Read Online The Convert: A Tale of Exile and Extremism by Deborah Baker - Free Book Online

to play in the political drama the Mawlana mapped out that afternoon? Mawdudi had already made space for her in his party as he had in his family. Before she arrived, he had published translated extracts of her letters in his party publication, introducing them as an “eye-opener for Muslim youth.” Clearly her arrival had been greatly anticipated and, given the success of her first book and the visibility of her writings in the popular press, she had proven something of a sensation. But beyond her serving as an example to his daughters, had Mawdudi envisioned her as his helpmeet, a translator to help his writings reach a broader audience? Or something else? Perhaps he calculated that an American might not suffer the same kind of surveillance and political restraints that he was subject to. Perhaps he hoped Maryam Jameelah might act as his proxy.
    What exactly were his thoughts when he heard the constant tapping of the Smith Corona just beyond his study door? Did he read Margaret’s letters before he posted them? If the Mawlana’s entourage considered her at all, were they inclined to view Maryam Jameelah not as a propaganda tool but as an interloper, even an American spy? Pakistan had long been a willing U.S. partner in the new Great Game of the cold war. There was no shortage of CIA agents about. The Mawlana had already spent several years in jail. He was not a well man. They needed to look out for him.
    Despite her volubility, Margaret’s letters from the Mawlana’s house conveyed little on these matters. She seemed oblivious to the anomalousness of her position: an innocent abroad. Margaret may have assumed the Mawlana had invited her to Pakistan and taken up guardianship of her simply because he was as invested in her writings on Islam as she was. She often betrayed a sense of entitlement, styling herself as Mawdudi did, as the last word on what it meant to be a faithful Muslim and what a proper Islamic state required of its citizens.
    And the Begum? What were her thoughts regarding the arrival of a young woman in her already crowded household? As part of the requirements of purdah, the women of the Mawdudi household were allowed to use only the front lawn and front portion of the house. The back garden and the Mawlana’s study, with the pile of books and papers spilling over his desk, constituted the inviolate men’s realm. Begum Mawdudi never acknowledged her husband’s associates or ventured into his study, Peggy boasted to her parents; she didn’t even know Mian Tufail Muhammad. Margaret did. She was proud of her space in the narrow corridor opposite the Mawlana’s library, intimating to Herbert and Myra that she was privy to the men’s world as well as that world of beautifully appointed teas and suckling babies. Herbert Marcus had always held that women in Muslim societies were treated no better than slaves, but here she was, their dear Peggy, not simply respected but lionized.
    Meanwhile, purdah meant that the Mawlana made phone calls on her behalf. Her watch, broken on the journey over, required repair. He or some underling filled her prescriptions for vitamins and acne cream. The American consulate needed a photograph of her face; she required a chaperone if she was to be unveiled in front of a strange man. On any particular day there might be a letter to her editor at the Voice of Islam to be posted or a thank-you note to Dr. Said Ramadan. Ramadan was the son-in-law of Hassan
al-Banna, living in exile in Switzerland to escape an Egyptian death sentence. She also corresponded with Sayyid Qutb’s sister Amina in Cairo and Muhammad al-Bahy, the director of cultural affairs at al-Azhar University, not to mention her parents, Betty, cousins, and aunts. Furthermore, upon the publication of “How I Became Interested in Islam,” magazine editors, newspaper interviewers, and prospective suitors deluged Mawlana Mawdudi with requests for interviews with Maryam Jameelah just as the prospects for the