.
“The police will be here shortly, you’re safe now.”
“Even as she spoke they heard Yorkshire voices calling as they approached the Barn and Beverly answered them.”
“She’s okay. We’re inside the barn! In the little stable thing.”
A police woman’s head appeared through the stable doorway and smiled reassurance as she called to her colleague to fetch the blanket.
“My God girl! Are ye’ fit t’walk lovvie?”
“In a minute,” Khatia replied, “my legs are still a bit wobbly.”
“J’want a stretcher?”
“No, I’ll be okay just let me get the circulation back.”
Beverly gave the police woman a knowing look and nodded towards the extensive bruising. The kidnappers had given her a violent beating. The police woman nodded agreement and spoke to Khatia.
“We’ll need to get you to the hospital. Those are bad bruises, you might have some fractures. Do your ribs hurt?”
Khatia nodded as she tried to get up. The effort defeated her and she collapsed in pain so the stretcher was quickly brought.
An hour later she was in a warm comfortable hospital bed being checked out by a lady doctor, a Muslim lady doctor, - a doctor who made an issue of Khatia, a Muslim girl, being married to a Christian man when she later realised that the visiting husband was not only a white, Christian man but a transgendered individual to boot.
When Bennie later decamped to the visitor’s room she censured Khatia for the actions.
“You are a beautiful girl; you could have had the pick of all Islam! Why on earth did you pick such a, such a, - revolting creature, a freak, - a blasphemy in the eyes of Allah? You have committed apostasy, it’s no wonder your family were worried! ”
Khatia almost spat at her like an angry cobra. Her eyes blazed and she called nervously for Bennie who came running from the visitor’s room. Her heels clicked an urgent tattoo down the corridor as she trotted into the ward. Khatia turned to Bennie in desperation then pointed to the doctor.
“I don’t want her treating me anymore.”
Bennie’s eyes widened with incomprehension.
“Why not darling?”
“She’s every bit as bad as the village. She just condemned me for marrying you!”
It was Benny’s turn to be angry.
“Why, you cheeky cow. From now on, you are not to go near my wife! Is that clear?”
Bennie wanted to go and tackle the senior consultant there and then but Khatia dissuaded her.
“Leave it Bennie. Just stay with me through the night. I’ll be discharging myself in the morning, broken bones or not.”
“If that’s what you want darling, okay.
“You can’t stay in the ward overnight.” The doctor challenged.
“This is a private ward, we are paying for it so I’ll stay where I bloody well like!”
The lady doctor stalked off in high dudgeon and returned later with the senior consultant who, as it happened, was also a Muslim.
That was the last straw for Khatia; she struggled to get out of the bed and demanded that Bennie take her home. The consultant gasped with dismay and turned to Bennie.
“Your wife is very ill Mr Taff. Please accept my advice and urge her to stay at least through the night.”
“Only on the condition that I sleep here in this room with her and a police guard is posted at the door. Don’t worry about the cost!”
“What is the danger?”
“Ask your colleague! I have rarely encountered such an insensitive individual and one who’s supposed to belong to the caring profession to boot! My wife has just suffered the most traumatic events at the hands of your co-religionists and you ask what she is afraid of!”
The consultant’s brow wrinkled with incomprehension.
“What d’you mean exactly?”
“The woman was abusive to my wife about marrying a Christian.”
The consultant hesitated as he tried to consider the situation.
“Well, it is forbidden for Muslim women to marry outside of the faith, the children you see, -“
“Can choose their faith once they’ve looked at the different options, - there are options Mr, - (Bennie glanced at the surgeon’s name tag,) Mr Aziz. This is Britain, not Saudi Arabia.”
“But the children need to be immersed in, -“
“Love care and understanding, not bigotry and scriptures.” Bennie finished again, “besides our children read, write and speak fluent Arabic, do you?”
“Well, - no, - not as such. I’m from West Pakistan, we normally speak Urdu.”
“Precisely, so if our children choose to, they can readily ‘immerse themselves in Islam’ if they choose. Better perhaps than many British Muslims.”
“Who taught them Arabic?”
“Their mother, who else, that beautiful but brutalised woman lying fearful in that bed, - my wife!”
So saying, Bennie called her father Beverly and organised a police guard that very minute. There would be no uninvited visitors during the night. Khatia slept peacefully after a strong sleeping drug administered by a very contrite consultant, especially after he learned just who Khatia’s father-in-law was.
In the morning Khatia was delighted to be woken by her beloved daughters and father-in-law and by mid morning she was discharged still aching but glad to feel herself amongst true friends. Bennie and the twins were sickened by the bruising their mother suffered for she had been brutally beaten by her abductors. It was hard for Bennie not to beg her father Beverly to invoke further punishment on the village. The bruising was so severe that Khatia was hardly recognisable as his wife. Khatia however showed the nature of a true Muslim by offering forgiveness and peace to her abusers. Bennie found it hard to reconcile her beautiful wife’s forgiving nature with the background to the family where she had been brutally raised. There were further surprises in store for both Bennie and Beverly.
To Khatia’s surprise, her mother and two sisters had made it their business to visit her at the hospital for the lady registrar had contacted Khatia’s family. More importantly, her mother and sisters were contrite and friendly so Khatia invited them to her home which was where Beverly was taking the family. It was no longer a secret where they lived; the kidnap had made that obvious.
The mother and sisters enjoyed the rare privilege of a trip in Cold Albatross out to the Pennine farm. Once safely ensconced in her home again Khatia enjoyed a devoted reconciliation particularly with her younger sisters. They were upset that Khatia had ‘fled’ without them for since her disappearance they had been subjected to unbearable oppression from their father and brothers, hardly able to leave the house without a permanent and intolerable chaperone. Things had changed dramatically since the advent of the ‘sex-change’ situation in the village. Women and girls went freely everywhere whilst men and boys moved with circumspection; fearful of crossing some ‘invisible barrier’ that might plunge them into womanhood.
At first it had raised much humour amongst the women but now the situation in the village was becoming intolerable. Many of the men worked as taxi-drivers and they could not get to work driving around the city. Many innocent families of wives and children were beginning to suffer the consequences.
Beverly smiled inwardly as the sisters described the situation.
It might be time to raise the barrier,’ Beverly decided,‘the lesson was well learned by now and it could always be re-introduced.’
Khatia’s father and brothers had been the first to learn of the peril when the youngest son had taken the dog for a walk and it had returned a Bitch after crossing an invisible boundary near the edge of the canal. Fear stalked the once oppressive men of Khatia’s old family. Lessons had been learned.
After a couple of weeks with Khatia’s mother and sisters dancing attendance upon the injured Khatia and also getting to know of Khatia’s most fortunate change in circumstances, namely her marriage into one of the most illustrious families on the planet, the Muslim women finally conceded that they had better return to attend the men-folk.
Khatia’s brothers and father had been unable to go to work or attend the local social security office to collect their state benefits. The local S.S. (Social Security to our American sisters.) office was outside the ‘sex-change’ perimeter and men could not leave the village. Things were becoming intolerable.
Before they returned, Beverly discussed with the women the solution to the situation in the village. It was going to take a serious culture change amongst the residents.
The following Friday when the men had gathered for Friday prayers, Khatia returned to the village with her Christian Husband, her mother and her younger sisters and most importantly, her illustrious father-in-law, Beverly At eleven that morning Khatia appeared accompanied by her mother and sisters at the entrance to the cafe where Beverly had instigated the events of that auspicious morning. At first Khatia was fearful of exposing her kin-folk again to Beverly’s anger. With the advent of the ‘sex-change’ cordon on that first day, her father-in-law’s wrath had become instant news throughout the Wahabist community.
Sheer unmitigated terror had betaken the whole community and the news had spread like wildfire around the city. Outside of the ‘village’ amongst the wider, educated Muslim community there was much amusement and relief. There would be far less bigotry and intolerance emanating from the village in future. Muslim women in the village in particular, were now free totally to decide how they should appear. For most they continued to dress in their traditional burkahs and Hijabs for that was what they were comfortable with, but now it was totally voluntary and if one chose to appear in western style then there was certainly no censure on the streets or even in the homes.
The bigots had become fearful and with that fear came uncertainty and with that uncertainty came change and with that change came advancement. Within days, younger Muslim daughters were expressing their free will. Not being excessive in their dress nor even immodest but by simply renouncing the Burkah, the Hijab and above all the Nicab. Girls still went abroad with their arms covered and wearing leggings or tight jeans so they were not ‘immodest’ even by the narrowest Islamic mores but now they definitely considered themselves ‘western women’. As these events unfolded Beverly was relieved and pleased to see progress.
That Friday morning Beverly waited inconspicuously outside the mosque as Khatia made it known she was going to enter even though it was ‘Friday prayers’. Muslim women were obviously allowed to normally enter mosques but in the intolerable Wahabist misinterpretations of ‘The Word’ many cultures frowned upon women attending Friday prayers when men gathered in great numbers.
This Friday though, things were very different. Khatia’s beauty had been a talking point throughout the village before she had ‘absconded’ and now she had returned there was much discussion and argument amongst the men, not to mention remorse.
Outside the mosque as the mid-day prayers were ending, Beverly and Bennie waited with Farina and Francine as the twins watched their mother casually and skilfully fling a newly bought hijab over her head to cover her beautiful hair in one easy effeminate motion. She caught Beverly’s mildly puzzled expression and grinned at the father-in-law she had come to love.
“Look daddy, Christian women cover their heads when they go to church, so why shouldn’t I? Besides this is my mosque, it’s where I attended Madrassar and the Imam knows me well even though he is, or rather was, one of the most conservative Imams in Bradford.
I have no intention of insulting Allah by entering Allah’s house uncovered. Besides I think this hijab suites me, don’t you?”
So saying, Khatia ‘peeped’ coquettishly out from under the delicate lace edging of her white hijab and Beverly was forced to smile. Khatia did indeed portray all the mystique of oriental beauty and femininity as she allowed her father-in-law a ‘tantalising glimpse’ of her temporarily hidden beauty. Bennie also fell for the evocative ploy and reached out to hug her beautiful wife. A couple of obviously conservative old men looked nervously at the cameo but dare not to comment for there stood the village’s nemesis, the dreaded Beverly Taff!
Beverly turned and smiled at the men and their tensions eased as Khatia boldly stepped into the mosque slipped off her shoes and performed Shufu with an easy familiarity before entering the mosque to address the congregation. Once inside she caused much commotion but non dared to challenge her. As a natural courtesy, Khatia spoke privately with the old Imam first then addressed the conveniently assembled men.
She explained that her ‘Christian’ father-in-law was prepared to show forgiveness just as a proper Muslim would, then she went on to explain how that forgiveness would manifest itself. The male congregation departed their prayers that day much relieved and happier.
As a mark of her ‘forgiveness’ Beverly had decided to put a small factory near the village providing more work to the ‘villagers’. Both Bennie and Khatia were forced to wonder at Beverly’s magnanimity but that magnanimity brought rapid reconciliation between Khatia and her brothers and father. After watching their own cousins; the very men who had kidnapped and beaten Khatia, being changed into women Khatia’s father could not have been more contrite or scared. He was truly a changed man.
For Khatia’s mother and sisters it was a delight to learn they had two new nieces and granddaughters. Farina and Francine were at long last able to freely meet and savour their maternal relatives. The women of Khatia’s extended family even took to visiting Bennie and Khatia at the farm where they quickly learned to show tolerance and respect for other peoples and other lifestyles. They were also stunned to learn that their family had become connected to the most powerful and wealthiest family in the universe.
Unfortunately some of the relatives deemed that this gave them some sort of entitlement to ‘lord’ it over their Muslim community in the village and it came down to Bennie to put them right.
Yes, Khatia’s family could certainly meet and enjoy the twins, even have them as guests in their homes as cousins and nieces and granddaughters properly should, but any attempt to somehow influence the girls, or inculcate Wahabist mores would bring short thrift from Bennie and especially Khatia. The maternal family were left in no doubt as to what the consequences would be. However, Bennie was not a total Islamaphobe. She was prepared to let her children attend a Madrassar if only to let the girls understand their own roots. Nevertheless, Khatia made sure she attended the lessons as well to openly debate the theological arguments in front of not only her own but other children as well. She had a shrewd logical head on her shoulders and gave the old conservative Imams a perilous time when debating moral strictures and Koranic interpretations. At these ‘debates’ the children would listen with rapt attention to wonder at a mere woman taking on and as often as not, beating the Imam’s at their own theology. The debates soon became popular with older children and adults as news of the quality of reasoning and argument spread. To the old Imam’s surprise, his Madrassar was soon a popular place of lively debate and discussion not some ‘dead-man’s handle’ that suppressed all intellectual advancement. He even found himself beginning to actually enjoy Khatia’s attendance each Friday after evening prayers. Her intellect and beauty had made his once oppressive mosque one of the most popular centres of learning in the north of England. Muslim scholars from far and wide came to discuss and debate Koranic philosophy and in Arabic to boot for Khatia’s linguistic skills were superlative.
Of the twins however the story was now very different. Their mathematical skills were now too advanced to be ignored. Khatia and Bennie were forced to concede that only one adult had the wit and wisdom to take the twins to the very highest levels of attainment and that was their own grandfather Beverly.
While their mother enjoyed her Friday night discussions at the mosque, the twins played mathematical games with their grandfather Beverly, who baby-sat them back at the farm. Their father Bennie was usually down in the Manchester gay village helping to run the new hostel and advice centre that had funded and opened to advise young, gay and transgendered people with particular attention to those who’s faiths had brought them despair and confusion.
Comments
Great!!
It is great the the family was able to bring back the true meaning of the village religion. To stop the non thinking and follow the leader blindly way. To many people have died due to the "Word" being misused.
It was good that the men where forgiven. Forgivness is the key to love.
I love Spacetran becuase of the family and religious values you have written. Love, Peace, understanding, and the right to make independant and knowledgable chioces.
I assume that this is the conclusion. Thank you for all of your stories.
James
Just one more chapter.
Thanks for your comments, they are very encouraging.
I feel that I have more or less exhausted Spacetran. There's plenty more where it came from but there is only one more chapter then I finish the story.
Thanks once again.
Bev.
Growing old disgracefully.
Religious debates
Weird, but whatever floats your boat. What I object to is religion of any stripe getting in the way of common sense as it demands 'faith'. Of course, what areas one must have 'faith' in is all over the map, defined by some political or social agenda somebody has most of the time. Khatia has the misfortune of being of a very socially imposing faith and she suffered for it. To my naive view, a relationship with the deity is a simple one and the philosopher Jesus has it dead on there: Do unto others. The rest pretty much falls by the wayside.
I am surprised the agnostic option is not offered to Khatia or even considered. She seems strong enough of an intellect to consider other paths of faith or philosophy, yet it was never ever considered as a possibility, only a religious one was.
I am not suggesting she would not have continued to be Muslim, her choice after all, but why in the deity's name she would not have considered alternatives after what she'd been through and returned to a religious tradition whose interpretation by men seeks to impose such limitations on women?
Kim
I like your observations.
I agree wholeheartedly with your thoughts about a relationship with any deity or 'The deity' whichever way an individual chooses to address it. Each individual can only have their own 'covenant' with their deity and I'm very much of the same view as you insofar as I find myself in the 'do as you would be done by' community.
There is one more chapter to come and that's the end of Spacetran.
Khatia's seeming return to the mosque is not some sort of return to her faith but more a remedial device that she sees to right the wrongs that her particular faith has, as she sees it, committed against women. Believe me Khatia is very much her own woman, her running away and then marrying a Christian man (or even perhaps an agnostic man,) is a clear demonstration of her determination and independence of will. She is clearly a woman who refused to be oppressed by her faith or her family or her community.
As an intellectual woman she thrives on debate and argument. Inevitably she sees the incongruancies of her own childhood and faith as they affected her to be fertile ground and a good location to exercise her mind as well as others. As she gradually changes her childhood mosque from an oppressive, dictatorial 'prison' to a place of open learning and debate, so her objectives are slowly realised.
Remember that nothing can resist an idea who's time has come. Khatia is just nudging the clock a bit.
Personally I don't have (and don't need) faith, nor do I need scripture or church. I need no interlocuter betwixt me and my conscience.
I suspect that like you, if I have a covenant with my own humanitarian conscience, then that is tantamount to 'being godly'. It's got little to do with faith but everything to do with conscience, forgiveness and love.
Bertrand Russel said, 'Never forget your humanity'. I couldn't put it better than that.
Thanks hugely for your comment.
Beverly.
Growing old disgracefully.
Spacetran 20
http://www.lauckemills.com.au/sheepfood1.html Sheep nuts
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine