If the Quaid visited us today…

From the tear to the smile

The first bird’s-eye view of his land, as if travelling on a magic carpet, would no doubt leave the Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah for once speechless and open-mouthed at the sight of the amazing and unimaginable material changes, as compared to 1948, wrought in the country he had founded with such fanatical single-mindedness against overwhelming odds. He would be both delighted and shocked at what had transpired in the short (when considered in the lives of nations) span of 67 years after his ill-timed death. Sprawling modern cities bustling with life, commerce and activity had replaced the formerly small and sleepy little towns, and there was a spanking new capital, pretty well laid out amidst the hills, instead of his old capital city of Karachi. Indeed, he would be hard pressed to recognise even the major cities, including Lahore, such were the quantum physical changes shaped from 1948 when the old Walled City was the central hub of the city, with only a few roads and structures, apart from the majestic Mughal era-buildings and the new bungalows, cantonments and clubs of the colonial masters. The orderly inter-city highways crowded with vehicles and the smaller network of connecting roads all over the country would impress him no end. He would also be proud of the rolling countryside, ‘teeming with rich produce’, and the fields all green and gold for miles around. His country might still be ‘truncated’ (without Kashmir) but it was no longer a ‘moth-eaten’ Pakistan. But the first fault line, the first crack in the mirror, would be apparent to him even from afar. The sight of those marooned and helpless flood victims, running madly about to lay their hands on some morsels of food being dropped from the air would certainly cause the first furrows in his now thoughtfully frowning brow. Something was rotten in the state of Pakistan, he would begin to suspect…

Something was rotten in the state of Pakistan, he would begin to suspect…

Always concerned about the security of the newly born country and its eastern and western borders, he would no doubt beam with joy when informed that, thanks to the country’s scientists, Pakistan was now an impregnable nuclear-armed power, only the seventh in the world and the sole one among the Muslim world. Its army, which had been denied its material share from the old army of the Raj, was now mighty, highly respected, professional and disciplined. The Quaid who ‘despised a morality of pity’ would be greatly satisfied by the country’s self-reliance in the sphere of defence. He would also be reassured in his long and deeply held views about the unique qualities, aptitude and undeniable latent talent of his people.

But the post-1947 history of hot and cold wars (including the ongoing one) between the two neighbours must be an anathema to him as he had fondly visualised a peaceful co-existence between the two Dominions with people of both countries allowed easy access to the borders and a close inter-mingling amongst themselves. He would nod his head in approval at the huge number of schools, colleges and universities spread all over the land which was imparting modern knowledge and skills to millions of Pakistani youth. He would be particularly overjoyed at the fact that two Pakistanis had won the Noble Prize, Dr Abdus Salam in Physics and the courageous Malala Yousafzai for Peace, but the discrimination against the former, even in death, must have hurt and shaken him to the core. This was the exact opposite of what he had promised to all citizens of Pakistan at its creation, a personal freedom irrespective of their religious inclinations, beliefs or sects. All were to be regarded as equal in the eyes of the law and in the minds of men.

The ‘assisted’ rise of a savage religious extremism, a barbaric terrorism that spared no one(and which was thankfully now being tamed), the growing abyss of sectarian rivalries and the just feelings of insecurity among the countries’ minorities would no doubt plunge him into the deepest gloom and despair. The perilous situation in Balochistan and, in particular, the peculiar circumstances prevailing in the city of his birth, Karachi, where he was born on December 25, 1867 would certainly be disturbing and bewildering to his logical mind. Of particular and profound hurt to him would surely be the sayings and remarks of the ersatz quaid of the MQM, because it was for such ordinary people of the undivided India, who would have been trampled and swamped in a Hindu state, that he had made his supreme and unforgettable sacrifice. After all, he himself had once been the ‘Ambassador of Hindu-Muslim unity’ but the incorrigible bigoted actions of the Congress leadership had clearly revealed to him their hidden and inner agenda regarding the status of the Muslims in the post 1947 era. And so the inevitable parting of the ways had come. But now, it seemed to him, the bitter lessons he had learnt first-hand in his prolonged dealings with the Congress leadership had been forgotten by the very people for whose independence and betterment he had striven for so long, even with a debilitating ailment. His life’s-work was being negated and all his teachings and dire warnings were being ignored. Here, no doubt, a tear drops from the visitor’s eye…

The pomp and ostentation of the rulers would hardly escape the Quaid’s shrewd gaze and probably remind him of the lavish life styles of the Nawabs and Rajas of the British days with their retinue of domestic servants (now termed civil servants or bureaucrats!), their magnificent palaces, their persons adorned with gold and gems (since replaced by Swiss chronometers) and their private trains (now armoured bullet-proof Land Cruisers). That world had long vanished, but the mindset was very much alive here, it appeared to him. All this pointed to corruption with a capital C and was certainly the reason behind the terrible poverty and deprivation that he had observed in most places. That a person of his universally recognised integrity could have been succeeded by those ‘much condemned to have an itching palm’ was inconceivable, but it was definitely so. He looked for his party, the one and only Pakistan Muslim League, and found a puzzling assortment of it instead, qualified by the bracketed initials, ‘Q’ (God forbid, he would think!), ‘N’, ‘F’, the Lal Haveli Sheikh’s and the former president-general’s Muslim Leagues. At such moments the country must have appeared to him a mere caricature of what he had visualised…

The still-smouldering Kashmir dispute, the terrible sufferings being inflicted on the Kashmiris by the Indian security forces and the separation of entire families by the Line of Control must cause him great heartbreak and anguish. Kashmir was Pakistan’s jugular vein, he had always maintained, but in 1947, his weakened health and the fact that Pandit Nehru held all the cards, including the ‘Queen of Hearts’, Edwina Mountbatten and easily influenced her weak and bungling husband, prevented any vigorous action on his part to resolve the dispute on the agreed ‘Muslim majority’ formula. If at all it were possible for him to badmouth anyone, that person would surely be Sheikh Abdullah, the so-called ‘lion of Kashmir’, who succumbed to Jawaharlal Nehru’s wiles and sly calculations and deserted to the enemy at a critical juncture. Due to the ‘paper lion’, his people today live under the Indian gun, and thousands have sacrificed their lives for the sacred cause of freedom. The raising of Pakistani flags in Srinagar in the face of torture and death at the hands of Indian security forces and the chanting of pro-Pakistan slogans by the crowds despite the depressing situation prevailing here, should clearly highlight the true value and importance of our independence, he might have thought.

The creator, whether of a work of art or fiction or indeed the founder of a new creed or a new nation loves and cherishes his creation, warts and all, because he has made great personal sacrifices for it

The creator, whether of a work of art or fiction or indeed the founder of a new creed or a new nation loves and cherishes his creation, warts and all, because he has made great personal sacrifices for it. The novelist Charles Dicken’s son once confessed that he was certain ‘the children of my father’s imagination were more real to him than his biological children’. So the critics and the doubters may rave to their heart’s content, but the true artist or personality will remain unmoved due to his inner conviction about the rightness of his cause and his innate compassion. The sick and dying Quaid-e-Azam, who founded Pakistan literally with his life’s blood, would be doubly convinced of the necessity of Partition today, after witnessing the oppression of the weak and helpless Muslims everywhere, with no voice being raised for them.

True, there are warts and disfigurements aplenty in the present-day Pakistan. But the Quaid would surely draw solace from the resilience and patriotism of the millions of ordinary Pakistanis who were celebrating Independence Day amid a forest of national flags with a genuine fervour and love for him. There was nothing artificial or ‘official’ or make-believe about this. The Quaid-e-Azam would no doubt allow himself a satisfied smile at his nation’s overall achievements, as in industry and agriculture and science and technology, although much still remained to be accomplished.