Qudrat Ullah Shahab (left) : Mumtaz Mufti (right)
Zaki Khalid
It was the 14th of August, 1947.
For the first time that day, I had a positive feeling for Pakistan. It was nearing midnight. The signature tune was being played on the radio. The echo of the duffs was creating an eerie atmosphere, as if war drums were being beaten. Trumpets were blowing loudly. However, this signature tune held no special importance for me, I was busy, engaged in reading some book. And then it was announced,
"Radio Pakistan"... the book got out of my hands... I felt as if tiny insects were walking all over my body. A gush of air passed over my heart. Colorful stars started to dance inside me. This was my first positive feeling for Pakistan, which unexpectedly penetrated inside each and every vein of my body. As if the full moon raises up the tides in the calm sea.
After the creation of Pakistan, all hopes for a secure and prosperous life at Bombay seemed vague. The items and collectibles, for which we had gone to Bombay, lost their signifance. And so, Ahmed Bashir and I arrived Pakistan as we were (without bringing any other thing along).. The only thing that got us anxious after we reached here was to shift our relatives from Gurdaspur to Pakistan. Pakistan had become an abode of peace for us. Pakistan had security for us, Muslims. Now I could really feel with high intensity that I am a Muslim. Though the light of faith was there in my heart or not, whether my lifestyle was in accordance with Islam or not. Whether there were pro-Islamic sentiments in my heart or not. In any case, I was a Muslim.
Eight years passed by. During this time, I got acquainted with a literary figure who was full of Islamic zeal and fervor. Someone in whose life the Islamic codes were practically visible. One day, I went to meet him and saw Khawaja sahib seated there. We were introduced to each other. After this, I had the opportunity to come across Khawaja sahib quite many a times, now and then. Khawaja sahib spoke less. He was used to hearing what others had to say instead of talking himself. He was intelligent and had a keen eye on various affairs. He always felt delight in helping others and the best thing in him was his correctness.
One day, I left for the graveyard. There, inside an ordinary square-walled building, I saw Khawaja sahib reciting Fatiha over a grave. I stopped. After he got free, he greeted me with great joy as usual.
"So tell me, how are you?" he asked.
I replied
"Not well really.."
"And why is that?" he asked.
"Just going through anxiety", I replied.
He asked again
"Why? Anxiety for what?"
I said
"Khawaja sahib, what will become of Pakistan? This boat is shaking wildly"
I had said this in a bit of amusement. It is true that I could feel Pakistan's boat shaking, but I had no real concern for it in my heart.
Khawaja sahib actually turned serious after listening to what I said:
"Mufti sahib" he said
"Why do you worry for Pakistan when there are so many huge entities and personalities worrying for it? Why do you or I have to worry for it?"
He paused for a while, then continued
"Do you see that old man over there?" I looked towards the place Khawaja sahib was pointing at, where he was offering Fatiha just a while ago. Khawaja sahib spoke up
"That old man had spent his whole life for the creation of Pakistan. This tree was planted by him"
"Mufti sahib", he said smiling
"Great personalities are working for Pakistan. Why do you worry?"
"Then what do I do?" I inquired jokingly.
"What you can do is, before you do something, ponder over whether you are working for Pakistan's benefit? Is your step going against Pakistan? Your own interest lies in it. Pakistan will live free and prosper no matter what. People will be stunned by its blossoming. Insha'Allah!"
I was quite surprised after hearing Khawaja sahib's talk. Khawaja sahib never talked like this before. He always talked sensibly, rationally. He was not in favour of saint-following, etc. Then who was that old man who had planted the tree of Pakistan? Who were those great personalities who were bent on worrying for Pakistan?... What is so special about Pakistan that great personalities get concerned for it? Pakistan is a small country, no Islamic specialty has developed in it yet. And there are dozens of Islamic countries. All their conditions are pitiable... Khawaja sahib's talk sounded strange...
Four years passed on.
I got transferred to a special department. I was appointed to a high-ranking official (Qudrat Ullah Shahab rehmatullah alayh). A few characteristics were prominent in my new officer. He was very intelligent. Spoke less. He was full of patience.
Sahib (Shahab saab) called me in:
"You may start your work"
"Yes Sir," I replied.
"There are letters from the week past in this box" he said.
"Read all of them carefully, classify them according to their subject and make a summary. Those letters that require special attention, place them separately"
"Yes Sir," I replied.
"The peon will bring the box," he said.
"Alright Sir", I said, as I left the room.
I opened the first letter, it was written:
"Oh Shah! How fortunate you are that you got the honour of ruling Pakistan!"
'What a weird letter!' I thought after I read the whole letter.
I was surprised further when I opened the second letter:
"Beware! Don't ever let flour get expensive in Pakistan!"
In the third letter, it was written:
"The day is not far when the residents of Madinah would look at Pakistan and say 'SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah'"
I was worried after I read all these letters. I could not understand why the writers of these letters even wrote them. What was their purpose? Anyhow, one thing was obvious. The writers had no intent to abuse the rulers, neither did they want to gain attention for themselves. Nor did they ask for personal claims or demands. Most of the letters did not even have the writer's name on it.These letters ended with
'Yours respectfully' or
'Yours faithfully'. Most of the letters were written on chunks of papers. The writing and its expression both were crude. They weren't really effective. Why had the writer's even bothered to write such things? Why did they waste time and money on it?
Then I grabbed hold of a long letter. This letter was received from Malayam, a city in South India. The writer was a sub-judge who had been disabled due to an accident 20 years ago. His only work during these 20 years was worshipping. Despite the length, the gist of the letter was
'I am not writing this letter for you, but for Pakistan. Soon, Pakistan will become a great state. A great victory will be achieved and then Pakistan will become a great centre of the Islamic World'
These letters stupefied me. Which world was this? What kind of people were they? What was the reason for them writing such letters? Were they all victims of religious hysteria? Madmen or wishful thinkers?
However, a few letters
were written by educated people. It was surprising that none of the letters talked of any individual or personality. No one was appraised/criticised in these letters. They were devoid of any appraisals. No "His Majesty" was addressed to in these letters. Their subject was
Pakistan. Pakistan's exclusive status. Pakistan's association with RasulAllah sallallaho alaihi wasallam, Allah's Mercy and Blessings on Pakistan... these letters drove me crazy. A weird eerieness engulfed me. What is all this? Who are these people? Which world is this? What is Pakistan? What exclusive status does it have? And why?
I am known to be emotional by nature. No event leaves any effect on me under normal circumstances, but when it does, then I am left stunned. Lava starts to boil within me and then, as if the volcano erupts. At first, after reading these letters, I was lost in amazement, I do not know what happened next. It was as if both ends of sanity and rationality broke off; a wave of emotions overtook me and I was drowned in it.
For two days, I kept walking around my house like a madman. When the storm managed to side for a while, I went into wondering again. I decided to go to sahib (Qudrat Ullah Shahab rehmatullah alayh) and tell him
'Sir, these letters are beyond my understanding. Please give me some serious work that has got something to do sanity'
The third day, I was ready that as soon as sahib (Q.U.Shahab) would be left alone, I would go inside and talk to him about this. At that very instant, sahib's peon arrived. I thought it best to tell him to inform me as soon as sahib gets free. The peon came back and said
"Sahib is calling" As I entered the room, I waited for sahib to say something and only then will I share what I wanted to.
He was busy in writing something at the time. He looked at me and said:
"Please go to the security room at the gate. Someone is insisting to meet me there. Please talk to him, tell him I have sent you.If he agrees to talk with you, ask him what the matter is. But if he insists to meet me, then do not let him go, do inform me... I will meet him"
"Yes Sir..." I said, as I turned towards the door.
"And listen," he said
Do not talk inside the security room. Take him outside. In separation, understood?"
"Yes Sir"... It was not the time to talk with sahib about my issue. I thought of talking on it during my return.
A miserable-looking man was standing inside the security room. I took him outside in the lawn.
"Sahib is busy in work, he has sent me. If you can tell me in what regard you would like to meet him, then..."
I had barely finished my sentence that he spoke up:
"Mister, what do I have to do by meeting sahib? I have nothing to do with him neither do I know him. I was coming from my village. I came across an ox-cart rider near this street. He pointed at me. I went to him and he said 'Mian, go inside this house. Meet the sahib and give him a message of our's' The ox-cart rider was an old man. I did as he told and came here. But these policemen do not even listen to what the other is saying, they keep on blabbering themselves"
I told him to share the message with me, I will convey it to sahib.
(The man said)
"The ox-cart rider told me to go and tell him (sahib) that what he is writing is wrong, and what he already wrote and tore, is correct"
'What a weird vague message' I thought. What did an ox-cart rider have to do with sahib's note? And how come an ox-cart rider was travelling here? I had never seen an ox-cart rider in this area. This person must be a fool for sure, I thought.
I was sure that sahib would listen to what I would tell him, smile and then get back to work. However, he went into a moment of silence after he heard it all. Then he spoke in a serious tone:
"Please pick this waste-paper basket up"
I took the waste-paper basket up and placed it on the table.
He very delicately picked up torn strips of paper from the basket. I was amazed at this sight Had sahib taken the ox-cart rider's message as true?
Sahib handed over the strips of paper to me,
"Please join these when you find the time"
"Yes Sir", I said. He picked up the new note he was writing, tore it up and threw it in the waste-paper basket. My mouth was wide-open in surprise. This man right here, who is so intelligent and acute, who stands by what he believes in even after so many things others advise him. Who has individualistic thoughts. Who stays away from fake traiditonal rituals. Who has not an inch of relation with any sort of fanaticism...
Why is this person accepting an unknown ox-cart rider's advice, as if he has always been in communication with such ox-cart riders? As if he has always been familiar with such messages, what is this mystery?
I joined the strips of paper together. It was a clause in the proposed Constitution of Pakistan which had a relation to Islam. At this point, talking to sahib about those mysterious letters seemed meaningless and I was shuffled here and there amidst the brewing storm of the letters. Such letters were received everyday. Generally, their subject was the same: Pakistan, Pakistan's status, Pakistan's upcoming Might, bright future...I started to sense this fourth-dimension is a reality after all. Maybe Allah does indeed hold special liking and affection for a country or person. After all, He is the Lord of the Heavens and the Earths, if He wants to say something, who can stop Him?
One day, sahib called me to hand over some work and told me to sit there so I may complete it right there. I was working seated at a corner, that the peon entered,
"Sir, an uncle of mine went for Hajj this time. He has brought a message for you from Madinah, may I call him with your permission?"
Sahib listened with seriousness to what the peon said, then he spoke up,
"Call him"
He placed his work at one side. He got up and kissed the old man on his hand and started to listen to the old man's message with attention and care.
After praising Allah, the old man spoke,
"You see, he (the one who has sent the message) is a resident of Jhelum. He was a sepoy in the Army. Had gone to an expedition during the big war. From there he went to Madinah Shareef for Salaam and attendance. And then he stayed there. He is there since then. He is the key-holder now (who takes care of the key to Rauda e Rasul sallallaho alaihi wasallam). It is a very high station"
Sahib nodded his head in agreement.
The old man shared the message (on behalf of the army officer at Madinah):
"In 1946, we saw a dream in which a tree-vine sprout up from the Masjid e Nabwi sallallaho alaihi wasallam and kept going far and wide and is it grew. Green leaves appeared on its other end"
Sahib nodded his head in agreement.
"After about four years, we saw the same tree-vine in a dream. The branch was present as it was, but the leaves had withered... Now again, we have seen that tree-vine. It is getting evergreen again, bulbs are sprouting up on it again." He (the officer) told me to go and convey glad tidings; also to give this message that shepherds do not sit under the shade themselves"
All the time the old man talked, I could not focus on my work despite repeated efforts. When he said
'Give glad tidings on our behalf', I felt as if the glad tidings were being given to me. That day, I sensed Pakistan's tree to be more greener than before and fresh new leaves coming up from thin branches. I kept reciting
'La hawla wala quwwata'. I tried to control myself but all in vain. There was a mysterious feeling in this magical world. A strange intoxicance.. My senses tried to control my mind but I was lost in the magic..
An event occurred after this incident by which every nook and cranny of my body started to jitter and I was shocked with fear. A friend of sahib called up,
"A mystic has come, in the beginning he was the IG of Police in Hyderabad, then he was called (to Madinah) after which he put everything aside and went there. He is a very interesting man. Do come to my place if you would like to meet him"
Sahib took me along when he went to meet that mystic. The mystic's face was too frighterning. Black colored, a skeloton of bones, terrifying eyes, crude voice; after his friend introduced sahib to the mystic, he had to leave for a while. The sahib and mystic were left alone in the room after this, and the mystic to me looked like a rotten chilli. I was seated in the room next to their's, reading a newspaper and waiting for sahib.
Suddenly the newspaper fell out of my hands and I heard that mystic from the next room talking in English
"Flay you alive, put bran on you and place you in the Sun!" . Huh? What was this old man telling sahib? Is he a mystic or a
butcher?
"I have come only for this purpose," his crude voice boomed,
"to warn you, you do know that warnings are not given in such cases, those who err are suspended, removed, but Pakistan has a special exception. That is why you are being warned. If carelessness still persists, then you will be skinned, salted and placed in the sun!"
The blood in my body froze with shock. I came outside in amazement. The mystic and sahib remained in the room for three hours.
When sahib came out, his face was yellow, as if all the blood had been sucked. He was walking with difficulty. It seemed as if his bones were crushed.
Two years later, another event of such magnitude took place. Sahib and I had gone to Karachi for an official trip. One evening, we went to Central Jail. Sahib had some work there. He had just gotten free from work there that a guard came up to him and gave a salute,
"Sir, a prisoner is repeatedly calling you by name, he is asking for you"
We followed the guard to where the prisoner was. A eunuch was locked inside a small hollowed cell. Sahib took a glance towards him.
"Open the lock" said sahib.
The lock opened up, he went inside and told the guard,
"You may go'. I stood nearby, outside.
The eunuch shouted at sahib as soon as he saw him,
"We had to get locked up to warn you!"
I got in fear as soon as I heard this and ran outide. An hour later when sahib came out, he was in the same state as he was when he met the mystic. Oh Allah, what is this mystery? A pool of wonders floated in my mind again. The next day, I went to the jail alone but he (the prisoner) was not there. I inquired about his whereabouts from here and there and came to know that he was not a formal prisoner. He was ranting in the bazaar next to the jail, because of which the guard at the jail was forced to lock him up. No guard had any knowledge of who had brought him here. These incidents drove me crazy. The mystery of Pakistan's status got even
more amazing. In all this, I got convinced of Pakistan's special importance. The fourth-dimension was no more a wonder to me.
War broke loose. India attacked Pakistan. News reports of the time were something like this:
"RasulAllah sallallaho alaihi wasallam was coming on a horse to participate in Pakistan's jihad, The martyrs of Badr had reached the battle-fields. Hazrat Ali, Imam Hassan and Imam Hussain were seen going towards the battle-field near and around Sialkot sector wearing white clothes. An Indian POW (Prisoner Of War) stated that Pakistani troops dressed in long white clothes were destroying Indian forces one by one.
Flames were coming out of their swords. Another Indian POW said that Pakistani troops wearing red caps and short in stature had sealed off intra-Indian communication. A captured Indian bomber said that bombardment was useless. A white-clothed elder would catch my bomb and thow it aside. Indian pilots stated that when they threw bombs, then white-clothed elders caught them in the air and placed them down on the ground in such a way that the bombs did not explode.
All of Pakistan was resounding with such miracles.
During the war, a colleague of mine came to visit me. I asked him whether he was going home.
"No," he said.
"I will meet Qazi sahib and then go home"
I asked who he is, he replied,
"He is a worshipful person, a very nice man"
I requested him to take me along too.
Pictures of Madinah adorned Qazi sahib's room here and there. Prayer-beads were spread all over his prayer-mat. He met us with great zeal and talked about random affairs. He looked at me and said,
"Please do say something"
I said,
"Uh, please do dua for Pakistan"
He turned serious.
"I'm a very small man. A very small man, what worth do I have that I do dua for Pakistan? No Mufti sahib, I am not of such a worth"
But Qazi sahib, anyone can do dua!" I spoke up.
"That is right", he said
"But Pakistan is a different matter. You do not know. I also have very little knowledge, very little. I am a small man, very small. Pakistan has the blessings of elders on it. So many of the top-elders have their hands on Pakistan... they are the caretakers of Pakistan. They look after it, don't you worry about Pakistan"
Qazi sahib's statement rattled the hive of hibernating bees once again. Oh Allah, who are these great elders? Are they those who were seen wearing long white clothes in the Sialkot sector? Were they the ones who were catching cannon-balls fired by Indians? Who picked up aerial bombs and placed them far away without them exploding? Was it one of these elders who tricked one of the Indian pilots and he saw six bridges of the river Ravi instead of one? Were they the ones who ordered the Indian pilot
'Bail Out, Bail Out!' and they returned back without fighting Pakistani troops?
A naked madman and mystic was talking to himself near a graveyard,
"Nothing has happened yet. Rivers of blood will flow. Many will die, many! Corpses and corpses, then a great victory will be achieved and SubhanAllah, SubhanAllah!" He was clapping excitedly as if someone was bothering me.
I watched Khawaja sahib offering Fatiha at the tomb in the graveyard and stopped.
"How are you Mufti sahib?" he asked.
"Stuck in anxiety Khawaja sahib.." I replied.
"In whose anxiety are you getting stuck?" he inquired.
"I am worried for Pakistan" I said.
He got serious, there were indications of anger on his face. He spoke up:
"Mufti G, leave Allah's affairs to Allah Alone. Do not take Allah's affairs into your own hands. Who are you to worry for Pakistan? Think about yourself. Fulfill your obligations. Think of how you can serve Pakistan. Check whether you are not doing something that is against Pakistan's interests. Do not worry for Pakistan... RasulAllah's hands (sallallaho alaihi wasallam) are over Pakistan. Wah Mufti G! You could not understand this point till now!"
