Pakistani Muslims take their religion seriously. Relaxed about so much, self-critical to a fault, not above self-ridicule, they will take up the sword at the slightest hint of disrespect to the three tenets constituting the core of their faith: the oneness of God, the finality of the prophethood and the divinity of the Quran.

No matter what a Muslim's sect - Hanafi, Barelvi, Deobandi or Fiqh Jafaria - at the threshold of this trinity the doors of argument close. All disputes disappear.

Which makes the paradox all the more striking that while profoundly committed to their beliefs, the overwhelming majority of Pakistani Muslims are matter-of-fact sinners in their everyday lives.

The late Maulana Kausar Niazi - a religious scholar and orator who made a name for himself in politics and was sometimes maliciously called Maulana Whisky by his detractors - once told me that we were a nation of sinful (gunahgaar) Muslims, rigid in matters of faith but flexible about everyday conduct.

Shopkeepers and traders sell short and sell dear, as merchants elsewhere. Swindlers, charlatans and humbugs do what they have to. Bankers are bankers and captains of industry make money even if corners have to be cut. At the same time, there is no let-up in observing the rituals of the faith.

Hardened criminals fast in Ramazan. Tradesmen notorious for underhand dealings are generous in giving alms to the poor. And provided means are at hand, anyone worth his or her salt, rake or certified fraud, makes the pilgrimage to Makkah.

Of the 99 attributes of God, the one Muslims tend to lean the most is the quality of mercy. When like other mortals they sin, which is pretty often, they seek divine forgiveness, convinced that where repentance is sincere, forgiveness follows.

For centuries past this has been the character of the sub-continental Mussalman. It still is.

Exceptions will always be there but generally speaking, the Pakistani Muslim is not a fundamentalist as the term is generally understood in the West. The mosque is a place of worship for him. But he doesn't have much time for the maulvi who, whether in town or countryside, doesn't rank high on the social scale.

Just as there are Jewish firebrands in Israel, Hindu firebrands in India, born-again Christians in the United States, Pakistan too has more than its share of religious zealots with their own notions of a virtuous society.

What with the rise of the MMA, the religious coalition in power in the Frontier and sharing power in Balochistan, these elements may even look tall and strong at the moment. But their strength is largely derivative. By which I mean that had Gen Musharraf allowed the same playing field to the two mainstream parties, the PPP and the PML-N, the maulanas would not have done half so well in the 2002 elections.

In any event, religious parties represent one strand of thinking in Pakistani politics, not the views of the majority (for which Allah be praised). Nor, more importantly, do they even remotely come close to the ideas underlying the Muslim League struggle for Pakistan.

No accident here that the two leading components of the Mullah Alliance, the Jamaat-i-Islami and the Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam (in pre-partition days, Jamiat Ulema-i-Hind) were dead opposed to the demand for Pakistan.

But if this is the underlying reality, how come Pakistan and its people are stuck with such an unflattering image? Name Pakistan today and the image conjured up is of a chaotic country trapped in perpetual political disorder, a clearinghouse for terrorism, a land where religious firebrands shoot and kill in the name of Islam. Add nuclear proliferation to this picture and it becomes more frightening. How did we manage this iconic status in the pantheon of all that is scary?

The old Pakistan as it once existed, the pre-jihad Pakistan, was best symbolized by an architectural counterpoint. Lahore's famous Badshahi Mosque, its minarets jutting into the sky, and nestling in its shadow the equally famous singing and dancing quarter, the Shahi Mohallah or Heera Mandi (Diamond Bazaar).

Existing from Mughal times, no one felt offended by this juxtaposition. The mosque was for devotion and prayer, the bazaar for culture and entertainment.

Pakistan may have had its political troubles right from the start but otherwise - in social terms, that is - it was a pretty relaxed place until the end of Bhutto's days in power. Then with General Zia's coming, everything went wrong.

Partly, it was Bhutto's fault who, instead of strengthening democracy as his own self-interest dictated, created conditions for a right-wing backlash feeding on religious frenzy. Partly, it was military ambition rearing its head again.

Religious activists were in the forefront of the anti-Bhutto agitation in the summer of 1977. Their slogan was Nizam-i-Mustafa, or Islamic rule. General Zia played to this constituency when he seized power, saying his aim was to promote Islamization.

Pakistan's longest serving ruler, he stayed eleven and a half years at the helm, a period defined by the Afghan jihad, the spread of religious zealotry and the sharpening of sectarian tensions.

Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif should have reversed this trend. For whatever reason, they did not. The middle classes welcomed Gen Pervez Musharraf's seizure of power in Oct '99 thinking he would return Pakistan to its liberal foundations. Far from fulfilling that promise, for two years he remained committed to jihad and the rest of that jazz. Only under American pressure has he dismantled that legacy.

But if foreign policy is veering in the right direction, the domestic scene is stagnant, Musharraf still operating in a political vacuum. For after him, who or what? Shaped by expediency and resting on sand, his political structure is about as strong as Ayub Khan's which collapsed when Ayub fell.

To give Musharraf his due, he is possessed of a tolerant streak and has presided over a period of glasnost unprecedented in our history. Subjects seldom touched before, like the army's role in politics, are the staple of everyday discussion. But Pakistan is still no closer to a predictable and enduring political system, arguably its foremost need.

But if large issues elude us, why are we equally dumb with smaller ones? Just as the juxtaposition of the Badshahi Mosque and the Shahi Mohallah is a symbol of our Mughal past, the Hudood Ordinances are a symbol of the Zia era, a dark period in Pakistan's history. Of the many nuisances making life difficult in Pakistan, these ordinances (four in all) are amongst the most infernal. For they give Pakistani cops the licence to harass people on grounds of drinking and adultery. While stopping these two activities sounds fine in theory, we know what a racket this is in practice, open to blackmailing and extortion.

If an enduring political system is beyond our ingenuity, fine. But how about scrapping these ordinances? There were laws to check drinking before. We can revert to them again. Pakistanis of all hues will breathe more easily as a result. Pakistan will also become less foreigner-hostile than it now (and famously) is.

Thunder and lightning from the religious parties? Forget it. Our maulanas are proven paper tigers, unwilling to pick a fight with the military because they are in no mood to jeopardize their stake in power. If they know the military, the real in Pakistan, is serious on the Hadood front, they'll burn a few tyres - their standard response - before accepting the inevitable.

The problem, however, is not with the maulanas but our military masters who look towards the sky to discover new planets only when pushed by their American friends. The Americans are interested in Osama bin Laden, George Bush's ticket to re-election, not the Hudood Ordinances. Which means we are stuck with them. At least for the time being.