Daily Times

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Pakistan; Mayday. My position is 30° 00’ N and 70° 00’ E; I am on fire and sinking fast with 18 million people onboard; I require immediate assistance. Over.”

I am Pakistan: ‘Land of the pure’. My twin and I were born nearly 65 years ago; it was not an easy delivery. There was a lot of blood loss, millions died and millions others were displaced trying to bring us into this world. I still mourn their loss today, every pore of my being a living testament to their sacrifice. Others may have forgotten, but I am still haunted by their struggle and buried under the insurmountable burden of debt I owe to them.

Conscious of my duty to those who laid down their lives to bring me into this world, I opened up my chest to provide shelter to the remaining others; these others were not only Muslims, but also Hindus, Sikhs, Parsis, Christians and the like. My twin and I were separated from our mother, but ostensibly for good reason. It was perceived that since the Muslims were a minority, our mother would not be able to do them justice; we were forced to be given up by her so we may be able to fulfil the high notions of equity, fair play and justice. There was a lot on our plate but we were committed to achieve and deliver what then seemed our destiny. How could we even think otherwise?

They told us that we were to be a receptacle in which all could live and breathe as free men, where they could develop according to their own cultures, ‘where principles of Islamic social justice could find free play.’ We were told, “We are victims of evil customs. It is a crime against humanity that our women are shut within four walls of the houses as prisoners. There is no sanction anywhere for the deplorable condition in which our women have to live.” We were told that we had “to stand guard over the development and maintenance of democracy, social justice and the equality of manhood” in our own native soil. “With faith, discipline and selfless devotion to duty, there is nothing worthwhile” that we could not achieve. How could we refuse to open up our hearts then?

The grief over being taken from my mother was almost unbearable. It tore into my heart, my very being, but I took solace in the fact that I was not alone. There were millions of others who had embraced me; leaving behind parts of themselves, they had come, bleeding, to be with me. The faith they had in me was tremendous. How could I then grieve over my loss when clearly I had been blessed to have people who thought I was their future…so full of light?

However, man is a strange being. He gave me a motto: “Faith, Unity, Discipline.” But somewhere along the line, he himself forgot what it meant. He forgot and it cost me my twin. My twin was taken away because greed overcame man; he forgot what justice meant, what equality stood for; and he forgot unity. How could he forget the blood of all those martyrs, still there deep within my soil?

Then he gave me a book: the ‘Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan’. I was told that this book is a mandatory code that enshrines the rights and obligations given in the Holy Quran. Therefore, I read it. It is indeed a beautiful book. It says that all the people whom I opened my heart to are equal. They have equal rights, regardless of religion, sex or creed; they are equal before the law; they cannot be tortured; they cannot be detained or arrested unlawfully; they can practice their religion and trade freely; they will have education, freedom of speech and expression, the right to information and they will have the right to life, liberty and dignity. Loyalty to Allah and then to me was enshrined in this book I read. I was proud to see that those I had nurtured with my blood could think in this way, and they wanted me to be a secure haven for all. How could I not be proud?

But then, they desecrated. They tore down temples and burned churches. They declared others ‘infidels’; alas, they thought themselves worthy of an attribute only meant for God alone; they dared to judge what lies in the heart of another when their own was shrouded in a mantle of black. They make a mockery of what I stood for. I weep, how can I not?

They tortured. Every single day, they deprive others of life, liberty and dignity. They torture, they mutilate living beings; all the while, justice cries and equality shrieks. The only thing that guarantees equality now is money and power. Sad indeed is the day when justice forgets that all men are created equal and they are equal regardless of their station in life. How can I not be saddened when I see myself being humiliated and lacerated daily?

They burn me, bomb me and then have the audacity of calling me ‘barbaric’– all in the name of religion. They shoot my people by hundreds in my cities; life has no value for them. They let others come and bomb my people while they negotiate the price of human life. What a loss. They still bury women, beat them black and blue, trade them like cattle, use them like doormats and discard them like tattered clothing, and worst of all chop them into bits in the name of ‘honour’. Pray, I ask, what ‘honour’ is there in butchering human beings, a fate worse than that of an animal? It is they who commit these barbaric acts, yet I am the one who is dishonoured among my brethren nations.

I was a haven. I was fertile and rich with bounties of numerous kinds. I had water and I had food. I could have been one of the most admired nations yet they have brazenly resolved to condemn me to be one of the most abhorred. There is no faith, no unity and no discipline among those who I chose to enfold in my arms. Greed and corruption have rotted their hearts and brains. I think naming me ‘land of the pure’ was inviting divine wrath. How ostentatious and presumptuous of man to call himself ‘pure’?

What is so ‘pure’ about those who dwell within me now? The hypocrites, the usurpers, the barbarians and those with no sense of justice? Yes, I know there are plenty of pure and pious people still left who do not harm others, are not hypocrites, who serve humanity. But, alas, they are silent.

My people die of hunger, of lack of medication, from deprivation of their birthright. Those in power take my resources and bequeath them in charity to others whom they deny direct access. How dare they? They dare because others are silent and afraid. I have to tell them that I am theirs, they have to stop being afraid. I am here for them, that is the reason for my being. I have the power of the Book, they should too. It is time to honour all that blood seeped within me, I am in distress and calling them for immediate assistance: “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, I am Pakistan…”

The writer is an advocate of the high court