No friends! I will not be able to write; words seem
empty, and sentences trivial, the pen is stuttering,
the mind is paralyzed, I feel desolate, wrapped in depression
and pessimism. Besides I am an “‘Ajmi”,
uncoached in the play of words. Neither can I write
an elegy nor a eulogy; had I been the uncrowned king
of lamentations I would not have been able to give this
tragedy its due. But how long can a lamentation be?
Here, it’s a new tragedy everyday, a new mishap,
the writhing bodies of the innocent, the blasted breasts
of patriots and hailers of Faith. Is it really true
that no one has the right to walk our land with their
heads up?
But these little angels had not challenged anyone! What
they went through in light of day and darkness of night,
under the very noses of minders and protectors, would
not have befallen even a wild animal at the hands of
a wild beast. Have we really descended so low into the
hole of darkness where humanity struggles for breath
and moral values die out? You must be thinking I’m
putting riddles to you or trying to lay a puzzle to
you……but no friends! This is neither a riddle
nor a puzzle. This is a living tragedy that took place
in Mayman Goth, a suburb of the “City of Light”,
Karachi. It captured the banners of the press for some
days and then became old news; but is it really old
news? Just ask the mother who saw the body of her little
darling, torn and chewed up by wild beasts; just ask
the father who lifted the bits of what was left of his
daughters in his arms!
I have the newspaper. I lift it and put it down; I start
reading, then cannot go further. In my mind I reach
Mayman Goth, where there lived two little girls, one
eight year old and the other just five…………the
age for building sandcastles, the time for playing.
Faces like shining stars, but poverty a family member………a
hard working father, hungry, needing wood for fire,
the traditional eastern love coming to the fore, the
wish to help the parents by collecting firewood, the
journey to the woods to collect sticks……the
sense of safety the nearby police station gave, the
confrontation with the two legged wolves, the assailing
lust, the hungry eyes, the satanic faces, the vulnerability
and helplessness of the little angels, the cries, the
little hands begging for mercy, the rolling tears, the
devilish shouts of laughter, the monstrous brutality,
the clothes in tatters, the bodies in blood, two corpses
like broken toys…………lifeless
eyes, the tears dried on cold cheeks…………the
crowding of wild beasts after human ones, dogs, cats,
jackals, wolves…………the tatters
of humanity, the shavings of law, the shreds of morality.
The heart-rending cries of the parents, the pledges
of the politicians, an action replay of the 56 year
old pastime of throwing mud on one another……
hypocrisy, callousness, accusations of incompetence,
the generosity of the city’s governor, the price
for the dead, a cheap bargain for humanity, the establishment
of a committee, the promise of investigation, the announcements
of hanging, the dreadful talk of making an example,
the arrests, suspensions and dismissals!
But friends! Nothing will happen. The sands of time
have covered innumerable guiltless bodies, countless
protest marches and cries have bounced off the citadel
walls. The sky did not fall in, the earth did not shatter,
the current of time kept passing; the wrangling for
ministries, and the power struggle never stopped, commissions
and committees kept on being prepared, meetings kept
on being held, declarations kept on being made, avowals
kept on being taken to deal with iron fists.
But ………these fists whenever lifted,
they lifted on friends, on patriots of nation and country.
These days of course, these iron fists are very busy.
Their increased responsibilities hardly leaves them
time for such “small” matters. The Pathans
of the tribal areas have become too headstrong. They
just refuse to bend to anyone but Allah, they will befriend
anyone who proclaims the Kalimah, be he Arab or Ajam,
Tajik or Uzbek. They even marry into them, establish
brotherhood; they don’t give a damn for national
“interests” and “constraints”.
They just don’t understand that this brotherhood
was for a specified moment, this assistance was tied
to the fancy of the bully of our times, and he does
not fancy now. But these crazy people, they prefer Allah’s
fancy to anyone else’s; they will have to learn
their lesson, so this iron fist is being used. Suspicious
public transport is under fire, blood is flowing, bodies
are falling, payments are being made, commissions are
sitting, investigations being done. These investigations
made their debut with the founding of Pakistan………but
neither are the results announced nor the characters
get their due. These results are too sensitive, the
characters too powerful; their safety takes precedence
over everything. Honor, respect, blood, lives; all can
be sacrificed for them. Bringing the results to light
can change the whole scene: there can be big scandals,
government overthrows, political shops shuttered down,
the sentiments of the people escalated to hysteria,
the weak come to power, storms raged in the halls of
authority, whirlpools kicked up in stagnant waters……so
naturally, its better not to reveal the results to the
public.
These lines were being written when 48 more fell in
Quetta. Hundreds are injured; the hospitals are choked
with awry groaning bodies. Protestations have been made,
commissions been set up, investigations started………the
iron fist is operating. Declarations have been made
to mete out severe punishment to those responsible for
the tragedy……but just in the papers.
Sassi and Hajra, the unfurled buds of Mayman Goth! We
are distressed at your parting. Your sighs and cries,
your imploring entreaties storm our feelings. If you
had been born in a responsive society, if you had been
thus thrown under a mountain of torment in a law abiding
country: many heads would have rolled, many ministries
would have come under attack……but! In my
dear country volcanoes might erupt and business calmly
goes on undisturbed, shouts of laughter can be heard
in company with cries of lament. It is just not done
here to dismiss the answerable on the biggest of tragedies.
My blossom-like daughters! The regret is that we can
do nothing other than raise this voice of protest although
we know that it will be nothing more than a cry in the
wilderness……another cry among the millions
of others…well, let it be……perhaps
this might prove to be the reason for our absolution.
Tomorrow when the cries will be gathered from the wilderness
of cries, we will be lucky to have our voice among those
that rose for the defense of innocent, defenseless daughters.
|
