Fiction: An alleged suicide in Pakistan leads to deeper questions about the country’s blasphemy laws

I first met Hasan when I moved to a new school in grade five.

Abba had managed to get me admitted to an expensive school. I discovered, though, that it wasn’t half as good as it claimed to be. It was one of those pseudo-English medium schools that attracted parents with fancy labs, colourful Parents’ Days and festive events. One thing the school did was accentuate my inferiority complex. My dreams of our bungalow and a shiny car became more frequent.

Another annoying thing about the new school was the mandatory summer camp, which spoiled my holidays. Ammi said it was one more way of fleecing the parents and making them pay for something the children didn’t need. The school allowed us to wear informal clothes, rather than the school uniform, during the summer camp to make us think we were at a funfair. For boys like me, that was an additional worry because I didn’t have enough clothes to wear to school. Ammi said I could wear the school uniform, her one-dress-for-all-occasions solution. I had even gone to a wedding reception in my grey-and-white school dress. All I did there was hide from people’s mocking eyes.

“This boy always wears his school...

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