The sun, being the conqueror of the sky with all the beauty under
its feet, isn’t spreading its full light today. It stands barren today. The sea
has lost the words to claim its superiority; the waves are just strengthening
forward but in seconds lose its earthly power. As if a ‘war’ has been declared.
The shore is thirsty for the drops of water. The birds are waiting at the shore
to get soaked in water and relive their lives. Their wings don’t seem to
spread; if they do, they could haunt the enemy in the middle of the sea,
liquefying it with blood. But does the sea cry over this monstrous
incident? Even when there is no one to cheer for its beauty, it cheers when
it stands in the middle of an uncertain reaction of the sand and coal.
There is a shrill sound of wood; someone has pushed it to let the smoke
of unusual thoughts out. I am usually mesmerized by the beauty of this world;
it feels as if the beauty has something to say. It wants to come out but fails
to get the attention. I stand on my feet, there is no strength but I have to,
it’s time to adventure fresh blood. The calf muscles somehow contracted but I
stood up on the ground, when I walked, my feet felt the coldness of the floor.
Even the tiles had a better sleep last night. ‘It’s the devil whose eyes never
spread the freshness’. As I walked pass the mirror in my room, I felt as if
someone was behind me, but I kept walking and left the room with the door open
so that all my angels can go somewhere else. It won’t work here. My friends are
cheering upstairs; they need food, as I have taught them every utterance. Their
sounds early in the morning may make them villains in the ears of others but
they are my heroes. People may have weird alarm tones but mine is always the
whistle of my parrots, the cooing of my pigeons. Feeding my birds is my first
task. I am not a good cook but I know how to provide vitamins to every
creature. My pigeons can sense their freedom when they hear the floor beating
up heavily, and when the fingers unlock the gaol, the birds are free. The
pigeons are out; they sit on my shoulders and then are spread in every nook and
corner. I have four of them and I have especial names for them. The number sort
of reflects my inner world. When they walk it appears as if they are chanting
the freedom song, their melody might be noise for someone but for me it is a
language of peace. You never want to be out of that scene but you have to, it’s
like a soldier being transferred to various deserts no matter how much he loves
that particular atmosphere. I haven’t washed my eyes yet they see all the
beauty which enters through my window. And then this freedom march of my army.
I rushed downstairs, someone has called me. In between I have splashed water on
my face and every drop made me feel as if my face was burning. I felt
like “Meri Aawaz Main Awaz Kiss Ki Bolti Hai, Mere Geeton ko Geeton Ka
Kinara Kaun De Ga” And then I decided to meet my companions with a pen
and paper. The burning effect made me realize how a woman feels when some monster
throws acid on their beauty.
The two-star man gets ready for his daily haunt. A jeep outside the house
is waiting for him but Zunaira needs to get ready as well since Daddy never
leaves without his Princes. I never get the chance to say goodbye to Dad as I
was a humpty Dumpty child for whom the walls of school weren't open yet, so I
was jealous of Zunaira, but she always kisses my face before leaving for
school. Although I was awake, I compellingly kept my eyes closed when I sense
her coming and after sharing the sweetness, she would say "ati you are
good actor". And when she walks towards the door, I stand up on the bed
like 'Mandela' and claim my medal that "Mother loves me more than Dad
loves his star". Just then mother appears, her smile is that effective
weapon which even 'Pope would claim that every spirit should protect'. The smile had already injured a soldier on
their first meeting: Dad and Mom are two people, one soul now. She tries to get
her Humpty dumpty off the bed, but I always enjoy getting extra love so I
disturb her by not getting up, moving on the whole bed, hiding myself under the
blanket. And when the blanket is forcefully taken off, I act like a "lost
soldier". Then I get that extra love: mother hugs me, combs my hair and
selects the best clothes for the day. Mother taught me 'one should always be
ready for the occasion'. Her next task is to get her son some health with
breakfast, after that she leaves me with the colors. I always paint my
thoughts, although the drawings are not perfect, 'I am just five', how can they
be but Zunaira always appreciated them.
In 1999 Pakistan’s great thinkers revolted, groups were created, the
Corps Commander meeting resulted in outburst of ‘saving the youngest
prisoner’. Pakistani Nation witnessed the power shift from moneymakers and
feudal lords to the ‘sons of Ayub, Yahya and Zia’, with a promise that within
few days the nation would be a heaven. It was just as ‘Yazid had justified his
brutal murder of Hazrat Imam Hussain’.
It was raining and when it rains the whole Punjab is drenched like ‘a
weak vessel’. I always love the rain. It is a bright Sunday, so today I have my
partner Zunaira as well. I remember the cheerful voice of Zunaira when she
sings. We heard the voice of an engine going to rest and sensed that Dad has
arrived. We rushed towards the tubs but I slipped twice because of my humpty
dumpty shape. With the marks of crime left on my knees, I bring guilt to
Zunaira’s face when Dad scorns her. ‘Never leave any traces of redness on your
body when you cross the borders’.
Dad looks a bit tensed as he announces that we have to pack our bags as
the soil calls for its commander. Mom quickly packs our entire luggage, I felt
bad for Zunaira who couldn’t start her college here. But feel happier that
since it would be another world, Zunaira won’t start up all at once; she would
spend more time with us. Thus, I would learn new tricks to defeat her and be
the real revolutionary.
‘Great people to fly with’ is our new transport and we left our ‘Chaudry House’
for a new heaven. I couldn’t correctly utter when Dad announced that our new
spot is Afghanistan so I always utter it by using long syllables.
Civil war has been erupted in Afghanistan since 1996; it is the conflict
between two parties: the United Front and the Post Moderated Mullahs. The
weapons captured the beautiful city of Kabul and installed their religious democracy with a supreme commander. The city within
days came under brutal abuse of power and personal courts were installed. It
resulted in amputations against people, within seconds people were brutally
beaten-up. The freedom was being snatched and everything was ordered to be
under veil. ‘Force can’t be stationed without the strength in the muscles and
the strength was being fueled by the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, Iran and
Saudi Arabia.
The two-star man, this time in his Khaki Shalwar Kameez, along with his
family lands at the International Airport Kabul, where four people await their arrival.
From the airport we have been taken to the luxurious Marriot hotel. Within
days, a new home welcomes us. Dad has left his uniform and the stars in
‘Chaudry House’ and now he wears three-piece suits. I have noticed a change in
the two-star man, now his fingers always hold a cigar and since he was not use
to of smoking, he usually falls ill early. I had never seen him smoking on our
soil, maybe he is assigned to a new task in which smoking is mandatory. ‘The
soldiers always follow their master’s word’. I and Zunaira made new friends
within days but the dialects differ. Only then I came to know that there are
millions of dialects in the world. It’s not always English.
In an unusual Corps Commander Meeting in October 1998, the head of the
army decided to provide financial and military support to the religious
democracy in Afghanistan, Rana was upheld with the task along with Butt, Gul
and Tarar. To strengthen the shoulders of Talibans, they sent over 28, 000
khaki soldiers to Afghanistan with Tarar as the master of their destinies. The
soldiers were unaware of where they were heading to. It was a secret plan even
the civilian government was unaware of it. The khaki people were stationed in
different areas of Afghanistan, some even in madarsas so that United Front’s men
do not recognize them. The force was sent to weaken United Front’s arms. But it
all ended in ‘Kalashnikov culture’ in Pakistan. It appeared to be a great plan
of the foreign powers ‘divide and rule’ as the Afghans were undefeatable, thus
it became an essential part of the great plan to start a civil war in
Afghanistan so that ‘the blood does not find its traces in foreign hands but in
natives’ thirst’.
It is a bright sunny Sunday, the weather in ‘Chaudry house’ and Kabul is
totally different, here the air seemed to be entrapped in a cage so when it
bursts, it blows up with the soil, asking the soil to stand up for its freedom
and show the real power. That day unexpected guests ring our doorbell; I stand
up to open the door. By their physical appearance I could only guess they were
‘white people’, unaware of the terms like French, Russian or Americans. ‘It was
generally thought after the post war 1857 period that a house was named traitor
when it had white guests’. They inquire about the two-star man and
gifted me with chocolates; sometimes I get so happy with a mere thing that I
just sleep with it. Later that day, on waking up, I find my gifts are missing.
I show my dissatisfaction but mother and Zunaira come forward and say “Papa
won’t like that”. ‘It’s always better to play with your own toys’. While
I am playing with the fax machine, suddenly Dad comes in to check on a fax; it
was from Corps Commander Karachi. Soon afterwards I hear Dad getting angry with
someone on the phone call. I have never seen Dad like that. I inquire about it
from Mother and Zunaira but none seems to answer. That night we have been
invited by the US embassy. I have to dress like Papa today, three-piece suit
with a tie. And I don’t like the tie because I do not know how to wear it.
Mother knot the tie to the collar, it feels like my neck has been locked up,
the oxygen not passing through and I would die within seconds but just then
Zunaira comes and loosen up the tie a bit so that my neck feels the freedom to
move and I could breathe properly. That night I dance with a white woman,
though she was an ‘Eiffel tower’ figure to me but I manage to jump on the table
and stand there to dance. Several men have encircled Papa and they are
basically talking about the political situation in Afghanistan.
A car stopped by our home, the situation of Afghanistan has gone worst
and there was blood and blood in every lane. The phone rings, Papa was out; the
two-star man has a meeting with a civilian member of the government today. On
the phone is Governor of Sindh, an ex-cop who is a close friend of Dad, first
Zunaira talked and then Mother. When Papa returns, he quarrels with mother, the
real plan was out now. This is not our land or any battlefield. ‘A soldier
should be sent to a battlefield where he shows his real strength not to a
barren place where he has no gain but blood’.
In the 1998 Corps Meeting, it was decided that along with Rana, a khaki
soldier should be sent as well whose identity won’t be revealed and the best
way to do it was to send the soldier with his family. ‘A soldier fights the
enemy not his family’. That two-star man had been chosen for this act along
with a female social worker, fifteen year old girl and a six year old boy. The
best way to fit in a strange place was to enroll
a new identity to these people and the cigar phenomena was evolved. The mission
was to negotiate with the Afghan people, religious democrats and United Front
bodies. Financial Aid and their plans was the key of this non-state actor.
February 1999, the Taliban and United Front’s forces clashes spread in
every nook and corner. Masood’s people came to
know of the shoulders of religious democracy. Masood went to US embassy and
revealed the plan, the Americans found it the right time to spark the fire for
the civil war and start the thirst for one’s blood. In that meeting Masood
called the Prime minister’s house in Islamabad which was unaware of the plan. Foreign Minister was
sent to negotiate with United Front’s leader and Supreme Commander. Meanwhile the
Corps Commander Karachi and the Governor became active for a safe exist of the
two-star man because now his identity had been leaked out, that he was
patrolling the religious democracy. But whether he was or not remains a
question in the files of GHQ.
Several shots of fire are heard and Dad has been outside after the quarrel with
mother, within seconds all rush towards the main entrance, meanwhile I contact
the Pakistan Embassy, but the Afghan national anthem has already burst
out This land will shine forever, like the sun in the blue sky, in the
chest of Asia ‘but today traces of blood have been spread on the sky,
there is a body lying on the globe of Asia’. Zunaira cries out loud that evils
have killed our father. But before I can even drop the phone, they pick mother
and sister as well with them. And I only saw those culprits’ half-covered faces
with a handkerchief (rumal) and their eyes filled with hatred.
The tears do not seem to come out at once; a burning process starts as if
a coal is burning in my chest and sparks a fire in the whole body. I stop
writing and try to have some food, the kitchen welcomes me and I eat what my neighbors
have offered me. One day a girl asked me,
‘Do you eat Chinese?’
‘No.’
She was shocked to hear my answer that I have never tasted it, may be my
neighbors are from Iran who can’t cook it. My next task is to read something,
this time it is Faiz who won my pleasure. He entertains me with utmost
enjoyment. It is night now, I have to sleep but my eyes do not seem to close, I
keep looking through my window and think ‘does the water ever sleeps? It keeps
roaring all the night although how alone it is.’ They say that the devils never
sleep but it’s the angels whose eyes don’t close.
A newspaper headline stated on 19th February, 1999 that
“The two women which were kidnapped were brutally killed. Pakistani Embassy
receives their bodies’. Foreign Minister in Pakistan issued a press release
that the three bodies recently found in Afghanistan belong to Pakistan. A
detailed story was published in the leading newspapers of Afghanistan
that ‘Supreme Commander’s right hand killed by United Front’s men’. The
International media reported that in February 1999, ISI’s boy made a secret save passage for the Al-Qaeda leader. While
the corners of GHQ were worried about the lost genetic print of the two-star
soldier: ‘the humpty dumpty boy’ who was missing.
Within thirty minutes, the Afghan police arrive, handicap the humpty
dumpty boy and take the body of the two-star man in an ambulance. I am in great
shock, meanwhile the local police inquires about me. I know nothing of what is
my identity; I only utter the word Pakistan. And they label my father a spy.
Only years later I come to know what actually spy means, initially I believed
it was a term used for the two-star ranks in army. ‘In an age where children
are given books and toys, I was locked up in gaol’ being the youngest prisoner. Only later on Mullah’s words his Jihadi
soldier made my secret release: I was
transported to Daruntal then to Jalalabad and later crossing the Torkham border
reached Khyber Agency, to my soil Pakistan with H. Mehsood. ‘In an age when
children should go to school, I was crossing borders’. Here I am
informed that my mother and Zunaira were also killed. And when I reach the ‘Chaudry
House’, I see three bodies awaiting me. Usmani hugs me and takes me to the
ground where Guard of Honor is being presented to the two-star man. Several
soldiers standing in a row fire black cartridges thrice in the air; Pakistani
flag is wrapped over the coffin. And everyone salutes the dead man. Within
seconds I bury three bodies with my little hands. ‘In an age where children
hold the fingers of their father and mother, I was burying them’.
Corps Commander Karachi in a meeting revealed that my father was assigned
to a special mission: to assist and lead the troops sent in Afghanistan. Shah’s
men came to know of it and in order to take revenge; they killed my father,
mother and Zunaira. Foreign Minister was informed by the US Embassy but he
didn’t take any safety measures. In a secret meeting, years later, Usmani told
me the army was equally aware that their plan had leaked out but in order to
put it behind the bars, they couldn’t just help at the right moment. But he
mentioned the murder of these three people was put up as the first charge, in
favor of imposing martial law, in the charge sheet against the Democratic
Government. ‘It’s difficult to save a soldier but it’s easy to use his name for
personal gains, for power’. He mentioned ‘the humpty dumpty boy’s identity’
will always be secret as the GHQ record states that the boy died in goal. It
was Usmani and a few others who managed to save the boy.
The Taliban Government ended in 2001 and the two-star man was awarded ‘Hilal-e-Imtiaz’.
But my eyes just do not close. ‘Iqbal’ comes in my mind when I remember my Dad,
the two-star man “he watered the dry garden of freedom with the surging
wave of his blood”. Zunaira’s voice calls upon me, I remember seeing
her body, her bones broken. And how can I forget my mother who could have made
me a Chinese dish today. At five, the eyes finally seemed to close. ‘Soldiers
should be stationed at borders, battlefields; they are not non-state actors’.
And when the army uses their soldiers as non-state actors, they lose wars. When
they put their fingers in other’s soil, their soil is penetrated by the prints
of Punjabi Taliban. ‘A house is nothing without its superior warrior’. Today I
can feed my heroes, my birds but I can never feed them like a mother because
the love has not been there for years now. But I have new family members which
I meet every day in the words of Faiz:
Wo dar khula mere gamkade ka,
Wo aa gaye mery milne waale,
Wo aa gai sham apni rahon me farsh-e-afsurdgi
bichhane,
Wo aa gayi raat chaand taaron ko apni azurdgi
sunane,
Wo subah aayi damakte nashtar se yaad ke zakhm
ko manane,
Wo dopahar aayi aasteen me, chhupae sholon ke taaziyane
Ye aaye sab mere milne wale,
Ke jin se din raat wasta hai,
Tou kon kab aya kab gaya hai?
Nigha-o-dil ko khabar kahan hai
Khayal soo-e-watan rawaan hai
Samandaro ki ayyal thame...
Hazar wehm-o-gumaan sambhale
Kai tarah ke sawaal thhaamey-Mere milnay walay
The sun has risen and I have a very important meeting today, 'they say
those who do not sleep at night serve the mankind better'. I should rather take
this tag then. I have worn my dress for the occasion, this time the tie is not
stopping my breath. And I am ready to go in the battlefield, to defeat the
devil.
