In my late teens the politics of Pakistan witnessed a whale of afflictions. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, the elected prime minister of the country, faced gallows. Public flogging of political workers was a common day highlight. Shahi Qila was the favorite hovel of the sadist potentates to dump political workers there later to forget about them. The lucky had a chance to walk out of dungeons but the unfortunate are still in the line-up of the missing persons. Meeting halfwits political workers, who had been incarcerated in Shahi Qila and lost their composure, was a daily feature on the streets of Pakistan. I remember meeting one of them who thumbed my heart with his feeble hands saying, “Apnay nal sucha rahin” (be honest to yourself).
I remained a bystander and couldn’t be honest to myself albeit my close friends were whipped, detained, humiliated and some of them died young of atrocities they couldn’t bear. I lacked fortitude of my friends, who were the torch bearers in those dim days. The political workers had a bravado on the alien boulevards since people started going into their shells. It was the start of the process of depoliticizing people who are fully grown now to champion the ‘political change’.
Once, the entourage of Governor Jilani, one of the cruel faces of those dark ages, was pelted by the medical students of Bahawalpur. In the wake of those gallant demonstrations students were hounded by the police and other law enforcing agencies. I contacted some and provided them a sanctuary. That was my only contribution I could look up to in the draconian rule of Zia ul Haq.
Then, along came the staunch believers. Zia ul Haq sought their support to legitimize his otherwise unlawful rule. Since the inception of Pakistan, the hard liners always endorsed dictators and in lieu of their support they were propped uppolitically and economically. The Afghan Jihad flared the zeal of believers. Those were the days of Haq Nawaz Jhangvi, Riaz Basra and Siph e Muhammad. The youth was the fall guy and I saw many of my near ones thronged to their fiery speeches to wage jihad on the streets of Pakistan.
If I were not the lover ofan imaginative world of English Literature in my formative years, I could have been a member of the fiery band myself. That’s how Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran fame, survived the onslaught of believers by interlinking fiction and reality during her stay at Tehran. Azar has a great story to tell in her memoir. Literature also helped me to survive the assault of jihadis.
The onslaught didn’t end with the crash as Bahawalpur, my city, had the moments to witness the flames coming out of the wreck of the plane. It gained momentum rather.
If you are surprised to see young people gnashing of teeth on the streets when chanting slogans of the adherents with ‘full throated ease’ you are tricking yourself
I escaped but how to help my kids to be safe from the fire that ensnared my country. That was an ordeal. I made my four sons my chum. At times, my sons wonder that I got frank with them even in their early childhood. I would read out bedtime stories to them. My strategy was to hone up their imagination. We would sit under the starry sky sharing with them my little knowledge of astronomy. Consequently, one of my four sons opted astrophysics and astronomy who is now in his last semester of BS at Minnesota State University.
That was an uphill task. Me and my spouse were on our toes to see whether they were not impacted by the searing band outside. For, the school, semi-literate teachers and the syllabus that was taught in school was the incredible catch for the kids to have an impact of slogans of jihad. Albeit of entirety of our efforts our eldest son succumbed to them. It is a long story to tell how we two rehabilitated him. And we succeeded. We encouraged them to opt sports as well. They got interested, to our luck, in tennis and squash. Plainly, we had very demanding days to rear our kids sans the flames of adherents.
Unfortunately, many parents couldn’t maintain the strategic distance from the flames lashing on their threshold. You meet many of unfortunate parents who couldn’t assist their kids to avoid the invasion.
The state was in accomplice to promote the jargon of jihad. Some wanted their legitimacy and some had delusions. General Hameed Gull wanted to be Muhammad Bin Qsim reincarnate. The syndrome of reincarnation is not waned still. It still has the buyers. Moreover, selling or promoting code of disciples brings gems in your coffers and your posterity can end up moneyed. You find, one of them, on your TV screens these days with the hallo of wealth; earned via sugar mills giving sermons to ameliorate the poor of this country and the rumours are that he may be our next finance minister.
My story is the account of a fellow who belongs to lower middle class and could earn a few coppers to sustain on but think of the majority who is down and out. If you are surprised to see young people gnashing of teeth on the streets when chanting slogans of the adherents with ‘full throated ease’ you are tricking yourself. I also came across, in my adolescent days, the staunch disciples of the past who were drug peddlers. So, the snare is all around. This was to occur and will continue happening when your ruling elite is avaricious and desperately need to see you the catch of the fiery band to have their legitimacy unblemished and to have the luxuriant parlors to spend their leisure hours in the company of inamoratas.
The writer is Professor at English Language Center, Taif University, KSA