They perform Wuzu together, stretching their hearts as they would their limbs before a game of soccer in preparation for exercising remembrance. Or ideally that's the function wuzu serves if the 'spi--rit' isn't taken out of the '--rit-ual'. All they can think about though is everything and anything other than prayer and this is the state in which they enter the Musalla.
Aun, having entered the room first, assumes the position of imam. Sikander, not that far behind, now approaches the front of the room absolutely certain that Aun's forgetfulness will dawn upon him any moment now and that he'll relinquish the responsibility of imammate to him.
Fast-forward a few minutes and Rahim is leaving the room though namaz is yet to be offered. He's leaving because he's just been reminded why he doesn't like praying in jama'at. Aun and Sikander are still arguing about who's more qualified and better suited to lead prayer. They seem to have forgotten, he thinks to himself, that whether at the back of the Musalla or in the front, they're both bowing down to God; equal. In humility before the Supreme Ego. But the little gods they brought with them to the Musalla have caused them to forget.
Rahim wishes they hadn't brought their idols to the room; that they'd been swept away during ablution. Amidst the madness, quietly sits in the women's section a disappointed young girl peeping through the space in between the covers, unnoticed and listening intently. Surprisingly, her disappointment is not owing to the argument that is still raging. She's had box seats for a showing of the brilliantly idiotic before. Rather, it is seemingly sensible Rahim's exit that has her dismayed. She understands why he is moved to leave - that too frowning. She understands why he's turned off, but disappointed that he's turned away. Level-headed Rahim, like she used to, had forgotten why he'd wanted to respond to the call to prayer to begin with: Fi sabeel Allah
Khuda kay liye
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