Dying is the most tragic reality of life. But meeting your Maker with an impregnable faith, amidst your family members in a caring environment, is probably far less painful. Unfortunately, in Pakistan, the luxury of peacefully slipping away is slowly being taken away from the minorities. They are increasingly getting crucified, burnt, bombed, beheaded or shot by target killers on a daily basis. Shockingly, the choice of their altar is also picked by the mob, which can vary from a mosque, temple, church, shrine, road, street, market or even the victim’s own house. Sometimes, the verdict of apostasy, heresy or blasphemy is delivered on them before the game of death begins. Yet at other times the real agenda is concealed and is known to the few criminals (clerics) whose financial interests are endangered by a single, helpless man. Above all, even after public lynching, their privilege to be buried in compliance with their religious code is revoked and their prerogative to observe a proper funeral is withdrawn; this is a fact about which most of us are criminally quiet. While these acts of violence are deplorable and strict action should be taken, nevertheless they only represent the tip of the iceberg, and are certainly not the only crimes against minorities. There are numerous other ways to abuse minorities in which the physical harm is avoided but their souls are wickedly attacked. One of them is to coerce them to convert to Islam and lure them with money, jobs or financial security to accept someone else’s faith. Miraj Masih was fortunate in that regard; he was never physically abused, tortured or killed by a mob. He was a devout Christian, successful in preserving his faith till he met his Lord. At age 62, he was suffering from multiple lung problems — tuberculosis, pulmonary fibrosis and obstructive lung disease — when he died of Bacterial Pneumonia. He was an ordinary man, a painter by profession — short, skinny, wheatish and unnoticeable. At the workplace, he was either found smoking his Hi-Lites, enjoying his long and deep puffs, sipping an extremely dark and annoyingly sweet cup of tea or quietly preparing the walls to be painted. I don’t recall when I saw him for the first time. He was one of the many workers that my uncle had brought home during a renovation project. Because of his courteous and polite attitude, my mom grew especially fond of him. He was always ready to help her in the kitchen and took interest in cooking, which made him gain some extra points. Moreover, he would not mind taking care of the children; he treated us gently and affectionately including me, the ‘trouble maker’. Because he would lend a helping hand to everyone in the household, he would sometimes stay late before he left for home. Since then my parents were not very religious themselves, they never inquired about his faith and he just accompanied us everywhere, no questions asked. Those were the good old tolerant days, which are long gone now, when most of us were practising and proud Muslims, not very keen to get involved in other people’s faith. We liked to mind our business and tried to respect others. This was true of our relationship with him too and continued even when our home project was completed. By that time, my mom had discovered that his talents as a handy man were better than his painting skill. “Miraj, one of the electrical socket is not working, can you take a look?” she would ask him as soon as he came to our house and finished his first cup of tea. “Don’t worry Baji (as he would refer to my mother as his older sister), it is taken care of.” He would respond and then fix it well. At other times, my dad would intervene and say the sink was not draining properly. His response was again the same, “Consider it taken care of Bhai Sahib (older brother).” With time, as our faith grew stronger under the influence of the religious and political narrative of the state, we also realised that his sincerity, hard work and honesty were not enough for us. He had to be a Muslim and we needed to ‘save’ him from hellfire in the afterlife. Therefore, a small secret meeting was held overnight where the details of the following day’s discussion with Miraj were finalised. The amount of the ‘gift prize’ was settled: a new job, relocation allowance and a new motorcycle were also arranged for him. On that morning, someone talked to him at length and explained to him the benefits of being an ‘honourable man’. After a three-hour long sermon, Miraj just said, “I will talk to my family,” and left in shock to go home. He refused to take any ‘gift’ with him. For one month, Miraj did not visit us again. We were all concerned that we had completely missed the opportunity to secure his future. But he did. He came back as if the discussion about his faith had never taken place. He never mentioned the prospects of the new job, bonus money or relocation, nor did he show any interest in buying a motorcycle and just kept his old schedule: help my mother. To some extent, we understood his point, yet some of us continued to ask him for years if his family had decided to leave ‘idolatry’ behind. In response, he would just smile. He never lost his position in our house and later on even introduced his son to us too when he got sick. Till the time he took his last breath, Miraj did not compromise on his faith. He was a man of great integrity. May God rest his soul in peace. Amen. The writer is a US-based freelance columnist. He tweets at @KamraanHashmi and can be reached at kamranhashmi@gmail.com