My Review on Shazaf Fatima's Novel "How it Happened"

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Karachi exhaling the new, inhaling the old

The sun is spreading its light and the birds announcing the message of God that O! Lovely creatures open your eyes and get enrich with the beauty of the sea, the atmosphere, the shrillness the birds are facing they want everyone to feel it. The sounds of shore slowly marching ahead and spreading over the soil is bringing a pleasant smell to one’s senses. The light of God has spread more and the sky has fully turned on and darkness gone. With unusual amounts of guests, walking over the shore, some feeling the water and other’s chanting sounds that seems to come from the depth of their vocal cord. Announcing that today is Sunday and they want to spend most of their time at sea. These chanting slogans and excitement makes the neighbors near the Sea view get onto their feet as soon as possible. As if we are guests to all these people and we are welcoming a worst day. People from far off places came to visit Sea-view and Sunday is the best time for it. There is a fact that those who come from rural areas to Karachi if they haven’t visited Sea-view than their journey is incomplete. Young guns go crazy on their bikes and their silencers make the worst sound they imagine themselves to be doing a Hollywood action film scene.

Families, couples, young guns and sometimes disabled children came to enjoy and feel the atmosphere which indeed is very different and if you have been there you can smell it right now. The sea is calm; the smell acts as a magnet and the joy is never ending. The neighbors due to unusual guests all the time are sometimes fed up of so much joy. And they wish the Government should banned picnics on Sunday.

We had two guests my cousins at our home that have come from Larkana. After they got free from their busy schedule we finally planned to go to Clifton and Sea-View as it is the famous spot for visitors. So finally the day came and on Sunday after eating lunch we left our home for Clifton. I was accompanied by my sister and two guests.

It was 31^st of July on the eve of Eid when we switched on our televisions and we heard that many people have drowned in the sea. It appeared as a common story because once in a week or on weekends many young souls lose grip over their legs and go deep into the water and are drowned. The life guards can’t stop them they seem to be dysfunctional and they can only help people to survive by putting their lives in the sea.  Initial reports informed that three young souls and a 12 year old girl have been drowned near famous picnic spot “Do Darya”. But after people arose their voices that more people are missing, government washed their eyes and awakened from a long sleep, the rescue teams expanded their search activities and rescued more bodies whose breath was no more and subsequently the amount kept on increasing as administration failed and Navy with their helicopters came into the battlefield rescuing innocent soldiers and at the end it was reported that more than 40 people lose their souls in water. 

The car starts, put into gear and moves slowly and starts to march towards the destination. In the middle of the journey, our guests were enlightened by our tales about the earlier tours with our other cousins. Meanwhile my cousin asked me that can I take them to Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine. So we decided to pray at the shrine. My last visit was before 2007.

Karachi besides its ethnic and Political activities is also famous for its largest Sufi shrine, located near sandy shores of the city; Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine has its own symbolic presence. The Shrine attracts the beauty of the city because the admirers believed that the reason cyclones usually miss hitting Karachi is squarely due to the mystical power and presence of Shah Ghazi’s spirit that resides within the shrine. Of course many people also laugh off such beliefs but even to this day there are number of people who believe the shrine is encompassed with supernatural powers that Fautus failed to earn. But still the shrine enjoys devotional power and which is only fulfilled when devotees pray on the shrine and their souls are gifted with supreme peace. The shrine is dated back to 1400 years ago but the first picture which appeared in newspapers was taken around 1950’S in which the shrine was just a tiny, shaky hut on top of a sandy hill in Clifton area. During the 1960’s a whole culture of festivities including Qawalli and dhammal became regular practice at Urs, along with this small shops began emerging around the shrine. And in 2007 the shrine appeared more beautiful when extensive repair, cleaning up and renovation job on the shrine was done. But the militant extremists have gone so deep in their hatred against the state that this shrine which is land of peace and symbol of hope for many devotees was bombed on Oct 7^th 2010. The blast went off at the entrance as people were queuing up to enter the shrine. Many innocent devotees and believers were butchered to death. Media reports that more than eight were killed and over sixty were injured. As a reaction a strike was called on the other day as it is a common practice. The shrine survived the carnage and kept on attracting many homeless and downtrodden believers.

We finally reach Clifton Road but when our feet touch the soil, we saw dug-up roads, mounds of earth, choked thoroughfares and alleyways, all were presenting an image of Moen-Jo Daro. It was all due to construction work on a flyover and two underpasses on the site. The area appears to be barren especially the recently renovated Bagh Ibane Qasim and lots of other historic places such as Jehangir Kothari Parade and ancient underground Shree Ratneshwar Madadev Temple.

The temple’s existence is of historic importance. The stairs of the temple lead to as many as six levels, situated in the opposite direction under the parking area many believe it is under Bagh Ibne Qasim. The tunnel which lie in the fifth and sixth basement levels leads to Mohatta Palace, fourth level is courtyard on the terrace there is a cement pigeon house with clean water, situated so near to the sea a sweet water springs at its lowest ebb is another nature’s miracle. Just as the followers of Ghazi believes that the shrine holds the sea back from flooding the sea. The Hindus believe that Lord Shiva third eye watches over the sea and keep it in check. But many of the rocks in the cave have developed fresh cracks due to the digging and heavy construction work outside. But the Hindus haven’t appealed against this development; they are indeed trying to reduce violence between Hindus and Muslims.

We cross this ancient ruin for a good cause left by the mastermind owner of Bahria Town and reach our destination i.e. the shrine of Abdullah Shah Ghazi. But the shrine which is famous for its spiritual power was under high security zone now and in order to reach the stairs which were zig zag in the earlier days when I have visited the place. We have to cross high small security street and twice we were checked. And finally we reached the stairs and went to pray at the shrine. There were a lot of devotees praying, reciting in loud voices; some were snapping pictures, others crying with their heads bowed and in a line we have to stand to pray at the shrine. Finally after a long lane our turn came but 15 seconds was the time, there were some “protectors or soldiers of the shrine may be” who don’t let you stand for more than 15 seconds and ‘move ahead move ahead’ were the instructions. So in 15 Seconds we came out. I hardly know what my cousins prayed at the shrine in such a valuable time.But it was a technique to let everyone pray as there are enormous amount of devotees. Now we live in an age of terrorism where not even mosques, religious saints and Sufis are protected. But our internal security measures can let to make a difference.  Walking back to the main entrance from the stairs, in between we snap some pictures so that my cousins can relive the memories. And walking again through the security lane we reached the main road from where we have to go to Sea-View.

 Passing through the Hyperstall mall, the sea was attracting us towards itself; the first sign of it gave you an everlasting joy.  But as we reached near the sea my sister suddenly said why there are no people around the sea? Memories of the past events flashes back in my memory, the complaints of the neighbors that we read in the newspapers, the car racing, the bikes going crazy and families and couples at the sea side. We finally parked the car near the street, the car parking instructor was not there so the extortion money was saved. When we arrived there we saw very few people there and then we came to know that section 144 has been implemented and government has banned bathing in the sea. Life guards were standing nearby and they were stopping people from going into sea. Perhaps the government in state of confusion banned not only bathing but walking near the sea as well. Police vehicle was marching on the soil, the sea I think was also in the state of terror and the water which on usual days is on the shores almost near to the end of the footpath was too far thatday. We were unaware of the fact that the government could ban going to the sea-view for so long because almost a month has passed since the incident occurred. But we didn’t give up we felt the soil, snapped some picture and also tried to play with the law and tried to wet our feet’s in water but as we go near to the water , sound of whistle kept on increasing and warning came up that don’t go near the water. Perhaps bathing and getting your feet’s wet are two different things I guess but it was the precautionary measure for future I guess. I didn’t want my cousins to break the law and spent a day at Clifton police station. So we stayed at the shore, saw the sun playing with us. Eating chaat there, we finally left the place as darkness was spreading its shades and the street lights were closed not to be opened till the government orders. And we left the sea for our home with little disappointments in our heart. But days after I was happy to read that people are allowed to visit and bath in the sea. And the sea was spreading its magic again.

So Karachi which is known as the city of lights was hiding itself under article 144, security and terrorism for some time. But we are continuously struggling to make it better, passing through the security zone every day, breaking each wall that it is building around itself in the name of protection. Yes the new Karachi has replaced the old one. But still the old one is alive in our hearts and the sea, shrine and the parks they all are reflecting the joys of the past. And by visiting such places once a week we are being revolutionary against the government and atmosphere which is restricting the people of Karachi to make borders between it and ourselves. But we will break all the barriers and keep on living with the glories of the past.

An Unforeseen Evil Approaching

I can sense a presence, as if someone is behind the wall waiting quietly and patiently foreseeing my every move and persistent enough waiting for the right moment to march with an army and attack. They shoot to kill and never miss, I’m terrified. These sounds haunt me like I’m a criminal being threatened by the cops. I can hear distant noises but there is a prevailing silence that makes me uncomfortable. I would have found my solace in knowing if someone was there to watch my back. But for me, it’s like a dream that can never come true. People abandon me for one reason or another, but I’m still not sure what it is. It has been like this for as long as I can remember; all I know now is that I’m all alone out in this battlefield with myself being the only reliable. I did not choose to be alone in life- destiny did.

Roaming around in the house isn’t my hobby, but sometimes, you just have to fight your fears making sure everything is in order and under control exactly as you want it to be. Sitting on the sofa watching a movie is all I can do when all other characters in my life are enjoying their life to the fullest. All I yearn for is to be part of someone’s life- not minding the characters being fictional. I am just about to witness an important scene in the movie in which the villain is walking towards the hero loaded with arms to finish him once and for all, but suddenly, something more important catches my attention. It isn’t the movie, but me. I can hear somebody in an attempt to break into the house. I grabbed the remote control and put the TV on mute. My eyes were on the TV but I was all ears. I wasn’t sure what frightened me more, the walking sound of Mark Wahlberg towards the enemy or the one that I heard while the TV on mute.

The barking dogs confirmed my suspicion that they had seen and sensed something irregular. A beastly presence lurking in the dark with evil desires. Watching the clock repeatedly didn’t comfort me because the sun has abandoned me like the rest of them. All I have now is just the 100-Watt bulb to help me beat the darkness that is growing not only within me but also around me, with every passing second.  I switched on and off the lights, to make sure that everything was normal and to reassure myself that there was a party going on in the house. But my heart knows it that the party has been over a long time ago.

 People think that artificial lights beat the darkness, yet unfortunately, it’s the light that comes from within that helps us to survive. I’m devoid of such light for reasons unknown and more complicated than Algebraic formulae to be figured out. People have weird concepts of safety and survival. They lock all the drawers but put the gold in their pockets. A sudden loud noise outside grabs my attention- “I have to be strong, I have to be strong. There is nothing wrong” I drilled myself with this idea now and then. I slowly got up from my sofa and tiptoed towards the door to check whether it was locked or not. Thankfully, it was still bolted tightly and firmly.

I am getting tired of being panic-stricken. All I want to do is to rest my head on a soft pillow and escape from all these worries, but it seems that even my freedom angels are conspiring against me. I cannot even wink for an entire second in peace, despite the tiredness of the entire world. I sometimes just want to close my eyes forever, but an unrecognized fear makes me sit up straight in bed. What follows is a storm of howling questions on the eternal submission of our soul to the soil, after which there is going to be no escape. This idea trembles me even more. I distractedly looked up at the TV. Another action movie had started, but you don’t want to watch it when you can sense a vivid trailer of it all around you.

What to do now? I want to read a book but I don’t want to see the traces of blood on it. So I gave up on this idea too. Then what can I possibly do to find some relief and peace of mind? An idea struck me like a thunderbolt, “Let there be light, for there is too much darkness in this world.” Let these lights spread its wings and paint the world in bright colors of love, beauty, hope and friendship. Just have a glass of dew, pick up a pen and a paper and slay all those evil thoughts that are scaring you to death.  When a stone hits your door and you open it in fear but there was no one but a ghost friend provoking your thoughts to come and be together on a piece of paper for eternity. When you spread the ink of words, all your fears are killed by your imagination as you enter another world where you get what you want; you become what you can only dream of and be on the top of the world like you always wanted to be.

                                          “What else can you do in loneliness than to write?”

Yearning for water

Eyes are opened suddenly as the stiff muscles have rested a lot now. It’s time for a new journey today and the eyes stuck on the trees that are playing football. They came so close to each other but never touched; they lack the Balochi artistic tricks may be. The weather has changed; a new season has arrived. The bench awaits your attention. But as soon as you look up to the sun you find that it has some dark traces on it. And suddenly you look down and find your shirt has prints of a monster’s fingers as if they were cut and are now lying on your shirt, some monster was so hungry today that he has left remains of his crimes on your shirt. As if a human has butchered the purple chicken today. Someone comes near you, and spreads their long wings across you. He climbs on your shoulder, you were afraid but he wasn’t. You share some moments with him but he goes away. The sky is decorated with beautiful colors. The creature returns and marches towards you, his mouth holds a string which was knotted to a colorful kite.

You believed that you had wings and mounted to the ninth sky, but his mouth leaves the string the kite leaves you and went to the air to which it belongs. The creature flew and came back but when he landed, he exploded, the wings seemed to slap you and your face was bombarded left to right. With his beak he attacked your heart and the blood seemed to run through the streets. The air sacs seemed to stop; the kidney was soon going to fail. What’s your heart’s wish now? Are there any heart beats? Does your heart mingle as it mingled all the years? The veins have no strength to force out a decision. Soil awaits your welcome; the mob has started to gather around you as if Caesar has been betrayed again by Brutus. “Life is not all about adventures but everyone presume it to be a play being enacted”

Brutus leaves you by sounding his victory loud and left this one night stand to greet his friends. Your calf muscles have no more strength to stand now and you fall on the ground as a person falls to prayers when all eyes stab him. The joy flashes back on the sky, but there is no sign of God, the red book has been filled up and now the dust needs to be encountered.  A loud sound echoes “Welcome to the firehouse, your seat was booked months ago. A boat with wheels stop near you, your bed has been ready come with us, a sound echoes. Say the last words, people mourn and shed crocodile tears for you. But do you really need them, your wrist watch is out of station now and you can’t repair all these tears now. Your car can’t travel anymore now, the wheels have been punctured to death now and even the Sher Shah market can’t replace the wheels.

The stretcher on the boat will take you to a Police Station where the DIG awaits your presence and no phone call would lessen the brutal punishment. Did you attend the voice message of God which rang daily? Did that voice echo peace in your body? No your body shivered by musician’s melody. Will that peace help now? Does KFC have an offer to supply food underground?  God’s love bells didn’t bring the peace to you and women, charms and power became your sole treasure. The message of God never flashes back in your mind and women always did. You buried the Islamiat book the day you passed the paper with flying colors. But will those colors portray the shades of a perfect painting. Your tub is ready and today the water is red, dropping all over your body. The eyes seem to be closing; the body has relaxed on the world’s best foam. The eyes closed and they will be ripped off your body and given to the blind that can see the beauty of God, mosques and lines of Quran which you never saw.

But the clock has stopped now. The Eagle has killed you and you are lying on the bed now that will take you to your last journey. You made evil your friend and never crossed the road of friendship which awaits your welcome always.

                                    “Life is a timeless creature, live up to its full extent”

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The muscles seems to be burning and when it starts to melt it get the right words, have been under the shade of moon a lot of times. Looking at it as if a movie is being played there, the drop has started to build up into the eyes and has become a massive force to drain the entire world in it like Nelofar storm was to kill all the in-human beings. The bones have become a skeleton but the vein is still measuring redness. The lips want to utter something but the teeth’s have become a protective layer bounding the tongue not to move hence any sound could be uttered, so no words.

But suddenly the body is shaken by a force it moves someone has switched on the light, life is still there and the smell of breath enlightens the atmosphere. All the boundaries have been broken, the teeth couldn’t stop the force coming from the vocal tracts and there is a shrilled sound “It’s there it’s there” but in broken pieces. So let the cement be mingled with the water again and a better material should be used this time. So that the building remains there for years and nothing could terrorize it.

But suddenly the building collapsed “Karachi Building Authority is responsible for this loss will be the headline tomorrow” as the muscles became ashes.

Lines from "My Feudal Lord"

"Your wife is your best ambassador"

Don't try to be Tehmina"

"My white cotton would not be a mere symbolic gesture, it was the culmination of a long and painful process of self discovery"

"Two swords could not be accommodated in one scabbard"

"It is easier to wash the dishes in your husband's home than in the world outside"











Most amazing book I have  read in recent times.It has a different taste. Thank You Jawaria Baji for making my eyes see the bitter truths of the wives of these so called Politicians.

A LOST BATTLE

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 19^th 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.