There was never any silence. There was never any time for that. Instead we set up a magnificent stage. And the show began with the loud banter of pots and pans.There were anxious looks all across the set, but even in that, the excitement hung heavy in the air. And it infected us all.
And in that chaos there was a welcoming. And what a welcoming it was. The wheels of the bus rolled in, and the crowd gathered round. The old welcomed the new with all the enthusiasm they could muster.And so, color texploded everywhere and the set was richer and livelier and fuller than ever before. It seemed as though we had imagined this whole thing, because it was almost too good to be true, and we were left gaping. Had it not been for the hard stones of the castle, we would have believed that this was a dream.
And so began the days in-between. It was in those days that our feet walked on Main drive and softened its concrete, Our names appeared on the castle walls in permanent marker. And we found comfort in people who we now call friends. Our judgments shattered before us, they were reduced to ash. And in that pile, a spark was seen. The spark of friendship set ablaze. And so, in the days when we were ready to fall back with exhaustion, drowning in the waves of commitment, we found our anchors. Our friends became our rocks and we leaned on them.
And in that we learnt how to love and give and most importantly, we learnt how to live.
That was how we started our show.
And now. Tonight, is when we beg leave. This is our grand finale.
The stage is now empty, but there is a table standing under the spotlight where we once sat together and it speaks of our former glory. There are tall glasses, empty on the table. They tell a tale of when our lips touched their rims. The napkins are stained, and the plates are now clean though once we ate from them. And the sky is now dark and cloudy, even though when we sat there it glistened with stars. It witnessed the strengthening of friendships and the eternalizing of memories that are now a permanent part of our lives.
And in the silence of this leaving, the table spoke of us. It spoke of the show we had put on. For we all assumed roles within the production. And now, each one of us takes away a different memory. For each one of us has known and loved a different part of this universal experience.
And we committed ourselves to the execution of this show completely. We have known it on a more personal and even more deeper level than anyone in the audience. Because we gave ourselves over to it fully in the hope that one day, it would come back to us. That one day it would matter. And today it has mattered. Because our show has only known magnificence.
As the curtains are being drawn, the applause is deafening. And it echoes into the distant future. Its memory still lingers in our minds.
For we put on the most glorious show, and we did it together.
To those that are left behind. Make sure that you bang your pots even louder. That you write your names in ink even clearer, That you dream even greater, and in that unite together to execute your own show that is even more magnificent than ours. So that when you bow before the audience, you don’t just get an applause, but a standing ovation.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
There is always HOPE!
I was busy catching up on missed lessons when the phone rang. I tried to ignore it but finally had to pick it up. It was Faryal Minhas , another Pakistani lady living in Sana’a, Yemen. She sounded very upset. She said she had called me because she could think of no one else to talk to. She had just returned from a work related visit to the central jail and unexpectedly, met several Pakistani prisoners, men of varying ages, allegedly guilty of trafficking drugs. Except, Faryal was convinced they were not all criminals, a belief strengthened by the prison official’s insistence that they were “maskin” (innocent).
The Pakistani consulate staff had only been once to see them. The conditions in the prison were basic and these people needed everything. One of them had handed Faryal a letter, which was a detailed account of the incident that had bought them to the prison. He had written it when he had come, several months ago, and since then had been waiting in hope to give it to someone who would pass it on to those who could help him. Even he had not anticipated that this letter was going to be read out a couple of weeks later, at the Senate in Islamabad and enlist instant favour. Faryal was particularly, moved by the sight of a sixty five year old man who was suffering from unbearable abdominal pain. The cause was unknown and required detailed check up. He begged her for help. This was Nabi Baksh Ibrahim, the man who became the impetus behind our effort. His need was urgent.
This was January last year. I had been living in Sana’a for a year. On that particular day, I had been engaged with a backlog of course work, which I wanted to complete before the culminating session, online at six that evening. It was based on a series of lectures outlining the Muslim noble character, by a Yemeni scholar, Habib Omar from Hadramawt in the south of Yemen. My reaction to Faryal’s news was directly inspired by these lectures.
We decided to go through the proper channel and approach the embassy. We did not have an ambassador in Sana’a at the time and the counselor shrugged off our concerns. He was convinced that they were all guilty and would be sentenced to death. Apparently, apart from the 36 in Sana’a there were more in another prison, near the border with Oman, and far worse off. The court hearings were underway for one of the groups, and they had no money for appointing a lawyer for others. The lawyer seemed to be charging an unrealistic amount of money. The prisoners were poor fishermen who had been caught in the waters by the International coalition forces that are regularly patrolling our waters and bought to Yemen when evidence of drugs was found. Here the penalty for trafficking is death and at best 25 years imprisonment.
The counselor’s verdict bought home a sad reality. We have begun to believe the worst of our own selves. We have become so wary and suspicious. How can we blame others for exaggerating evils within us? The prisoners were guilty before even proven to be so. They were Pakistani and hence capable of no good. An Australian child voiced a similar sentiment, just a couple of days ago, when surprised he turned to my son and said, “You’re Pakistani!... but you seem rather nice.”
The letter written by the prisoners were heartrending. I sent it on to a relative senator, Wasim Sajjad. I have found him to be very humane and thought he might help. I attached a covering note from us, some members of the community who had been briefed by me, and I thought to have done my duty. Little did I know that I had just committed myself to the cause!
I was strolling in my garden, admiring my roses, only a day later, when I received another frantic call from Faryal. The news had leaked into the Pakistani media and the issue was being taken over by the Senate that night. Of course, the counselor was furious. He had been contacted by the Foreign office and the Foreign Minister had begun to question.
I found out that in reality, Wasim Sajjad had allowed the media to get a whiff of the issue, no doubt in order to incite favor and subsequent pressure for the cause. I was a bit taken aback - that only a letter could do this… !
92-21-5610388 Ext. 201
I had sent the mail to some other contacts, including my own brother. He had redirected it to our ambassador at large, Shah Mahmood QuereshiNadir Khan and his advisor, Nasir Ali Khan. in response, they began to question. I believe they even asked all consulates around the world to give figures for Pakistani detainees in their respective countries.
The matter had been taken up on my word. I was worried. I thought it was important to get some more facts. Though I had not meant to harm the counselor, I had put him in a spot. I contacted an acquaintance who had mentioned that her sister was a lawyer. It was when I met her that I realized that she was none other than Shada Nasser, leading lawyer and activist who has become a celebrity when she won the fight for a child bride in Yemen. She immediately phoned the Prison Superintendent, who confirmed the information we had received before and that I was within the law to help them, guilty or not.
Shada took me to the prison. We took some necessary stuff, as indicated by the official. I talked to the prisoners and collected relevant information. I did not want to get involved in legal matters and that was clearly what they wanted. The embassy had sent the lawyer to visit the second group of prisoners (11 in all) and they were being asked to pay a ridiculous amount, apart from the what the government had released for their case.
I met Nabi Baksh Ibrahim. His pallor was enough to confirm his illness was serious. He only asked for medicine. There was another 65-year-old man whose twinkling eyes and warm expression reminded me of Santa. He just requested me not to forget them. A young boy made an impression when he struggled to control his tears and pleaded with me to call his father. I knew what the prison official had meant. These were not the faces of criminals.
Next Shada suggested I meet a Kazi, in order to know the exact nature of the charges against them. Kazi Rizwan Nimr was a formidable surprise…most upright and correct! He informed me that from among the group of eleven that were being tried in his court, two had pleaded guilty and confirmed that the others had been used as camouflage for their operation. In any case, it was most probable they had not been caught in their waters which effectively put an end to their trial. The case was straight forward and the delay had resulted due to the absence of a defense lawyer which in this case was to be provided by the consulate. They had not responded to the summons but hearings had nevertheless, been going on.
Meanwhile, instead of redressing the neglect, the counselor began to propagate that we were looking for publicity and possibly held some grudge against him. He began to gather his own support group, in order to thwart our efforts. Clearly there was division in the Pakistani community. This was so unfortunate and yet so typical. The embassy even called the prison official and told them to close doors on us. It bothered me and I was never able to explain that in all the drama, I felt truly humbled. Things just happened and I was forced to do my bit and where I gave up someone else moved matters on. It was as though it was meant to be.
The Senate appointed a committee to oversee the issue of the prisoners but it soon dissolved with the reshuffling of the Senate late March. The interest waned. It was henceforth, our Foreign office that took all necessary measures. I am told that among others, Haroon Shaukat, now special secretary to the Foreign Office and Omer Sherazi, currently Ambassador to Saudi Arabia played a vital role in dealing with the issue. Money was released for the cases. However, the lawyer was able to walk away not only the money the government had released but also around twenty thousand dollars from poor men whose families sold everything to raise the money. We did not hear of this till the transaction was complete.
We took a doctor to see the prisoners. Most of them were suffering from eye and skin infections and cough. The prison was in a dismal state. Nabi Baksh Ibrahim was prescribed thorough medical investigation, and we needed the consulate to take charge. They were incensed with us and not at all forth coming. The committee had dissolved and I guess they felt secure. The last time I met the ailing prisoner was the 25th of March 2009. He looked at me accusingly and said, ‘You never bought medicine for me.” I hadn’t, even though I was pushing matters and urging all concerned for his sake. He was the hero of our story but he did not know that. A couple of weeks later, I got a call informing me of his death. His autopsy confirmed that he had been suffering from stomach cancer. His treatment had been an occasional tablet of aspirin. That was the day I bitterly cried. The regret of not having done anything for him will stay with me forever. This is the reason for this article. I could not let him die in anonymity. His death must at least serve a greater purpose – of caution for other fishermen, and a reason for redressing weaknesses in our own system.
Due to bad defense, the lawyer lost the case of the initial group of 18. Among these was the man whose letter had moved the Senators. The news was all over the newspapers in Yemen, Pakistan and the Gulf. It felt as though it had been given more than necessary publicity. Naturally, it seemed to all that I was wrong. My in laws were most concerned and felt I was putting my family at risk. I was leaving also and felt there was little more I could do. I decided to take a back seat. Surprisingly, the death of Nabi Baksh had a great impact on the others. The embassy had conducted the whole business in great distaste. Others within my support group became more active. Among them were executives form companies and particularly, a Pakistani lady who runs a school in Sana’a. They believed in me and were quick to finance the needs of the prisoners.
Also, I mentioned the story to a classmate of my daughter’s. He in turn, mentioned it to his father and Mr Abdul Ghani Al-Eryani came to see me. The latter is the son of a well-respected ex-president. Apparently, he had chanced upon the Pakistani prisoners in the prison when detained for writing an unacceptable article against the state. He believed they were innocent. He was willing to take on the cause, with the support of human rights NGO and a related newspaper. Likewise Activists from Pakistan wanted to get involved. However, since the Foreign office was willing to take responsibility, I kept their interest in reserve.
This was obvious because the counselor was recalled. In spite of all that is said there is accountability and there are enough people willing to re -address wrongs. The actions of the Senate, the Foreign Minister and the Foreign Office and Activists have proved that. This episode has given me so much hope. All is not lost. We all need to put in our bit. That is what is missing. We keep saying the system is so corrupt. We lull our conscience by asking what can we do, that will make a difference. That is where we go wrong. We can make a difference. Never doubt that.
Ahmed Ali Sarohey was appointed as Deputy of the Head of Mission with careful consideration. He has a legal background, was fluent in Arabic and was willing to resolve the issue. He verified all my claims and wrote to the Ministry informing them that between the lawyer and the Mission they had done grave injustice to the prisoners. He said he had been actually moved to tears when he had sought an audience with the prisoners.
Under his scrutiny, better defense was prepared and the cases appealed. Some were re -appealed and it was found that the majority were innocent. There were some Pakistani fishermen who were caught In Iranian launches and their case was being handled by the Iranian Consulate. The latter dealt with the matter with such efficiency and humaneness. The Prison officials were always comparing. The guilty were sentenced and the innocent were allowed to return to their homes with names cleared. The consulate has now turned attention towards the others outside Sana’a.
A new ambassador soon arrived as well. It is heartening to know that people like Alqama Khawaja are still around. He simply believes the best of Pakistan. In the face of all our upset within and negative image abroad, he continues to propagate hope and a serious patriotism. They say in olden times before felling a tree they used to curse it. This would cause it to shrivel and so, easier to cut. This is what has happened to us. The malicious propaganda is sapping away our belief in ourselves, and our people. The fishermen prisoners belonged to Karachi and Baluchistan. Much to my husband’s annoyance, I called the relatives of some prisoners. The latter had been begging me to re-assure them. Calls from the prison were expensive and often there was a waiting period. The relatives wanted to know about me. Inevitably, they were surprised that I was a Punjabi. This really bothered me because it made me realize the deep estrangement within the people. I had not even cared what provinces the prisoners had belonged to. They were Pakistani’s and that is all that mattered.
During this whole episode, I have seen the best side of Pakistan and Yemen. I have learnt to have faith in our people. Most importantly, I have realized that miracles begin to happen only when we take responsibility.
The Pakistani consulate staff had only been once to see them. The conditions in the prison were basic and these people needed everything. One of them had handed Faryal a letter, which was a detailed account of the incident that had bought them to the prison. He had written it when he had come, several months ago, and since then had been waiting in hope to give it to someone who would pass it on to those who could help him. Even he had not anticipated that this letter was going to be read out a couple of weeks later, at the Senate in Islamabad and enlist instant favour. Faryal was particularly, moved by the sight of a sixty five year old man who was suffering from unbearable abdominal pain. The cause was unknown and required detailed check up. He begged her for help. This was Nabi Baksh Ibrahim, the man who became the impetus behind our effort. His need was urgent.
This was January last year. I had been living in Sana’a for a year. On that particular day, I had been engaged with a backlog of course work, which I wanted to complete before the culminating session, online at six that evening. It was based on a series of lectures outlining the Muslim noble character, by a Yemeni scholar, Habib Omar from Hadramawt in the south of Yemen. My reaction to Faryal’s news was directly inspired by these lectures.
We decided to go through the proper channel and approach the embassy. We did not have an ambassador in Sana’a at the time and the counselor shrugged off our concerns. He was convinced that they were all guilty and would be sentenced to death. Apparently, apart from the 36 in Sana’a there were more in another prison, near the border with Oman, and far worse off. The court hearings were underway for one of the groups, and they had no money for appointing a lawyer for others. The lawyer seemed to be charging an unrealistic amount of money. The prisoners were poor fishermen who had been caught in the waters by the International coalition forces that are regularly patrolling our waters and bought to Yemen when evidence of drugs was found. Here the penalty for trafficking is death and at best 25 years imprisonment.
The counselor’s verdict bought home a sad reality. We have begun to believe the worst of our own selves. We have become so wary and suspicious. How can we blame others for exaggerating evils within us? The prisoners were guilty before even proven to be so. They were Pakistani and hence capable of no good. An Australian child voiced a similar sentiment, just a couple of days ago, when surprised he turned to my son and said, “You’re Pakistani!... but you seem rather nice.”
The letter written by the prisoners were heartrending. I sent it on to a relative senator, Wasim Sajjad. I have found him to be very humane and thought he might help. I attached a covering note from us, some members of the community who had been briefed by me, and I thought to have done my duty. Little did I know that I had just committed myself to the cause!
I was strolling in my garden, admiring my roses, only a day later, when I received another frantic call from Faryal. The news had leaked into the Pakistani media and the issue was being taken over by the Senate that night. Of course, the counselor was furious. He had been contacted by the Foreign office and the Foreign Minister had begun to question.
I found out that in reality, Wasim Sajjad had allowed the media to get a whiff of the issue, no doubt in order to incite favor and subsequent pressure for the cause. I was a bit taken aback - that only a letter could do this… !
92-21-5610388 Ext. 201
I had sent the mail to some other contacts, including my own brother. He had redirected it to our ambassador at large, Shah Mahmood QuereshiNadir Khan and his advisor, Nasir Ali Khan. in response, they began to question. I believe they even asked all consulates around the world to give figures for Pakistani detainees in their respective countries.
The matter had been taken up on my word. I was worried. I thought it was important to get some more facts. Though I had not meant to harm the counselor, I had put him in a spot. I contacted an acquaintance who had mentioned that her sister was a lawyer. It was when I met her that I realized that she was none other than Shada Nasser, leading lawyer and activist who has become a celebrity when she won the fight for a child bride in Yemen. She immediately phoned the Prison Superintendent, who confirmed the information we had received before and that I was within the law to help them, guilty or not.
Shada took me to the prison. We took some necessary stuff, as indicated by the official. I talked to the prisoners and collected relevant information. I did not want to get involved in legal matters and that was clearly what they wanted. The embassy had sent the lawyer to visit the second group of prisoners (11 in all) and they were being asked to pay a ridiculous amount, apart from the what the government had released for their case.
I met Nabi Baksh Ibrahim. His pallor was enough to confirm his illness was serious. He only asked for medicine. There was another 65-year-old man whose twinkling eyes and warm expression reminded me of Santa. He just requested me not to forget them. A young boy made an impression when he struggled to control his tears and pleaded with me to call his father. I knew what the prison official had meant. These were not the faces of criminals.
Next Shada suggested I meet a Kazi, in order to know the exact nature of the charges against them. Kazi Rizwan Nimr was a formidable surprise…most upright and correct! He informed me that from among the group of eleven that were being tried in his court, two had pleaded guilty and confirmed that the others had been used as camouflage for their operation. In any case, it was most probable they had not been caught in their waters which effectively put an end to their trial. The case was straight forward and the delay had resulted due to the absence of a defense lawyer which in this case was to be provided by the consulate. They had not responded to the summons but hearings had nevertheless, been going on.
Meanwhile, instead of redressing the neglect, the counselor began to propagate that we were looking for publicity and possibly held some grudge against him. He began to gather his own support group, in order to thwart our efforts. Clearly there was division in the Pakistani community. This was so unfortunate and yet so typical. The embassy even called the prison official and told them to close doors on us. It bothered me and I was never able to explain that in all the drama, I felt truly humbled. Things just happened and I was forced to do my bit and where I gave up someone else moved matters on. It was as though it was meant to be.
The Senate appointed a committee to oversee the issue of the prisoners but it soon dissolved with the reshuffling of the Senate late March. The interest waned. It was henceforth, our Foreign office that took all necessary measures. I am told that among others, Haroon Shaukat, now special secretary to the Foreign Office and Omer Sherazi, currently Ambassador to Saudi Arabia played a vital role in dealing with the issue. Money was released for the cases. However, the lawyer was able to walk away not only the money the government had released but also around twenty thousand dollars from poor men whose families sold everything to raise the money. We did not hear of this till the transaction was complete.
We took a doctor to see the prisoners. Most of them were suffering from eye and skin infections and cough. The prison was in a dismal state. Nabi Baksh Ibrahim was prescribed thorough medical investigation, and we needed the consulate to take charge. They were incensed with us and not at all forth coming. The committee had dissolved and I guess they felt secure. The last time I met the ailing prisoner was the 25th of March 2009. He looked at me accusingly and said, ‘You never bought medicine for me.” I hadn’t, even though I was pushing matters and urging all concerned for his sake. He was the hero of our story but he did not know that. A couple of weeks later, I got a call informing me of his death. His autopsy confirmed that he had been suffering from stomach cancer. His treatment had been an occasional tablet of aspirin. That was the day I bitterly cried. The regret of not having done anything for him will stay with me forever. This is the reason for this article. I could not let him die in anonymity. His death must at least serve a greater purpose – of caution for other fishermen, and a reason for redressing weaknesses in our own system.
Due to bad defense, the lawyer lost the case of the initial group of 18. Among these was the man whose letter had moved the Senators. The news was all over the newspapers in Yemen, Pakistan and the Gulf. It felt as though it had been given more than necessary publicity. Naturally, it seemed to all that I was wrong. My in laws were most concerned and felt I was putting my family at risk. I was leaving also and felt there was little more I could do. I decided to take a back seat. Surprisingly, the death of Nabi Baksh had a great impact on the others. The embassy had conducted the whole business in great distaste. Others within my support group became more active. Among them were executives form companies and particularly, a Pakistani lady who runs a school in Sana’a. They believed in me and were quick to finance the needs of the prisoners.
Also, I mentioned the story to a classmate of my daughter’s. He in turn, mentioned it to his father and Mr Abdul Ghani Al-Eryani came to see me. The latter is the son of a well-respected ex-president. Apparently, he had chanced upon the Pakistani prisoners in the prison when detained for writing an unacceptable article against the state. He believed they were innocent. He was willing to take on the cause, with the support of human rights NGO and a related newspaper. Likewise Activists from Pakistan wanted to get involved. However, since the Foreign office was willing to take responsibility, I kept their interest in reserve.
This was obvious because the counselor was recalled. In spite of all that is said there is accountability and there are enough people willing to re -address wrongs. The actions of the Senate, the Foreign Minister and the Foreign Office and Activists have proved that. This episode has given me so much hope. All is not lost. We all need to put in our bit. That is what is missing. We keep saying the system is so corrupt. We lull our conscience by asking what can we do, that will make a difference. That is where we go wrong. We can make a difference. Never doubt that.
Ahmed Ali Sarohey was appointed as Deputy of the Head of Mission with careful consideration. He has a legal background, was fluent in Arabic and was willing to resolve the issue. He verified all my claims and wrote to the Ministry informing them that between the lawyer and the Mission they had done grave injustice to the prisoners. He said he had been actually moved to tears when he had sought an audience with the prisoners.
Under his scrutiny, better defense was prepared and the cases appealed. Some were re -appealed and it was found that the majority were innocent. There were some Pakistani fishermen who were caught In Iranian launches and their case was being handled by the Iranian Consulate. The latter dealt with the matter with such efficiency and humaneness. The Prison officials were always comparing. The guilty were sentenced and the innocent were allowed to return to their homes with names cleared. The consulate has now turned attention towards the others outside Sana’a.
A new ambassador soon arrived as well. It is heartening to know that people like Alqama Khawaja are still around. He simply believes the best of Pakistan. In the face of all our upset within and negative image abroad, he continues to propagate hope and a serious patriotism. They say in olden times before felling a tree they used to curse it. This would cause it to shrivel and so, easier to cut. This is what has happened to us. The malicious propaganda is sapping away our belief in ourselves, and our people. The fishermen prisoners belonged to Karachi and Baluchistan. Much to my husband’s annoyance, I called the relatives of some prisoners. The latter had been begging me to re-assure them. Calls from the prison were expensive and often there was a waiting period. The relatives wanted to know about me. Inevitably, they were surprised that I was a Punjabi. This really bothered me because it made me realize the deep estrangement within the people. I had not even cared what provinces the prisoners had belonged to. They were Pakistani’s and that is all that mattered.
During this whole episode, I have seen the best side of Pakistan and Yemen. I have learnt to have faith in our people. Most importantly, I have realized that miracles begin to happen only when we take responsibility.
Friday, April 25, 2008
What a wonderful world!
I sat watching the sunset over the hills of Bait Bos from my bedroom window. My straying eyes had simply alighted onto the scene and I stood riveted. I was struck by the play of the sunlight in the sky. The scenery remained the same, still and uncompromising, but as the sun began the countdown the colors cast an alluring magic. The master brush with its sweeping strokes was painting the scene anew every second. Every changing shade and hue cast a new picture. I watched as the mountains grew from dark to darker to black, majestic and magnificent, against the back drop of an unresisting sky that splashed shades of dying blue and orange.
The scene reminded me of the sunset in Bab – ul – Mandhab, the fishing village on the Red Sea. The burning sun, just before sinking behind the mountains of Djibouti on the other side of the bank, had for a few seconds held the ridges within its cradle. The scene had held me immortal for that brief space of time.
These brushes with nature make me pensive. I am reminded of the English poet, William Wordsworth who revered nature – its virginity, its grandeur. His words, “The world is too much with us” are a recurring lament. I ponder over the words of the wise Red Indian Chief Seattle’s, “part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people..all things are connected like the blood which unites one family.’ His well quoted speech to the Chief of the White people in 1854 is the most passionate defense for the protection of the natural environment.
The natural world is a living library of knowledge but before we have even begun to explore it we have destroyed so much and continue to do so. This is the recurrent bane of the conservationists and as we sit here in Sanaa discussing the plight of the Yemeni leopard, really a symbol for all the wildlife and its habitat, our diseased global environment has come to haunt us. Only 200 left they say. Where have they gone and why. Do we really need to ask this question. We have all contributed to the present danger in one way or the other, small or big. Those who disagree may want to consider that either by directly contributing or by simply ignoring the impact of misguided practices and choices, wars, over exploitation, consumerism and wastefulness we have aided this impact. As human beings we are responsible for our own actions and choices. As Muslims we are also responsible for adjoining good and forbidding evil. Think about it!
Back in the early 19’s , my husband decided to switch to a career in the field of environment. Many who found out were taken aback. The green people were not to be taken seriously. As for me it made me aware of my lack of understanding of the subject and hence I found my self volunteering at the World Wide Fund for Nature in Pakistan, They had a vast collection of films on environment issues made by TVE. The British venture that seeks to educate in issues of environment. The documentaries were brilliant. They highlighted issues and gave possible solutions. I learnt that problems were not the concern , it was not having solutions that was the main concern. Contrary to my expectation they were rather enjoyable. My attitude began to change, suddenly everything around me began to make sense. I began to question my needs and my choices were no longer random but informed.
Islam requires this understanding as an essential need to understand the reality of being. “Verily, in the creation of the heavens and the earth, and in the alternation of the night and the day, there are indeed signs for men of understanding.” It is these people who when reflecting deeply about the creation cry out, “Our lord! You have not created this without purpose.” If nothing has been created without purpose do we have the right to endanger it and if it is endangered is it not imperative to make amends. This much we know, we are all connected, all interdependent - All of us serving some purpose, some need which is vital to the balance of life.
The extinction of the Yemeni leopard, the Nimr, one of the most majestic species, must alert us to the fact that the natural habitat and the eco- systems that support them and eventually us are dying.
My growing awareness of the beauty of the natural world has made me realize how much satisfaction I derive from it. Blooming colors of flowers, heady natural fragrances, thick luscious forests, flowing rivers, the first snow fall, the warm sun on chilly days, the cool rain in sweltering heat, the expanse of the wild ocean, leave a sharp impact on the soul. The effect is calming. Yet we have little time for all this.
I was one of those people who did not like animals. They scared me but all this changed when I visited the wilderness of Zimbabwe. In a resort called Sinamatela, we arrived quite late at night, certainly not a wise decision – we joined a group of people sitting outside a simple tavern. It was getting dark, the jungle was fast disappearing and suddenly all that was left was the star studded, brilliant and busy sky. It was the color of the sky and the number of stars that took my breath away - hundreds, no thousands, the milky way too splashed on black velvet. I have never seen anything like it. Raw and pure it completely intimidated me. You never see that in the cities.
We did not sleep much that night because of the cries of a lion, maybe more we could not tell but it all seemed too close for comfort. We were in small huts that suddenly seemed too insecure. My husband and his two friends stood on guard, unable to close their eyes. The morning brought relief and the guides. We were to hurry if we wanted to see the lions and their family. Apparently they had made a kill that night. I was certainly not thrilled with this piece of news.
We hurried down the incline in jeeps and saw the whole pack crossing the plain. Two lions, at some distance from each other, one in front and the other in the rear, the lionesses and the playful cubs. The lions watched us carefully while the others steadily made their way. They seemed satiated not vicious and oddly very human. For me this was the beginning. I could not take my eyes off them. They were so majestic, so poised, so graceful. I wanted to be closer to them but my husband kept going further. We actually had an argument over it.
We tracked all day and then the next day at the Hwange National Park, actually a jungle, visiting watering holes in hope of seeing game. We did see a lot of different animals. We were not all get the chance. Every animal was beautiful and content in its world. One has seen them on television and at a closer distance in zoos but here they seemed complete – at home. It seemed a post card picture perfect world. But it was not always so, I discovered only a couple of minutes later. I was perturbed when I saw a zebra standing alone. His mein was down, a sure sign that he was sick and consequently, he had been abandoned by his comrades. Cruel as it seems this is the real world of self survival. The authorities allow the rule of the jungle to prevail. They do not intervene. Nature manages and balances life all by itself. The air was fresh, no waste, no decay, life evolved pure.
I had only one wish left by the end, to see another lion at close range, so close that I could look into its eyes. My husband was shocked, this was not me. He is in element in such an environment. It was never my thing.
The last morning, cuddled in blankets we went with the guides in an open jeep. It was very early and biting cold. Very soon after, I began to feel disgruntled, not an animal in sight and for the cold we could not focus on much else. In a fit of reaction, I cast the blankets aside and forced my husband to stand up with me. We had not gone far when he gave a warning cry. He had detected a movement. The jeep stopped and we waited. Sure enough there was something there. The movement had been the raising of a head . Then the creature began to move towards us. It came nearer and I discovered to my delight that it was a lion cub. It came right up to the jeep. The guides sitting in the front were ready with their weapons and all of us sat very vulnerable in the open vehicle. I was not scared, amazingly, not a bit. It went all around the jeep, taking in all details, not scared nor wanting to scare, simply curious. I watched him with bated breadth. It then, came to my side and I looked straight into his eyes. It was love at first sight. I was gone. Years of conditioning had made me wary of any animals. They can only hurt I believed but that one look cured me for ever. They will attack only when threatened.
We have all grown up with the Mowgli story and the Tarzan cartoons. It occurred to me after this adventure that the story is timeless and of universal appeal because it touches the basic truth in us. Our one being. Man, natural environment and animal live together in harmony – dependant and nurturing each other. They take only what they require. No conflict inhabits this perfect world till greed sets in. The hunters bring with them the danger that threatens life. Their vision is limited to the short term benefits for themselves. They say the world has enough for mans needs but not his greed. A wise man put it even better when he said it is only when all the trees are gone and all the water dried up that we will realize we cannot eat money. It is time to start analyzing our lives, sifting between essentials and luxuries. This is incumbent on all of us. Incumbent for our own survival and our generations whose future rests on the decisions and efforts we make today.
The scene reminded me of the sunset in Bab – ul – Mandhab, the fishing village on the Red Sea. The burning sun, just before sinking behind the mountains of Djibouti on the other side of the bank, had for a few seconds held the ridges within its cradle. The scene had held me immortal for that brief space of time.
These brushes with nature make me pensive. I am reminded of the English poet, William Wordsworth who revered nature – its virginity, its grandeur. His words, “The world is too much with us” are a recurring lament. I ponder over the words of the wise Red Indian Chief Seattle’s, “part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people..all things are connected like the blood which unites one family.’ His well quoted speech to the Chief of the White people in 1854 is the most passionate defense for the protection of the natural environment.
The natural world is a living library of knowledge but before we have even begun to explore it we have destroyed so much and continue to do so. This is the recurrent bane of the conservationists and as we sit here in Sanaa discussing the plight of the Yemeni leopard, really a symbol for all the wildlife and its habitat, our diseased global environment has come to haunt us. Only 200 left they say. Where have they gone and why. Do we really need to ask this question. We have all contributed to the present danger in one way or the other, small or big. Those who disagree may want to consider that either by directly contributing or by simply ignoring the impact of misguided practices and choices, wars, over exploitation, consumerism and wastefulness we have aided this impact. As human beings we are responsible for our own actions and choices. As Muslims we are also responsible for adjoining good and forbidding evil. Think about it!
Back in the early 19’s , my husband decided to switch to a career in the field of environment. Many who found out were taken aback. The green people were not to be taken seriously. As for me it made me aware of my lack of understanding of the subject and hence I found my self volunteering at the World Wide Fund for Nature in Pakistan, They had a vast collection of films on environment issues made by TVE. The British venture that seeks to educate in issues of environment. The documentaries were brilliant. They highlighted issues and gave possible solutions. I learnt that problems were not the concern , it was not having solutions that was the main concern. Contrary to my expectation they were rather enjoyable. My attitude began to change, suddenly everything around me began to make sense. I began to question my needs and my choices were no longer random but informed.
Islam requires this understanding as an essential need to understand the reality of being. “Verily, in the creation of the heavens and the earth, and in the alternation of the night and the day, there are indeed signs for men of understanding.” It is these people who when reflecting deeply about the creation cry out, “Our lord! You have not created this without purpose.” If nothing has been created without purpose do we have the right to endanger it and if it is endangered is it not imperative to make amends. This much we know, we are all connected, all interdependent - All of us serving some purpose, some need which is vital to the balance of life.
The extinction of the Yemeni leopard, the Nimr, one of the most majestic species, must alert us to the fact that the natural habitat and the eco- systems that support them and eventually us are dying.
My growing awareness of the beauty of the natural world has made me realize how much satisfaction I derive from it. Blooming colors of flowers, heady natural fragrances, thick luscious forests, flowing rivers, the first snow fall, the warm sun on chilly days, the cool rain in sweltering heat, the expanse of the wild ocean, leave a sharp impact on the soul. The effect is calming. Yet we have little time for all this.
I was one of those people who did not like animals. They scared me but all this changed when I visited the wilderness of Zimbabwe. In a resort called Sinamatela, we arrived quite late at night, certainly not a wise decision – we joined a group of people sitting outside a simple tavern. It was getting dark, the jungle was fast disappearing and suddenly all that was left was the star studded, brilliant and busy sky. It was the color of the sky and the number of stars that took my breath away - hundreds, no thousands, the milky way too splashed on black velvet. I have never seen anything like it. Raw and pure it completely intimidated me. You never see that in the cities.
We did not sleep much that night because of the cries of a lion, maybe more we could not tell but it all seemed too close for comfort. We were in small huts that suddenly seemed too insecure. My husband and his two friends stood on guard, unable to close their eyes. The morning brought relief and the guides. We were to hurry if we wanted to see the lions and their family. Apparently they had made a kill that night. I was certainly not thrilled with this piece of news.
We hurried down the incline in jeeps and saw the whole pack crossing the plain. Two lions, at some distance from each other, one in front and the other in the rear, the lionesses and the playful cubs. The lions watched us carefully while the others steadily made their way. They seemed satiated not vicious and oddly very human. For me this was the beginning. I could not take my eyes off them. They were so majestic, so poised, so graceful. I wanted to be closer to them but my husband kept going further. We actually had an argument over it.
We tracked all day and then the next day at the Hwange National Park, actually a jungle, visiting watering holes in hope of seeing game. We did see a lot of different animals. We were not all get the chance. Every animal was beautiful and content in its world. One has seen them on television and at a closer distance in zoos but here they seemed complete – at home. It seemed a post card picture perfect world. But it was not always so, I discovered only a couple of minutes later. I was perturbed when I saw a zebra standing alone. His mein was down, a sure sign that he was sick and consequently, he had been abandoned by his comrades. Cruel as it seems this is the real world of self survival. The authorities allow the rule of the jungle to prevail. They do not intervene. Nature manages and balances life all by itself. The air was fresh, no waste, no decay, life evolved pure.
I had only one wish left by the end, to see another lion at close range, so close that I could look into its eyes. My husband was shocked, this was not me. He is in element in such an environment. It was never my thing.
The last morning, cuddled in blankets we went with the guides in an open jeep. It was very early and biting cold. Very soon after, I began to feel disgruntled, not an animal in sight and for the cold we could not focus on much else. In a fit of reaction, I cast the blankets aside and forced my husband to stand up with me. We had not gone far when he gave a warning cry. He had detected a movement. The jeep stopped and we waited. Sure enough there was something there. The movement had been the raising of a head . Then the creature began to move towards us. It came nearer and I discovered to my delight that it was a lion cub. It came right up to the jeep. The guides sitting in the front were ready with their weapons and all of us sat very vulnerable in the open vehicle. I was not scared, amazingly, not a bit. It went all around the jeep, taking in all details, not scared nor wanting to scare, simply curious. I watched him with bated breadth. It then, came to my side and I looked straight into his eyes. It was love at first sight. I was gone. Years of conditioning had made me wary of any animals. They can only hurt I believed but that one look cured me for ever. They will attack only when threatened.
We have all grown up with the Mowgli story and the Tarzan cartoons. It occurred to me after this adventure that the story is timeless and of universal appeal because it touches the basic truth in us. Our one being. Man, natural environment and animal live together in harmony – dependant and nurturing each other. They take only what they require. No conflict inhabits this perfect world till greed sets in. The hunters bring with them the danger that threatens life. Their vision is limited to the short term benefits for themselves. They say the world has enough for mans needs but not his greed. A wise man put it even better when he said it is only when all the trees are gone and all the water dried up that we will realize we cannot eat money. It is time to start analyzing our lives, sifting between essentials and luxuries. This is incumbent on all of us. Incumbent for our own survival and our generations whose future rests on the decisions and efforts we make today.
Personal account of my pilgrimage to Mecca and Al. Madinah
I was leaving from Romania. We were to meet our friends in Pakistan and then travel on to Saudi Arabia with the tour that had made the travel and lodging arrangements for us on Hajj. I had blindly followed the plans made by our friends, trusting their judgment. I had known that year that we were going – how? I cannot say but my heart knew. I was ready for it. My husband was not and I did not want to force him into going till the consent came from him. He needed to confirm bookings and then came a day that he could stall no longer. He knew of my desire but he also knew that he had to agree himself. I did not want to take on a challenging venture with a reluctant traveler.
I had always wanted to do Hajj in the best possible fashion, in terms of comfort and facilities. I had asked Allah for that and though I got what I wanted it was not as I expected. I was soon to learn lessons of Tawakul. When we left Lahore to go to Karachi on our way to Saudi Arabia, we were accompanied by a group of pilgrims that are famously rich. Fashionably attired, they left with all the fanfare of a great sending off - the garlands, photographs, the farewell embraces, while we had none of it. They were with us in the aircraft bound to Jeddah the next day, part of the same travel plan. This time, like us dressed in Ahram. Their women carried the dark colored abayas with such grace.
Though we traveled together many times over the next two weeks, we did not stay together and except for a few, no one made an effort to get to know each other. I thought then it was strange. They simply kept within themselves. They had paid for luxuries that I had wanted. However, as the purpose of this entire experience dawned on me, I realized that I would have missed out on the meaning of Hajj, if I had purchased the exclusivity of the package that they had. And thus any regret turned to Shukar.
Hajj with its certain rituals seemed to inject doses of Taqwa that gave the urge to shower husn-e- khulaq all around. This communal sense of being the Muslim Ummah was one of the main purposes of Hajj. All boundaries wither away as one becomes focused. I felt it when a couple was doing Tawaf next to us and my husband asked me to help guide the lady through the crowd. It did not matter who she was, I can’t even remember her face, it was enough that we were Muslims. Later, when standing on the roof of Haram, I peered down to observe the pilgrims. No distinction marked them. No arrogance of rank or wealth. All bonded by the purpose of their creation, humility to the ONE God.
Like moths going round and round the Kaaba, the symbol of the One Allah. Like a lover that craves only his beloved. His passion so great, he is unable to mind any thing else. Dressed in two pieces of unstitched cloth, his unkept appearance is of no consequence, his comfort and food not a concern. He only desires a glimpse, a word, a moment of intimacy. Oblivious to his own self, he seeks only the countenance and favour of his Rab. Men must not cover their heads since that marks honor and distinction and that is only for Allah. The grace of Kaaba is in its covering. The black raiment is shared by many Muslim women though others prefer white or colored. I wore an abayah for any length of time during Hajj and it was the most cherished feeling of comfort and security.
I cannot generalize or speak for everyone, for I am convinced that though it is a congregational abadat, Hajj is a unique and relative journey of self discovery for every pilgrim. We all go through the same rituals but the journey poised challenges for each of us that were pertinent to our own realm of experiences, personalities and thinking. I may be doing what all the others are doing but perceive the whole in a totally different manner, learn a lesson or a fact, unravel a mystery or decipher an interpretation that is unique to me. Sometimes I am unable to share it with others and I treasured these moments of intimacy with Allah. We were four ladies in our sub- group and each felt and reacted differently to the situation and experiences. What was easy for me was not as easy for another and visa versa. It showed me yet another interpretation of God's plenty. We all had our own challenges and yet we were sisters joined by our common devotion to Allah. We had all contributed in one way or another to our spiritual growth and this journey was a culmination of that support. Goodness has a ripple effect as a dear aunt says. There were those who reached out naturally to bind with others. They were those who wanted to single mindedly focus on their prayers. The intentions in each case were honest and pure, only the ways were different and I learnt to understand. Therefore, if there was confusion or a difference of opinion, I simply agreed to that which made sense. In Mina, there was a difference of opinion on the direction of Qibla. One lot said prayers in one direction and the others deviated slightly. It bothered me that we were not praying in the same direction but later I found out that our deen gives us this wust( leverage). And this is its husn. If we let go of this then we surge to extremes. The intention is, however, most important.
This is where I realized the wisdom of the koranic verse, “And take a provision for the journey, but the best provision is At Taqwa. So fear me, o men of understanding!” Surat Al-Baqarah, verse 197. I had been worried that I was ill prepared for Hajj, not having read much before leaving. Whenever the thought perturbed me this verse rang in my mind and I would feel consoled. This is the key to a satisfying Hajj. At every step of the journey if one was to maintain a high level of consciousness of our Lord, this awareness of his all seeing and all knowing presence beside us, and the fear of displeasing the One and Only is the basic requisite of Hajj. The rest follows naturally. This does not undermine the importance of making sure one is equipped with necessities – the many pilgrims who arrive hoping to beg off people is highly undesirable from all point of views.
Some one had suggested to me to take all old clothes which could be discarded since new would be ruined and it was highly undesirable to hang wet clothes in rooms. To dress in rags for Allah, who is AL Raziq, does not make sense to me. We found the launderettes very convenient, cheap and quick. On the other extreme, I saw huge suit cases, one was being pulled with a rope. The actual Hajj was to teach us a very different experience. Quantity and quality go hand in hand.
I believe Haj is a journey of passion, but passion tempered by Taqwa, Sabr and Ahsan. These virtues constitute the essential training of Hajj. Abadat is the practical use of these tools in day to day matters. The journey to and from Haj can take months for many pilgrims and it is enough time to inculcate a new behavior. This is why it is connected to the idea of re-birth. These terms to me embody the whole essence of Hajj –e - Mabroor and also the key to success in the world. The fulfillment of the one dua that we all recite during Tawaf – “ Our lord! Give us in this world that which is good and in the hereafter that which is good, and save us from the torment of Fire!” Surah Baqarah, verse 201… This is the balanced vision of our way of life.
As we drove to Mecca, reciting the Talbiah,” Allah I am present’’, I felt a stirring within me. Most of us joined in but some felt hesitant to show their fervor and did not say it aloud. I later found out that this inability can be deciphered as a sign of hypocrisy.
I imagined all those people who left their homes, like the Chinese pilgrims that stopped in Pakistan with their silk wares, selling to pay for their journey. What was the passion that made them undertake this long and arduous journey? “ And proclaim to mankind the Hajj. They will come to you on every lean camel, they will come from every deep and distant mountain highway.” Surat Hajj, verse 27. One cannot explain the lure of Kaaba. I remember arguing with my father the first time I went For Umrah when he told me of his chance encounter on a previous occasion with a very pious man who had never left Mecca for home again. I thought it was ridiculous to act so passionately but once there I understood. The absolute serenity and contentment that fills you leaves all arguments hollow. When I returned from my Hajj to Romania, my expatriate friends, many who did not know where I had come from, commented on the fact that my vacation had done me a lot of good. I felt renewed and complete. As Allah Subhan –u- talha says, only in his remembrance is there contentment of heart.
I had always wondered why Hajj was one of the foremost pillars of Islam, though incumbent only on those who could afford it. Why was it so important? It all finally began to make sense. Just like when I had read the Koran in detail, everything had begun to connect into a string of smooth understanding. So did the reason of all the rituals began to make sense. The understanding bought with it unexpected pleasure that naturally follows clarity.
On our way to Mecca, we had not bothered to keep food with us, expecting to find it easily. We were hungry. I suddenly remembered the packet of goodies that I had reluctantly put in the hand luggage on my sister in laws insistence. The whole coaster gradually fed from it. The only things that were left were stock sachets. These nursed my husband in his cold the next day. It was consumed with as much gratitude as the sincerity it had come with. One of the travelers held up his hands to offer a special prayer for the one who had sent them. Lot of people had contributed in one way or the other for our journey. The gifts were given with sincerity and I am sure they were accepted. For me in particular, a dear friend, who became like a sister, I have never known, had gone beyond limit. The only way I could repay her is by including her in every prayer that I say for myself for as long as I live.
We were all tired. None had slept well in the preceding few nights. I and another member of our group, who was little known to me, were not clean. The precautions had not worked. It was beyond the doctor and my control. We can do what we may but the will of the Almighty only prevails for he knows best. I later realized the hikmah. That night on settling down, the rest except me, my friend and my husband took off for Umrah. My husband did not go since he thought it was unnecessary to tire one self. He performed his Umrah with a Tunisian group after Salat Fajr the next morning. He found exactly what he wanted. On leaving Romania, a friend had given us one solitary piece of advice, “Don’t act like Mr Afzaal(Superior)” When asked what it meant, he had said to take everything in its stride. This is what made our Hajj so unique and so easy.
I had been exhausted when I reached Mecca. I had left home a month before and not known any rest. In my present state, the rigors of Hajj would have been impossible. In giving me this break, my Rub actually relieved me. I rested and as the day of the Hajj dawned, I was fit to take on any challenge. Besides had I been clean, my companion would have been alone and visa versa. We bonded. This experience enhanced my tawakul. Science and tadbir were insufficient. The knowledge brought with it serenity. A day before our departure to Mina, we took the cleansing bath, both of us, and went to perform Umrah. By this time everyone in the group had prayed for us and we began Hajj with Istakhfar and Shukar. Turning obstacles into positive direction – this is active Sabar. We came out richer from a seeming miscalculation.
Also my husband who is pained by an over display of emotion was most solicitous. He let me be when we went again at night. I sat before Kaaba for a long period of time, asking for guidance and forgiveness. Ironically, I made lists of prayers in my mind but once there it was only the torment of fire and His wrath that caused me worry. It was here that I unburdened the amanat of all who had asked for me to pray for them, in particular, my niece. Her written prayer for me to read were so mature for her age and when she asked for herself, they were related to the hereafter and when for others she could not ask enough. I prayed so much for her, especially her. It was not a coincidence. When the news came of her illness a month after the Haj, I knew that she would be Okay.
As we were departing for Mina, a call from home informed me that my son was not well. I wept at my helplessness. Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind me. It was a lady on crutches, “Look at me, she said. I have lost two kids to cancer and am still smiling.” I was horrified but there was no time to say more until we reached our destination. Once in the camp, she came to me. Her daughter whose name was the same as mine and then her son had both died in their youth from a rare kind of cancer. They had been taken to the best doctors in the world but for all the research and money spent, the will of Allah had overpowered. We heard her story and wept. I had forgotten to pray for my daughter since I worry the least for her. However, that was no excuse. I should be fair to all of my kids. The incident filled me with Shukar. How we exaggerate our trials!
We were blessed with our companions on Hajj. They seemed simple and friendly. Though very well off, they were humble. Close to my mattress was a mother and daughter who were managing so well with a baby. They spoke of their joint family lifestyle and how the impartial behavior of their in laws had kept the whole family together. They lived like friends. Then, my immediate neighbor was an elderly lady who kept chiding the young ladies in our camp. They were more interested in chatting idly and planning Hajj parties on return than praying. This lady was the one who insisted on cleaning the dust off the toilet seat for me before I used it inArafat.
At night, my friends had given away their mattresses to other older ladies who found single ones too low. I was resisting. I wanted to sleep on the mattress. However, nearing midnight, I could not refuse a request and gave it up for a lady who could not sleep for the A/C draft on her. My friends were most amused.
Throughout the congregational salat in Haram, the verses on jadal “nor dispute unjustly during the Hajj” (SuratAl- Baqarah, verse 197) were recited repeatedly. I realized the hikmah at the end of the three days of Haj. It was so easy to pick up fights since ones patience has been stretched. A learned scholar among us suggested that if any who feared a transgression they should give Sadqa. In his opinion the cleaners were most deserving. A friend, I may mention here taught me something beautiful. She had sent money to give sacrifice on behalf of Rasool- Allah (SAW) since he had always done so for his Ummah.
There were cleaners in our camp. I have been told that people come from different places, many very well educated, to have the honor of cleaning the Haram and the stations of Hajj. “And remember when we showed Abrahim the site of the (sacred) House (saying) “Associate not anything with Me, and sanctify my house for those who circumambulate it, and those who stand ( in prayer), and those who bow, and make prostration.” Surat Al- Hajj, verse 26. We look down upon cleaners, not realizing this was the privilege of prophet hood. The ladies serving us were complained about but I saw that the minute they finished cleaning, some one would come in and unmindful of their effort litter the toilets.
The refuse in and around the camps tells a harsh reality. With cleanliness at the heart of our religion we are very unclean people. People sat amidst litter, completely oblivious to it, especially women. Women instill essential values in their children. Their deliberate backwardness and illiteracy have undermined the values and strength of the Ummah. They were simply unbothered about the mess they created.
The food was excessive and hence, unnecessary. For the next couple of days, one saw sacks of wasted food discarded all over. One needed simple, nutritious fare but when I suggested this to the organizer, he said that is what the majority wanted. In the following days, the food would arrive late and often be spoilt and unappetizing. Ironically, the meal I remember most with relish is a simple rice and lentil dish made fresh in our camp at the small kitchen, near the entrance. We were coming into the camp one day, when we saw a man asking for cold cans of drinks though the bars of the gate. Though he was ready to pay, he was refused. This was not the spirit of Hajj.
We had to carry our bags - very small ones we had bought for Mina – on our backs. There is always quite a lot of walk involved. I had with me some extra stuff that I did not use. I remember this kettle in particular that I used for steam inhalation - my husband was nursing a bad cold. It was such a pain to carry it along, though not even heavy. It bought home to me the fact that on the Day of Judgment nobody would carry our burdens for us, and more than anything else all that we so happily collect will be left behind.
We walked around on the first night and saw how the people were living. They were on the ground, whole families, unbothered while we had so much more than we needed. It filled us again with Shukar. We had air pillows and sleeping bags, in case we needed them, while here lay people without anything or very little. Learning to adapt and remain focused in the face of challenges was the test during this journey. The word is so inadequate in his explanation of all the connotations of this particular travel for pilgrimage.
I felt the same sense of privilege the next day, as we headed towards Arafat. Allah’s hand is on the jammat (the group). We felt the barkat (blessing) throughout Hajj. We watched out for others, guiding and sharing everything. We were as greedy for reward for ourselves as for each one of our friends. No prayer could be read without sharing, no journey began without one of us reserving the best seats for the others - we were together as one. And no where was this more pronounced than on the day of Arafat.
We were going to this piece of land, barren and uninviting where we would all be collected on the day of Qiyamah. The land, where our first parents were united on earth. Hence, it marked the beginning and the end. It was also where their earnest prayer of forgiveness was granted. There are no rituals to be followed, just quiet moments of contemplation and simple sincerity and honest repentance. The end seemed so real for that brief period of time.
As the coach went along we saw big crowds of people moving. They were all here on the invitation of Allah. Would their Hajj be more beloved to Allah than ours who had all the comforts unknown to them? Their jihad seemed to be more. We descended in an area which was all ready with tents, carpets, lounging mattresses and supports. Juices of all kind, chilled awaited our pleasure. It reminded me of Hazrat Abrahim’s prayer, “My Lord, make this city a place of security and provide its people with fruits, such of them as believe in Allah and the last day” (Surat Al Baqarah, verse 126). It occurred to me that this prayer’s was not for him self but for the succeeding generations. Not for the first time I pondered on the magnificence of the noble Prophet. Though it is actually the way described by Prophet Mohammad, PBUH, that we follow, the inspiration is Hazrat Abrahim. The focused one, the one who used his intellect to search his Rab, the one who fulfilled all his tasks only for his pleasure and how he was honored. Perhaps the one thing that overwhelms me as a woman is the fact that after the ritual of Tawaf, Allah has honored the struggle of a woman, Safa and Marwah speak of the great story of Hajarah, the wife of Prophet Abrahim. Who says a woman is considered inferior in Islam? Here we were a group of four leading our men.
My only regret was that we could not go out to Masjid –e- Nimra to hear the khutba or stand on the Jabal- e- Rahmat. We felt removed. I almost dosed off on the soft mattress, the warm sun and the light breeze too heedy to resist. A lady came by and served us with nuts. It was a beautiful gesture and the snack woke me up. We idled away our time but became more serious as the time of Zawal approached. Others did the same. My friends and I took turns standing and sitting on our prayer mats. Their special double lining of plastic was a blessing. We silently shared written prayers with each other hesitant to break the silence that had descended around us. Each one of us felt close to Allah and prayed in the heart. This simplicity is the beauty of our religion.
It was at some point then that my friend pointed out that one of my teachers from the Islamic university was amidst us. She wanted me to ask her to make a congregational prayer. As a result, we all collected together under the sky, facing Qibla and let her lead us in supplication. A relative of mine had gone on Hajj with a scholar and I had wanted to do the same. I felt a secret wish had been answered. These moments have always filled me with a love of Allah beyond description. They were precious moments marred only by a slight incident. A very sweet lady from the elite group had joined us but she was ruthlessly pulled out by her friends. This was a cult they were heard saying. They sat apart while we all prayed.
Too soon it was all over. The food was served to all – the same feast of camel meat and rice in big platters, as was Arabian tradition. It was from the king of Saudi Arabia. We all sat down in groups to share – the hikmah of the hadith that advises us to eat from what is in front of us dawned on me. One of the elite group was, I heard later displeased with this fare though another one came to sit with us and pray, and yet another taught me a beautiful gesture - she went to every group and shared food with them. She had previously brought smiles to our faces when asking if we knew a special prayer she could read for the recovery of an expensive shawl that she had lost. But that is not a problem. The companions of the Prophet would pray to Allah even for shoe laces.
It was time to leave. We were to say our Maghrib and Isha prayers together. Why, because this is what Rasool- Allah PBUH did. Itba means just this – following in his footsteps. It was an important lesson. Our knowledge is limited. And in following Sunnah we don’t always need to know the reason. his does not mean blind faith but faith in the wisdom of Allah and his guided Prophet (SAW). We had some free time before our departure. So we asked the learned lady to give a short lecture on the numerous marriages of the Prophet. We were told that the Prophet’s marriages were a decision of Allah. They were for political reasons as well as to protect some ladies who had made extreme sacrifices for Islam. They were partners in his mission and taught Islam long after his death.
As we left Arafat it was very late. The roads were empty but the litter was unbelievable. We had come for a moment of intimacy with Allah and left this behind. I had to say, “Forgive us, Allah.”
I slept on the way to Muzdalfah. The calmness constantly overwhelmed me. I tried to control my snoring but could not. That was the test of my friends. My first sight of the place is etched in my mind. It is my most vivid memory of Hajj. I opened my eyes to witness what seemed the scene of the Day of Judgment. I could not make out the forms, only white sheets, hundreds all over the place, on the rocks, on the ground, near, far, everywhere. It was eerie, as though corpses had come alive! The vision still makes me shudder. It was so real. The Hajj takes man back to his origin and the truth of his existence. And it brings a complete transformation. The trials of the journey are in themselves the process of tazkiya. Hence the re-birth and hence the Muslim new year that follows a couple of weeks later.
We stayed here, under the open sky. Such was the love of the Prophet (PBUH) for his Ummah that he forbade them to stay awake that night. Sleeping is ajar on this night since it is the following of Sunnah. Again it exhibits the wust and husn of our way of life. There was a debate over the stones for Rami the next day. It turned out that they had to be collected from here. I heard a very funny story on my return. Another Hajji informed us that he had been advised to wash and clean the stones and then to hit them. I had often wondered about the significance of Rami and it all came together at Hajj. This Manasik of Hajj is in memory of the stones that Abrahim threw at Satan when he came to bar him from sacrificing his son. The act is a show of defiance to Satan and all taghuti forces that try to hinder us from being obedient to Allah. It is the shedding of the love of the calf, symbolic of the love of ghair- Allah, the many temptations of our life. After the day of Arafat when we had begged for His forgiveness, renewed our faith and pledged to live as Muslims henceforth, this ritual symbolizes the hijrah from evil to good. It is the outward manifestation of a spiritual cleansing. Ironically, people often get carried away – the serious malady of the Muslims today - and stay at the very beginning of the wall marking the site to cast their stones. This causes crowding and the stones often do not make it to the target and injure fellow humans. There was no way I was going to hit anyone. My husband was furious that I did not join them and in moving on was coveting danger. Nevertheless, I moved on. The way cleared as not many people had been patient and I aimed comfortably at the wall. This was a little success for me in more ways than one. For whatever reason, I crave my husbands favor in practicing my faith and when not getting it stop myself. I do not want to go that far that he cannot catch up. This time I had put my duty to my Allah first and had succeeded. The next day my husband followed me on without a word.
Having shed off the burden, we then, headed towards Mecca. I have had many uneasy years where I fretted for peace and calm within me. I have sought many a refuge to assuage this hunger within. But at this moment I felt only new and complete. We returned to Haram to do our tawaf-e- ziarah, an important ritual of the Hajj and then were allowed to shed off our Ahrams. It seemed we had without knowing chosen our times well, having beaten the traffic. We decided to eat at this simple corner stall serving Pakistani food. Here we found a couple with whom we shared our table. The gentlemen had lost money in business and gone to the Middle East in search of work. Though fairly simple they had realized the need to highly educate their kids. These simple interactions inculcated fellow feeling and thus, gave Hajj its meaning.
It was getting late and we had still to go back to Mina. We requested taxis but they seemed reluctant. We realized why when we neared the main road link. It was blocked. The only way to go was walking. Since we had left early that morning, we had found a taxi but now there was only one way. We were tired, it had been a long day but we went on. We traversed through groups of people, uncomfortable at the intimacy it created. Finally after an hour’s walk or less, we reached our camp and slept. The next day we again did Rami and some of us stayed that day at the camp. It was in a sense unfair to crowd roads without any reason.
I went to see my teacher in her camp and spent some time receiving instruction from her. I was looking for material for my English friends who had wanted to know more about Hajj. We decided to venture outside the camp and search for some literature on the subject but came up with little result. I would have given up but she would not. This tenacity was the difference between me and her, I realized. Then, some one pointed us to Masjid khaif. I followed her, nauseated by the food dumps and people living within them, totally unmindful. We walked around to the ladies section and after some attempt managed to go inside. Ladies were living here and obviously very reluctant to leave their space. We found a tiny spot and I prayed here. I finished quickly anxious to leave since the overcrowding and the mess bothered me but my teacher took a while. Finally we came out. It was then that she told me the importance of this mosque. She had wanted to pray here since it is said that many Prophets of Allah have prayed here and some even claim that Prophet Abraham is buried here. I wished I had concentrated more on my prayers – as usual!
We returned to our camp. The rest of the day went by in ease. The next morning we planned to go to Jamarat for the last day of Rami and then leave for Mecca. There was no room for private vehicle, either we could walk back or take the Public bus. As we were leaving, lest we did not meet them again, we said goodbye to some of our friends from the camp. One of them said that our going before the time of Zawal as is Sunnah was not correct. We pointed out that the Ulema had given fatwa that it was okay to do Rami at any time of the day, considering the number of pilgrims in our times. At the time of the Prophet they argued, there were less pilgrims. But this lady closed the floor with saying that they had come so far away and they would do everything at “afzaal” time. We were not going to argue but ijtihad is the wust of deen and when one does not consider it fatal errors can take place as did that day. We left. It was easy for us. We left on Saftco public buses. This was a bit of an ordeal but once we were in, it took a few minutes. We had left our luggage behind. The need for meager provision, actually bare essentials, is a recurrent lesson in Hajj. We reached Haram and after changing went straight to discharge the final rites of Tawaf-e- Vidah. It was easy enough to begin with but as we progressed it became more and more difficult. We were on the roof and it was packed. We moved at snail pace but finally did it. This was the one real tough time in Hajj for us. If one takes things in stride, then one does not get too worried. A little emergency package of food and essentials at hand, a little foresight and preplanning can avoid discomfort. When it is un - avoidable, one must go with the pace and it becomes easier. It is all in the mind. This is why Hajj was compared with jihad for women.
It was over. We had done Hajj. It had been beautiful. No words could describe the moment.
However, our excitement was short lived. News began to pour in of the stampede at Rami. All the Hajj’s wanted to leave after they had performed the rites and many had stayed for the afzaal time of Zawal. There were big billboards everywhere warning people not to litter and refrain from carrying luggage but many did not pay heed. Even in the morning, we saw pilgrims with trailing luggage. They had to leave it before the barrier on the way to Jamarat. The unattended, hastily strewn luggage was an ideal tripping ground for the huge crowd and it just takes a couple to fall to begin a chain disaster. Very small back packs with essentials is sufficient for the stay at Mina. This slight oversight and not heeding laws led to the death of many and bad publicity all over the world. The laws are to make our life easy but as Muslims we think of them as an encumbrance. We love to defy them.
The next day we left for Medina. I always feel very sad leaving Mecca. Kaaba is everything for me. Medina does not hold the same attraction and I asked myself why. I realized that maybe my reverence of the Prophet was not as great as it should be. I decided then that I must inform myself better on his life and Hadith. It also told me why my amal was weak since it was not based on his Sunnah.
A friend of mine and her mother – in-law had prayed a lot for me when I was looking to buy a house in Islamabad. I had always felt that I had never really shown my gratitude for their thoughtfulness. Here in Medina we all met accidentally. I went with them to pay our respects at the Roza of the Prophet (SAW).
There, I was shocked to see how the women were behaving. They were constantly being reminded to control themselves. They were pushy and noisy. It brought home to me the injunction of the Koran to lower our voices in the presence of the Prophet (SAW). Though he is no longer with us, I presume that honor is merited especially, on his grave. When we finally neared the Roza, the mob did not allow us space. I helped to clear space and keep some people at bay so that my friend and her mother in- law could pray. In that instant I was aware of the intricate planning of my Allah. He had known my intention.
We left Medina with huge baggage a couple of days later which caused us much delay. Loading was an issue. We waited in the buses, eager to leave since the journey is for some hours. This delay was unnecessary. Passenger ladies, totally unmindful of the inconvenience, informed us that they had a great tradition of giving on return from Hajj. They had not only been shopping for gifts but also bought, packed and left so many at home. It reminded me of a humble salesman in Islamabad who had advised me not to waste time shopping when in Haram since what was in Mecca and Madinah was not to be found any where else. We had bought small tokens for immediate family, lots of dates and water for everyone else who came to see us. Prayers were our gift to everyone.
This tradition of gifts was to become the bane of our journey back home. We reached the airport and were unable to find trolleys. We had light stuff so it was not a problem but others had loads. Luckily, we found a huge luggage trolley which driven by the official staff took it to a certain point. Beyond that it had to be carried. I felt sorry for the husbands. We stood in the line and the luggage was everywhere, a nuisance to push as people cleared check in.
At this time, a very unpleasant incident took place. A Pakistani gentleman started to cut the line, everyone reprimanded him but he would not move. The official got upset with him and refused to open a second counter till he cleared off. He did not budge. My husband intervened and there was an unpleasant encounter. At this point, I also said something but a beloved friend let out a warning. I stopped and realized my mistake. This was jadal and forbidden. The man cleared away, I can’t remember how since I was overcome with shame.
Then another couple created unpleasantness. They had lots of luggage. The husband stood on the counter while the wife silently carried bags to him. They were unwilling to pay overweight and seeking favors by requesting adjustment in other’s luggage allowance. All the while the mother was watching over the baggage in the rear. When it dawned on us what was happening, a serious argument broke out between them and another pilgrim. But for the luggage or the un – planning that prevailed at the departure area, our flight got delayed. There were no announcements and we sat outside the entrance door for some hours, wondering when our increasing discomfort would come to an end.
Finally, once inside I decided to say something to the Saudi official. If Dubai airport with all its traffic can be managed, why was planning so difficult in Jeddah? My friends told me not to say anything since we were guests of Allah and must not complain. I agreed but I was also sure of one thing. I was not going to argue but put a suggestion forward. This was not jadal but
Amr-bin-Maruf. I had witnessed this before on our visit for Umrah. It had been chaotic. I spoke politely to the gentleman and he was most courteous. I told him that my Hajj had been perfect but for the chaos at the airport which could have been avoided with a little foresight. He asked if he apologized would it be okay. I said only if my comments were taken seriously and the system improved would I feel satisfied. He promised to try. We left soon afterward with a strong conviction and extreme gratitude.
One my return to Romania couple of weeks later, I chanced to come across a personal narrative on the experiences of Hajj by Richard. F. Burton. I eagerly skimmed the two part volume to seek similar sentiments but except for factual evidence, felt it was deprived of all spiritual understanding. Intrigued, I read up on him only to discover he was not a Muslim convert as I had thought initially, but by an imposter who had forced his way in to witness Hajj. I knew then that I had to write about my experiences. My niece, May Allah grant her all her wishes and more, gave me a beautiful diary to pen my reflections. The first draft was written in it. The subject is vast and I cannot claim to fathom it all. I don’t deceive my self into believing that it is more than insignificant. However, these are a few impressions that I would like to share with others, hoping it might benefit them. I seek nothing beyond the fulfillment of a promise and the favor of my Rab.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Italian Experience
After a wait of an hour or so on a hot summer afternoon outside the Galleria dell’ Academia in Florence, and then several corridors later, we finally reached David. The larger than life sculpture by Michelangelo has enticed so many from all over the world. Considered to be one of the greatest Renaissance Sculptures, its craftsmanship is chiseled in each line and screw. Such careful study of detail – indeed, incredible!
Yet, standing before it, it struck me odd that though each creator of art takes his or her inspiration from Nature, Allah Subhan-ul-Talha, the Supreme Creator of Nature is merely reflected in the West. He is perceived only by those who ponder. David, to me, stood as mocking symbol of man’s self delusion.
Thou wilt see them Looking At thee, but They see not.
(Surat Al-Araf Verse 198.)
A lifeless imitation of the great miracle - each mere of us gasping at it in admiration of Michelangelo.
Slightly less excited now, I moved on to see some paintings along the walls. The Immaculate Conception by Carlo Portelli (1566) is not as famous as David but it turned out to be the most significant to my purpose. The note below the painting read:
‘The concept of immaculate conception of Mary was introduced into iconography and into catholic practice in the 2nd half of the fifteenth century.
Controversial for many, becoming official dogma, only in 1854, at the decision of Pope Puis IV. Above, God (an image of an old man with a flowing white beard hovering over the others), the father points to the Redeemer (Jesus Christ) symbolized by sacrificial lamb which bears an inscription in Greek taken from Apocalypse of John (13,8) immolated since the foundation of the world. Beside this image the virgin, surrounded by angels, is crushing the serpent coiled around the tree of good and evil. At the sides, seated in the foreground, David and Soloman who had prophesized the coming of the Virgin bear inscriptions in Hebrew from the Psalms and the Song of Songs.
The postscript continued:
‘Here the artist emphasizes the contrasting nature of the two women, the lascivious Eve who incarnates original sin and then the Virgin, born without sin, who has come to redeem the sins of the first parents. Thanks to restoration we can again admire the splendid nude Eve, until now wrapped in a fun robe added to hide her nakedness a few years after the painting was completed. The contrast between the two women is heightened by their perfectly opposing forms, as if one image were the reverse of the other.
Based on historical documents of the time describing the original paintings with a nude Eve, it was decided to remove repainting not only for pictorial quality but to emphasize also the contrast between Mary, the woman who redeems mankind and Eve, the woman who induces man into sin, a theme cherished by the church of the counter reformation.
I was carefully noting down each and every word, instinctively realizing that this was very important. A gentleman approached me (American by his accent) and wanted to know if I was catholic.
‘No’ I replied.
‘Then do you mind if I ask you why you are taking down notes?’
‘I am studying religion and found this very interesting’, I replied.
Pointing to the part where it said, ‘Mary, born without sin, he asked me what I thought of it.
‘Certainly’, I commented, “Mary and Jesus were the only two children who were untouched by Satan at the time of their birth in answer to the prayer of Mary’s mother.
‘So you would agree that she was born without sin’.
‘I don’t know what ‘born without sin’ means exactly, so I cannot say’.
May I know what your knowledge is based on; he persisted.
‘The Holy Quran’, I answered.
‘And what do you make of this’, he pointed to the disparaging description of Eve.
According to the Quran, Eve and Adam both sinned and they were both forgiven. They were sent to earth not for punishment but because it had been created for them.
‘This is interesting’, he commented. ‘So you are interpreting all this work in the light of what the Quran has told you’.
The stranger had summed up for me my Italian experience. Biblical text was the inspiration for all great works of art. My interest and perception was heightened because for every I saw I had the Quranic reference. Somewhere someone had drawn on hearsay and imagination to make the first impressions of the chosen. The images become tradition, having little, if any similarity to reality. This perhaps, was the result of Greek influence on Christianity.
Pondering over the painting of the ‘immaculate conception’. I though of the injustices recorded in history, dealt out to the Christian women. It explained to me the need of the western woman to assent their personality and equality. The fundamental grounding of the Christian belief that woman induces man to sin is perhaps, the main impetus behind the feminist movement.
Had I known at the time, I would have told my curious stranger that Islam, on the other hand, has no prejudice again women. The verses of Surat Taha, very clearly inform us that it was Adam who was corrupted by Satan in the first instance. Eve suffered because she blindly followed her husband, never questioning his disregard of Allah’s will and allowed himself to be seduced.
But Satan whispered evil
To him: he said, “O Adam! Shall I lead thee to
The Tree of Eternity
And to a Kingdom
That never decays?”
Surat Taha, Verse 120/121.
In the result, they both
Ate of the tree and so
Their nakedness appeared
To them: they began to sew
Together, for their covering,
Leaves from the garden:
Thus did Adam disobey
His Lord, and allow himself
To be seduced.
It is only as recent as------- that the western woman was allowed a share in inheritance. And it was only after the World War I, when a drastic shortage of man power, forced women to come to work. Emancipation came with stepping in to man’s world. Then somewhere along the way, it became synonymous with taking off clothes.
Today, the nude Eve is the popular image, as suggested by Carlo Portelli.
Surat Al- Araf verse 27
O ye children of Adam!
Let not Satan seduce you,
In the same manner as
He got your parents out
Of the Garden, stripping them
Of their raiment, to expose
Their shame: for he
And his tribe watch you
From a position where ye
Cannot see them.
However, the standards of morality are obviously known. Inside St. Peter’s cathedral in Rome lies the masterpiece of Michelangelo’s youth – The Pieta (the pity). The sculpture of the grief stricken Madonna, holding a martyred Jesus in her arms. As in all representation Hazrat Marium, is fully draped in a heavy robe, her head covered, eyes downcast exuding a distinct impression of Haya, befitting her exact description in the Quran (Surat Imran Verse. 42-43).
Behold! The angels said:
O’Mary! God hath chosen thee
And purified thee – chosen thee
Above the women of all nations.
O Mary! Worship
Thy Lord devoutly:
Prostrate thyself,
And bow down (in prayer)
With those who bow down.”
‘Mary is being the most excellent among the women of all times is the standard for each of us, modeling the three qualities Allah expects of the female gender –
……….. desire Chastity, not lewdness, nor secret intrigues, Surat Al Maidah verse 6
Interestingly, there was a strict dress code on the tours of the Basilica and the Cathedrals. Shorts and bare shoulders were totally unacceptable. And the visitors conformed without demur.
In the light of all this learning, one wonders what instigates today’s debate over Muslim head scares. The scarf is simply a symbol of a woman’s submission to her creator’s vision of her. Is this mis-spelt plea for liberation, a disguise for a growing sense of vulnerability – possibly, a threat. According to a source, there is a conscious effort to revive Christian practices, particularly in Germany. The main reason is to counteract growing Islamization, which is provoked in the first instance by the attention arresting muslim head scarves.
PART TWO
As I stood before Pieta, another thought niggled me. The cause of the grief suggested was the crucification of Christ. Allah Subhan-u-Tala is again very explicit on this conjecture. (Surat Al-Nisa 157-150)
That they said (in boast),
‘We killed Christ Jesus
The son of Mary
The Apostle of God” –
But they killed him not,
Nor crucified him,
But so it was made
To appear to them,
And those who differ
Therein are full of doubts, With no (certain) knowledge,
But only conjecture to follow,
For a surety
They killed him not: -
Interestingly, Karen Armstrong, the nun who left her vocation because the Catholic Church failed to satisfy her spiritual and intellectual quest for truth, relates a most revealing incident.
She writes in her book, ‘Though the Narrow Gate ’(page 154-155).
‘One day it all came to a head……. I had been set an essay: ‘Assess the quality of the evidence for the Resurrection”.
………….. I had researched the essay carefully, reading all the relevant books of apologetics (a course that sets out to explain the mysteries of faith by means of reason) that seemed to argue that the stone that was rolled away from the tomb was sufficient evidence for any sane person to believe that God had become man, was publicly executed outside Jerusalem and rose from the dead after three days. It can’t be proved, I worried; this essay is a sham. However, since I was working for an examination, I reproduced the mental gymnastics that were expected of me, feeling all the while a sinking loss of integrity …….. My essay proved clearly, by mental slights of hand, that anyone who looked at this evidence and failed to believe in the Resurrection was an imbecile. Wearily I laid down my pen and handed in my essay.
The following Tuesday I sat with Mother Greta in a tutorial……
“Yes, sister”, she beamed at me”. This is an excellent essay…”
I looked back at her. Beneath that frail, bird like body I knew there was an honest mind. I trusted her. I had to ask her about my dilemma.
“But Mother” I said quietly, staring at her intently. “It just isn’t true, what I have written, is it?’
There was silence. She sighed, and, thrusting her hand under her wimple in a characteristic gesture, she rubbed her forehead hard. Her voice, when she spoke, was tired.
‘No, sister”, she said flatly, “No, it is not true, but please don’t tell the other novices’.
I guess one needs to add no more.
PART THREE
Man’s preoccupation – his curiosity to understand the infinite – his anxiety to discover the truth – is the central theme of most of the paintings, especially the Last Judgment by Michelangelo. An estimated 800 tourists visit the Vatican Museums daily to see the famous fresco. It adorns the Sistine Chapel which is intended for the most important ceremonies. Here the cardinals sit in conclave to elect the New pope. The Vatican City stands atop a hill where vates revealed omens. It has been the Principal seat of the popes for 600 years.
Michelangelo began work on the Last judgment in 1534 and completed it in Seven years. He was in his sixties and most ironically, a bitter old man full of doubts and anxiety. His insertion in the painting of a self portrait on the skin of St. Bartholomew, the saint who was skinned alive speaks volumes for any who may care to listen. Seeing his reverential work all over the country, and now at the Vatican, I was amazed to discover that it had brought him little inner solace.
The scene that has enticed so many from all parts of the world portrays a gigantic Christ, “the inexorable judge” and the Virgin Mary surrounded by martyrs showing the symbols of their martyrdom. Angels raise the elect to Heaven. Michelangelo painted almost 300 figures which were entirely naked. His unconventional representation aroused violent criticism. He retorted by painting the cardinal’s portrait in Hell, depicting him as Minos. The lower bottom of the picture is taken directly from Dante’s Inferno. It was interesting to know that the medieval culture was composed of the knowledge of the Bible and Dante’s Divine Comedy. The Renaissance in the 15th century was still looking back to these sources.
As I stood before the painting, I was in haste to gather impressions. It was nearing closing time. I perceived that there was something wrong. The suggestion that Christ alone was dominating the stage of the Last judgment bothered me. In Quran, Allah alone is “The Lord/master of the day of Judgment.” Suddenly, the verses of surat Al. maida 116-123, rang aloud in my ears:
And behold! God will say:
“O! Jesus the son of Mary!
Didst thou say unto men,
Worship me and my mother
As gods in derogation of God”?
He will say:”Glory To Thee!
Never could I say
What I had no right
(To say). Had I said
Such a thing, Thou wouldst
Indeed have known it.
Thou knowest what is
In my heart, though I
Know not what is
In Thine. For Thou
Knowest in Full
All that is hidden.
“Never said I to them
aught except what Thou
Didst command me
To say, to wit,” Worship
God, my Lord and your Lord”;
And I was witness
Over them, whilst I dwelt
Amongst them; when thou
Didst take me up
Thou wast the Watcher
Over them, and Thou
Art a witness to all things.
If Thou dost Punish them,
They areThy servants:
If Thou dost forgive them,
Thou art the Exalted in power,
The Wise.’
God will say: “This is
A day on which
The truthful will profit
From their truth: theirs
Are Gardens, with rivers?
Flowing beneath,-their eternal
Home: God well pleased
With them, and they with God:
That is the great Salvation.
To God doth belong the dominion
Of the heavens and the earth,
And all that is therein,
And it is He who hath power
Over all things.
I was disappointed. I had hoped to gain so much more. I wondered how the others felt. As though on cue, my husband, Bilal, nudged me – the final call had come. Silently, I followed him back to the Lobby. I knew what Karen Armstrong had meant. There were no answers here.
Yet, standing before it, it struck me odd that though each creator of art takes his or her inspiration from Nature, Allah Subhan-ul-Talha, the Supreme Creator of Nature is merely reflected in the West. He is perceived only by those who ponder. David, to me, stood as mocking symbol of man’s self delusion.
Thou wilt see them Looking At thee, but They see not.
(Surat Al-Araf Verse 198.)
A lifeless imitation of the great miracle - each mere of us gasping at it in admiration of Michelangelo.
Slightly less excited now, I moved on to see some paintings along the walls. The Immaculate Conception by Carlo Portelli (1566) is not as famous as David but it turned out to be the most significant to my purpose. The note below the painting read:
‘The concept of immaculate conception of Mary was introduced into iconography and into catholic practice in the 2nd half of the fifteenth century.
Controversial for many, becoming official dogma, only in 1854, at the decision of Pope Puis IV. Above, God (an image of an old man with a flowing white beard hovering over the others), the father points to the Redeemer (Jesus Christ) symbolized by sacrificial lamb which bears an inscription in Greek taken from Apocalypse of John (13,8) immolated since the foundation of the world. Beside this image the virgin, surrounded by angels, is crushing the serpent coiled around the tree of good and evil. At the sides, seated in the foreground, David and Soloman who had prophesized the coming of the Virgin bear inscriptions in Hebrew from the Psalms and the Song of Songs.
The postscript continued:
‘Here the artist emphasizes the contrasting nature of the two women, the lascivious Eve who incarnates original sin and then the Virgin, born without sin, who has come to redeem the sins of the first parents. Thanks to restoration we can again admire the splendid nude Eve, until now wrapped in a fun robe added to hide her nakedness a few years after the painting was completed. The contrast between the two women is heightened by their perfectly opposing forms, as if one image were the reverse of the other.
Based on historical documents of the time describing the original paintings with a nude Eve, it was decided to remove repainting not only for pictorial quality but to emphasize also the contrast between Mary, the woman who redeems mankind and Eve, the woman who induces man into sin, a theme cherished by the church of the counter reformation.
I was carefully noting down each and every word, instinctively realizing that this was very important. A gentleman approached me (American by his accent) and wanted to know if I was catholic.
‘No’ I replied.
‘Then do you mind if I ask you why you are taking down notes?’
‘I am studying religion and found this very interesting’, I replied.
Pointing to the part where it said, ‘Mary, born without sin, he asked me what I thought of it.
‘Certainly’, I commented, “Mary and Jesus were the only two children who were untouched by Satan at the time of their birth in answer to the prayer of Mary’s mother.
‘So you would agree that she was born without sin’.
‘I don’t know what ‘born without sin’ means exactly, so I cannot say’.
May I know what your knowledge is based on; he persisted.
‘The Holy Quran’, I answered.
‘And what do you make of this’, he pointed to the disparaging description of Eve.
According to the Quran, Eve and Adam both sinned and they were both forgiven. They were sent to earth not for punishment but because it had been created for them.
‘This is interesting’, he commented. ‘So you are interpreting all this work in the light of what the Quran has told you’.
The stranger had summed up for me my Italian experience. Biblical text was the inspiration for all great works of art. My interest and perception was heightened because for every I saw I had the Quranic reference. Somewhere someone had drawn on hearsay and imagination to make the first impressions of the chosen. The images become tradition, having little, if any similarity to reality. This perhaps, was the result of Greek influence on Christianity.
Pondering over the painting of the ‘immaculate conception’. I though of the injustices recorded in history, dealt out to the Christian women. It explained to me the need of the western woman to assent their personality and equality. The fundamental grounding of the Christian belief that woman induces man to sin is perhaps, the main impetus behind the feminist movement.
Had I known at the time, I would have told my curious stranger that Islam, on the other hand, has no prejudice again women. The verses of Surat Taha, very clearly inform us that it was Adam who was corrupted by Satan in the first instance. Eve suffered because she blindly followed her husband, never questioning his disregard of Allah’s will and allowed himself to be seduced.
But Satan whispered evil
To him: he said, “O Adam! Shall I lead thee to
The Tree of Eternity
And to a Kingdom
That never decays?”
Surat Taha, Verse 120/121.
In the result, they both
Ate of the tree and so
Their nakedness appeared
To them: they began to sew
Together, for their covering,
Leaves from the garden:
Thus did Adam disobey
His Lord, and allow himself
To be seduced.
It is only as recent as------- that the western woman was allowed a share in inheritance. And it was only after the World War I, when a drastic shortage of man power, forced women to come to work. Emancipation came with stepping in to man’s world. Then somewhere along the way, it became synonymous with taking off clothes.
Today, the nude Eve is the popular image, as suggested by Carlo Portelli.
Surat Al- Araf verse 27
O ye children of Adam!
Let not Satan seduce you,
In the same manner as
He got your parents out
Of the Garden, stripping them
Of their raiment, to expose
Their shame: for he
And his tribe watch you
From a position where ye
Cannot see them.
However, the standards of morality are obviously known. Inside St. Peter’s cathedral in Rome lies the masterpiece of Michelangelo’s youth – The Pieta (the pity). The sculpture of the grief stricken Madonna, holding a martyred Jesus in her arms. As in all representation Hazrat Marium, is fully draped in a heavy robe, her head covered, eyes downcast exuding a distinct impression of Haya, befitting her exact description in the Quran (Surat Imran Verse. 42-43).
Behold! The angels said:
O’Mary! God hath chosen thee
And purified thee – chosen thee
Above the women of all nations.
O Mary! Worship
Thy Lord devoutly:
Prostrate thyself,
And bow down (in prayer)
With those who bow down.”
‘Mary is being the most excellent among the women of all times is the standard for each of us, modeling the three qualities Allah expects of the female gender –
……….. desire Chastity, not lewdness, nor secret intrigues, Surat Al Maidah verse 6
Interestingly, there was a strict dress code on the tours of the Basilica and the Cathedrals. Shorts and bare shoulders were totally unacceptable. And the visitors conformed without demur.
In the light of all this learning, one wonders what instigates today’s debate over Muslim head scares. The scarf is simply a symbol of a woman’s submission to her creator’s vision of her. Is this mis-spelt plea for liberation, a disguise for a growing sense of vulnerability – possibly, a threat. According to a source, there is a conscious effort to revive Christian practices, particularly in Germany. The main reason is to counteract growing Islamization, which is provoked in the first instance by the attention arresting muslim head scarves.
PART TWO
As I stood before Pieta, another thought niggled me. The cause of the grief suggested was the crucification of Christ. Allah Subhan-u-Tala is again very explicit on this conjecture. (Surat Al-Nisa 157-150)
That they said (in boast),
‘We killed Christ Jesus
The son of Mary
The Apostle of God” –
But they killed him not,
Nor crucified him,
But so it was made
To appear to them,
And those who differ
Therein are full of doubts, With no (certain) knowledge,
But only conjecture to follow,
For a surety
They killed him not: -
Interestingly, Karen Armstrong, the nun who left her vocation because the Catholic Church failed to satisfy her spiritual and intellectual quest for truth, relates a most revealing incident.
She writes in her book, ‘Though the Narrow Gate ’(page 154-155).
‘One day it all came to a head……. I had been set an essay: ‘Assess the quality of the evidence for the Resurrection”.
………….. I had researched the essay carefully, reading all the relevant books of apologetics (a course that sets out to explain the mysteries of faith by means of reason) that seemed to argue that the stone that was rolled away from the tomb was sufficient evidence for any sane person to believe that God had become man, was publicly executed outside Jerusalem and rose from the dead after three days. It can’t be proved, I worried; this essay is a sham. However, since I was working for an examination, I reproduced the mental gymnastics that were expected of me, feeling all the while a sinking loss of integrity …….. My essay proved clearly, by mental slights of hand, that anyone who looked at this evidence and failed to believe in the Resurrection was an imbecile. Wearily I laid down my pen and handed in my essay.
The following Tuesday I sat with Mother Greta in a tutorial……
“Yes, sister”, she beamed at me”. This is an excellent essay…”
I looked back at her. Beneath that frail, bird like body I knew there was an honest mind. I trusted her. I had to ask her about my dilemma.
“But Mother” I said quietly, staring at her intently. “It just isn’t true, what I have written, is it?’
There was silence. She sighed, and, thrusting her hand under her wimple in a characteristic gesture, she rubbed her forehead hard. Her voice, when she spoke, was tired.
‘No, sister”, she said flatly, “No, it is not true, but please don’t tell the other novices’.
I guess one needs to add no more.
PART THREE
Man’s preoccupation – his curiosity to understand the infinite – his anxiety to discover the truth – is the central theme of most of the paintings, especially the Last Judgment by Michelangelo. An estimated 800 tourists visit the Vatican Museums daily to see the famous fresco. It adorns the Sistine Chapel which is intended for the most important ceremonies. Here the cardinals sit in conclave to elect the New pope. The Vatican City stands atop a hill where vates revealed omens. It has been the Principal seat of the popes for 600 years.
Michelangelo began work on the Last judgment in 1534 and completed it in Seven years. He was in his sixties and most ironically, a bitter old man full of doubts and anxiety. His insertion in the painting of a self portrait on the skin of St. Bartholomew, the saint who was skinned alive speaks volumes for any who may care to listen. Seeing his reverential work all over the country, and now at the Vatican, I was amazed to discover that it had brought him little inner solace.
The scene that has enticed so many from all parts of the world portrays a gigantic Christ, “the inexorable judge” and the Virgin Mary surrounded by martyrs showing the symbols of their martyrdom. Angels raise the elect to Heaven. Michelangelo painted almost 300 figures which were entirely naked. His unconventional representation aroused violent criticism. He retorted by painting the cardinal’s portrait in Hell, depicting him as Minos. The lower bottom of the picture is taken directly from Dante’s Inferno. It was interesting to know that the medieval culture was composed of the knowledge of the Bible and Dante’s Divine Comedy. The Renaissance in the 15th century was still looking back to these sources.
As I stood before the painting, I was in haste to gather impressions. It was nearing closing time. I perceived that there was something wrong. The suggestion that Christ alone was dominating the stage of the Last judgment bothered me. In Quran, Allah alone is “The Lord/master of the day of Judgment.” Suddenly, the verses of surat Al. maida 116-123, rang aloud in my ears:
And behold! God will say:
“O! Jesus the son of Mary!
Didst thou say unto men,
Worship me and my mother
As gods in derogation of God”?
He will say:”Glory To Thee!
Never could I say
What I had no right
(To say). Had I said
Such a thing, Thou wouldst
Indeed have known it.
Thou knowest what is
In my heart, though I
Know not what is
In Thine. For Thou
Knowest in Full
All that is hidden.
“Never said I to them
aught except what Thou
Didst command me
To say, to wit,” Worship
God, my Lord and your Lord”;
And I was witness
Over them, whilst I dwelt
Amongst them; when thou
Didst take me up
Thou wast the Watcher
Over them, and Thou
Art a witness to all things.
If Thou dost Punish them,
They areThy servants:
If Thou dost forgive them,
Thou art the Exalted in power,
The Wise.’
God will say: “This is
A day on which
The truthful will profit
From their truth: theirs
Are Gardens, with rivers?
Flowing beneath,-their eternal
Home: God well pleased
With them, and they with God:
That is the great Salvation.
To God doth belong the dominion
Of the heavens and the earth,
And all that is therein,
And it is He who hath power
Over all things.
I was disappointed. I had hoped to gain so much more. I wondered how the others felt. As though on cue, my husband, Bilal, nudged me – the final call had come. Silently, I followed him back to the Lobby. I knew what Karen Armstrong had meant. There were no answers here.
Sher Shah Suri and the Rhotas Fort
We were going back in history as we drove on the grand trunk road towards the Rhotas Fort. It occurred to me that we were going to pay a tribute to the man who had created this vital lifeline, which had served generations for the last 450 years.
We arrived to the setting of the sun. Nadia and Fida Raja had been insistent that we leave early. It was obvious why in the absence of electricity it would have been difficult to tour the ruins. Tea and snacks had been laid out for us near the haveli, built by Akbar’s famous general, Man Singh. Gow Takia’s and Takht had been set against the backdrop of the simple grandeur of the scenery. We were welcomed by Dr. Anis-ur-Rehman and his lovely wife, Abeedah, who were one of the few who were dressed in keeping with the occasion.
Everyone was there from the Minister of Culture, Mr. S.K Tresslor, the Federal Minister for Finance, Mr Shaukat Aziz, The Sindh Finance and Cultural Minister, Hafeez Sheikh and his wife, Nadeen, Head of the Visiting European Union Delegation, Iikka Uusitalo, , Director General, PNCA, Raja Changez Sultan, Several Heads of Corporations and Diplomats. Not to forget our most original fashion designer, Nilofar Shahid who had come in especially from Lahore. The list of who’s who was endless.
I had been looking around for Dr Farooq Beg, the Director of the show and my mentor, and having spotted some crew went over to them near the main Shahchand wali gate, which was encased by the scaffolding. Dr Beg, as I had expected looked very tired and unusually tense–“ Pray hard, Amina. If we pull this through it will be a marvel, considering that we are using so many local actors who have no experience and four location directors all on their own. “We have been leaving every morning at 5 from this place for the past two weeks now,” confided Haroon, the location director. The producer of the show, Huma Beg was busy giving last minute instructions. It dawned on me how complex and complicated this whole operation was since there was no electricity and miles of cables had to be laid all around the fort to connect hundreds of lights and a dozen speakers. The sound track had to sink with the lighting and the actors who were acting but not speaking their parts as the sound track was prerecorded in the voices of veteran actors but the voice that won the day was definitely the narration by Dr. Beg himself – no biases, of course! The haunting music and songs were composed by another medical doctor, Syed Ahsan Ishaq, which were available on CD for those who were interested. I got one free!
As it began to grow dark, the crowd moved to where the tables were laid out right in the middle of the pavilion with the smoke stirring gastric juice with promise of a good feast to follow. There was so much suspense. I am not sure many understood exactly what a light and sound show entails but titillating innuendo held everyone in suspense:
You are seated amidst the grandeur of the majestic showpiece of the Suri dynasty…. the world heritage site Rohtas Fort.
Suddenly the lights begin to dim as music fills the air and rises to a crescendo.
The fort starts to come to life as a platoon of horsemen race across the fort and alight at the top of the hill.
Two handsome soldiers step forward and look to where you are seated.
In deep authoritative and eloquent style one of them declares “ One day I will rule over Hindustan’
Welcome to the court of The Kings of kings Sher Shah Suri.
Welcome to Rhotas …you are about to relive an experience you will cherish for a long time.
This proved to be no exaggeration. Not a soul left that day without saying what they had seen was spectular. This show surpassed it all. I wasn’t the only one saying that. Tariq Amin summed it up so eloquently,” Wow, Wow, Wow.” Even Susannah Price, the BBC Correspondent was forced to admit it was a” Great performance, fantastic setting, beautiful place.” The wife of the Head of the European union was heard saying, “It was fascinating like a fabulous fairy tale.” Sadruddin Hashwani was more lavish, “This is the best show I have ever seen in my life. I don’t think you can compare it with any thing in the world.” Federal Minister Finance Shaukat Aziz, thought it was “a superb performance. Absolutely world class.” Friends who had not been able to attend were full of regrets. Amina, wife of Malik Amin Aslam called the next day to say that all she had talked to said it was a once in a life time experience.
The programme began with an inspiring and thankfully, short documentary by Serendip outling the achievements of the group at Ramkot and ending in a solemn appeal ,”Rhotas is gasping for attention”. Dr. Anis had this to add,”As the evening will unfold before you we will leave you to contemplate on the future of these buildings which surround you. Will you continue to help conserve and preserve them? Or let them die a slow death?’
History, at best can only have versions. What Fatima Surriya Bajya, with the Serendip team endeavored to do was to give some insight into the human in one of the most enigmatic and competent rulers of the Muslim period.
As the lights dimmed and actors appeared on cue the drama began to enfold. And the next 60 minute held us spell bound as scene after scene, action after action moved from ecstasy to sadness, from tragedy to treachery, from frustration to victory parades complete with horses and camels covered in royal garbs had the audience applauding with each transition. We all turned this way and that as scenes were enacted all around the fort that surrounded us. Professor Dani, the noted historian and archaeologist summed it up beautifully, “Well history is one aspect but this was great entertainment and very enjoyable living history.”
Young Fareed Khan is the amiable but highly ambitious son of Mian Hassan , a soldier and a landlord. However his scheming stepmother contrives to have him exiled, hoping to cut off all access to power. But this can hardly deter young Fareed. His fame as an administrator and a military genius spreads fast while his affection for the Rajput princess, Chandravati turns into obsession. Fareed kidnaps her and captures the Raja . However when on her appeal he frees him, the Raja consumed with hate, attacks Fareed and is killed by the timely intervention of the loyal Khawaas khan. Chandravati has no choice but to commit Jauhaar, a hindu practice where defeat led to women burning in communal fire. The distraught Fareed turns his attention to his archenemy, the Mughal emperor Humayun, who is on the run. Fareed khan now adopts the title of Sher Shah Suri as the Emperor of Hindustan. His five-year rule is exemplary in the reforms he introduces and the administration system he puts in place. However, till he captures the fortress of Jharkand where resides the Raja’s concubine whose beauty and brains are legendary, he will have no peace. It is here that fate abandons Sher Shah Suri. In victory he faces death that confounds historians to this date. It is said that when Humayun got his news, his words became a part of history never to be forgotten, “It is not a king who has died but the tutor of all kings who is dead.”
The evening cannot be complete without the mention of the wonderful folk dance by a troupe from Lahore, and the fireworks that added spectacle to the whole show.
We have to thank the Himalayan Wildlife Fund and the Rhotas Conservation team led by Dr Anis – ur Rehman who have all been working voluntarily. The going for Rhotas has not been easy. Initially friends and corporations helped raise a tidy sum, which was however not enough. Farooq Rehmatullah, the Country Chairman of Shell Pakistan related how a simple dental appointment had cost him the signing of a cheque of an amount worthy of the Guinness book of records. The Minister and the Secretary of culture had been suitably impressed with their enthusiasm and on the basis of certain preliminaries; the NFCH has continued to support the cause. However, the condition remains - support continues as long as the HWF continues to raise funds that will be matched. The late Omar Asghar khan and Shoaib Sultan had been very instrumental in initiating a community partnership with the local residents of Rhotas village, which is being converted into a heritage village. The project is being managed with the help of UNDP and PPAF by Sumaira Khan who was also the hostess that evening.
As we all drove back at the end of the evening, We noticed the locals who had come out to see the rich milieu that had come to Rhotas. They had probably never seen any thing of this kind and as one of our group commented, that this is probably the first time after Sher Shah’s death that he has been honored.
We arrived to the setting of the sun. Nadia and Fida Raja had been insistent that we leave early. It was obvious why in the absence of electricity it would have been difficult to tour the ruins. Tea and snacks had been laid out for us near the haveli, built by Akbar’s famous general, Man Singh. Gow Takia’s and Takht had been set against the backdrop of the simple grandeur of the scenery. We were welcomed by Dr. Anis-ur-Rehman and his lovely wife, Abeedah, who were one of the few who were dressed in keeping with the occasion.
Everyone was there from the Minister of Culture, Mr. S.K Tresslor, the Federal Minister for Finance, Mr Shaukat Aziz, The Sindh Finance and Cultural Minister, Hafeez Sheikh and his wife, Nadeen, Head of the Visiting European Union Delegation, Iikka Uusitalo, , Director General, PNCA, Raja Changez Sultan, Several Heads of Corporations and Diplomats. Not to forget our most original fashion designer, Nilofar Shahid who had come in especially from Lahore. The list of who’s who was endless.
I had been looking around for Dr Farooq Beg, the Director of the show and my mentor, and having spotted some crew went over to them near the main Shahchand wali gate, which was encased by the scaffolding. Dr Beg, as I had expected looked very tired and unusually tense–“ Pray hard, Amina. If we pull this through it will be a marvel, considering that we are using so many local actors who have no experience and four location directors all on their own. “We have been leaving every morning at 5 from this place for the past two weeks now,” confided Haroon, the location director. The producer of the show, Huma Beg was busy giving last minute instructions. It dawned on me how complex and complicated this whole operation was since there was no electricity and miles of cables had to be laid all around the fort to connect hundreds of lights and a dozen speakers. The sound track had to sink with the lighting and the actors who were acting but not speaking their parts as the sound track was prerecorded in the voices of veteran actors but the voice that won the day was definitely the narration by Dr. Beg himself – no biases, of course! The haunting music and songs were composed by another medical doctor, Syed Ahsan Ishaq, which were available on CD for those who were interested. I got one free!
As it began to grow dark, the crowd moved to where the tables were laid out right in the middle of the pavilion with the smoke stirring gastric juice with promise of a good feast to follow. There was so much suspense. I am not sure many understood exactly what a light and sound show entails but titillating innuendo held everyone in suspense:
You are seated amidst the grandeur of the majestic showpiece of the Suri dynasty…. the world heritage site Rohtas Fort.
Suddenly the lights begin to dim as music fills the air and rises to a crescendo.
The fort starts to come to life as a platoon of horsemen race across the fort and alight at the top of the hill.
Two handsome soldiers step forward and look to where you are seated.
In deep authoritative and eloquent style one of them declares “ One day I will rule over Hindustan’
Welcome to the court of The Kings of kings Sher Shah Suri.
Welcome to Rhotas …you are about to relive an experience you will cherish for a long time.
This proved to be no exaggeration. Not a soul left that day without saying what they had seen was spectular. This show surpassed it all. I wasn’t the only one saying that. Tariq Amin summed it up so eloquently,” Wow, Wow, Wow.” Even Susannah Price, the BBC Correspondent was forced to admit it was a” Great performance, fantastic setting, beautiful place.” The wife of the Head of the European union was heard saying, “It was fascinating like a fabulous fairy tale.” Sadruddin Hashwani was more lavish, “This is the best show I have ever seen in my life. I don’t think you can compare it with any thing in the world.” Federal Minister Finance Shaukat Aziz, thought it was “a superb performance. Absolutely world class.” Friends who had not been able to attend were full of regrets. Amina, wife of Malik Amin Aslam called the next day to say that all she had talked to said it was a once in a life time experience.
The programme began with an inspiring and thankfully, short documentary by Serendip outling the achievements of the group at Ramkot and ending in a solemn appeal ,”Rhotas is gasping for attention”. Dr. Anis had this to add,”As the evening will unfold before you we will leave you to contemplate on the future of these buildings which surround you. Will you continue to help conserve and preserve them? Or let them die a slow death?’
History, at best can only have versions. What Fatima Surriya Bajya, with the Serendip team endeavored to do was to give some insight into the human in one of the most enigmatic and competent rulers of the Muslim period.
As the lights dimmed and actors appeared on cue the drama began to enfold. And the next 60 minute held us spell bound as scene after scene, action after action moved from ecstasy to sadness, from tragedy to treachery, from frustration to victory parades complete with horses and camels covered in royal garbs had the audience applauding with each transition. We all turned this way and that as scenes were enacted all around the fort that surrounded us. Professor Dani, the noted historian and archaeologist summed it up beautifully, “Well history is one aspect but this was great entertainment and very enjoyable living history.”
Young Fareed Khan is the amiable but highly ambitious son of Mian Hassan , a soldier and a landlord. However his scheming stepmother contrives to have him exiled, hoping to cut off all access to power. But this can hardly deter young Fareed. His fame as an administrator and a military genius spreads fast while his affection for the Rajput princess, Chandravati turns into obsession. Fareed kidnaps her and captures the Raja . However when on her appeal he frees him, the Raja consumed with hate, attacks Fareed and is killed by the timely intervention of the loyal Khawaas khan. Chandravati has no choice but to commit Jauhaar, a hindu practice where defeat led to women burning in communal fire. The distraught Fareed turns his attention to his archenemy, the Mughal emperor Humayun, who is on the run. Fareed khan now adopts the title of Sher Shah Suri as the Emperor of Hindustan. His five-year rule is exemplary in the reforms he introduces and the administration system he puts in place. However, till he captures the fortress of Jharkand where resides the Raja’s concubine whose beauty and brains are legendary, he will have no peace. It is here that fate abandons Sher Shah Suri. In victory he faces death that confounds historians to this date. It is said that when Humayun got his news, his words became a part of history never to be forgotten, “It is not a king who has died but the tutor of all kings who is dead.”
The evening cannot be complete without the mention of the wonderful folk dance by a troupe from Lahore, and the fireworks that added spectacle to the whole show.
We have to thank the Himalayan Wildlife Fund and the Rhotas Conservation team led by Dr Anis – ur Rehman who have all been working voluntarily. The going for Rhotas has not been easy. Initially friends and corporations helped raise a tidy sum, which was however not enough. Farooq Rehmatullah, the Country Chairman of Shell Pakistan related how a simple dental appointment had cost him the signing of a cheque of an amount worthy of the Guinness book of records. The Minister and the Secretary of culture had been suitably impressed with their enthusiasm and on the basis of certain preliminaries; the NFCH has continued to support the cause. However, the condition remains - support continues as long as the HWF continues to raise funds that will be matched. The late Omar Asghar khan and Shoaib Sultan had been very instrumental in initiating a community partnership with the local residents of Rhotas village, which is being converted into a heritage village. The project is being managed with the help of UNDP and PPAF by Sumaira Khan who was also the hostess that evening.
As we all drove back at the end of the evening, We noticed the locals who had come out to see the rich milieu that had come to Rhotas. They had probably never seen any thing of this kind and as one of our group commented, that this is probably the first time after Sher Shah’s death that he has been honored.
Surviving on the edge of conflict
Why has this Muslim woman, who most of you believe to be ignorant, oppressed and unimportant, been forced to break her natural silence and her cultural reserve. What can she possibly have to say that is different from all that has been said and by the most able of them – They have said it all. The answer is very simple. Because of these very able people you are being convinced to make judgments that are threatening the lives of my children. According to the latest report of Amnesty International, the war on terrorism has set precedence for others like India, to justify its action. So now is the time for all to speak out – so we may find the truth together.
It is true that 9/11 saw the beginning of a new world order, one in which much soul searching was required in order to understand what the world expects from us now. Personally, I had to delve deep in the past so I could comprehend how a young and once promising country, my Pakistan, found itself facing conflict and ultimate disaster.
Pakistan was created to realize a dream. A dream of freedom and justice and peace, to live according to the ideals of Islam. This was to be a society in which education and health would be top priorities.
My own grand mother began a small school for the less privileged children, in her house right after our independence in 1947. My mother recalls that she and her sisters were responsible for making sure each and every student was given a glass of milk and supplementary vitamins. This was the beginning of APWA College for Women.
My grand mother was not unique, she was one of the many .The dream of a pure Muslim land was passed on to my parent’s generation. These people lived clean, honest and simple lives. They too gave their best, struggling to overcome the inevitable problems of a society in transition with Unity, Faith and Discipline, the vision of our founding fathers,
Today, there are many like me who cannot let go of the dream they have inherited, many who continue to hope as a nuclear catastrophe threatens to extinguish all that is of value, many whose voices are ignored as media propaganda turns each and everyone into a fanatic and a terrorist.
I was only 11 years old when I heard that the Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan. I understood very little of what I heard, but it was enough to make me have regular nightmares based on Holly wood images of the KGB. My mother was being held captive by men in uniform, as I raged and screamed for help, but in vain, and I would wake up sobbing but tell no one.
At the time Pan- Islamism and Jihad were justified by the world as a freedom struggle against oppression. It also served the American purpose - It had found its army. So the Madraasah culture, which is actually the Islamic version of an orphanage, was propagated to create young freedom fighters that later wore the masks of the Taliban. It did not matter to the west what interpretation was given to the religious schooling as long as it convinced them to fight the enemy. As for us, living uneasily on the edge of conflict, I guess, we all were too insecure to really question what was happening. And the war was won but only after a decade of suffering for the millions of afghan people.
There was a general sense of relief when it was all over. But it did not last long. Some one had to clear up the mess and who better than the neighbors next door. So wave upon wave of homeless refugees poured into our country, seeking help that we could ill afford. We could not evade our responsibility as Muslim brothers. Unfortunately there was a price to pay for compassion. Our young economy, our culture, our people, our image all paid this price. Had the world come to our help at the time, the troubles in Afghanistan could have been solved earlier, bringing relief to the 4 million Afghan men, women and children, that we sheltered and fed.
And it was not easy.
The refugees put immense strain on an economy, which was already reeling from huge defense expenditure against the age-old India threat. Education and health were the first casualties. The Afghan demand for Food, shelter and security overrode all other concerns. Slums mushroomed everywhere and suddenly a new minority emerged, as beggars on our roads and, shopkeepers in our markets and hawkers everywhere. Where we had been used to open and fairly clean spaces now, waste and pollution stifled our surroundings.
The ripples from the Afghan war continued to spread into a frightening tidal wave that threatened to engulf our society. When I was young, the only guns I saw were toy guns that were sold in shops. My children have grown up with real ones. The sight of the Klashinkov, memento of the so-called victory still evokes disturbing images of ruthless killers, who effectively disrupted an innocent and young country.
And now a new foe emerged – a foe more deadly than any that had gone before. The opium cultivation that had begun to help fund the war continued to finance the power struggle in Afghanistan. It was a lucrative trade where supply in the east met demand in the west. Pakistan was used as the gateway and now the scum began to rise to the surface. The dream was ending.
The land of the pure became the land of greed and corruption. A new class emerged – upstarts with little education and lots of money. Gone were the outstanding men who willingly sacrificed their lives for a vision. Politics was no longer about serving your country; it became a short cut to earning big bucks. Our institutions began to weaken and the builders of society, people of education and integrity became increasingly frustrated. Thus began the brain drain – our greatest tragedy.
Lets be realistic now. Every society has its share of saints and sinners, and there are still enough good people in Pakistan.
23 years later, the war is still on next doors. Except that the script has altered considerably. The allies are now enemies and enemies, friends. And most ironically, my own daughter is the same age as I was when it all started.
The Media still continues to fashion the global opinion against us, causing great despair to our youth. I had a chance to observe the journalists closely when they invaded our cities post 9/11. What I saw convinced me that they saw nothing beyond the sensational stereotypes to sustain interest in their particular viewpoint. Thanks to such images most people imagine that the average Pakistani man has a beard, a Klashnikov on the side and by profession is a soldier or a spy. And the women are invisible. Yet, one British woman challenged the popular versions by her eyewitness accounts and understanding of the Afghan’s through long association. I speak of Maureen lines, a writer cum photographer. In the Immortal words of Harper lee in “ To kill a Mocking Bird,” You never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them”
So to understand us you have to understand our problems. Now history repeated itself but irony of ironies, we were cast for the former role of the Afghans. Pakistan emerged as the frontline state in the present war to the resentment of our neighbors. 9/11 gave them the perfect excuse to cast the freedom fighters of Kashmir in the role of terrorists. For me the issue of Kashmir is not about land and power. It is about real nightmares, the loss of all hope. I would like you to hear the words of a Kashmiri woman who had fled to safety of the Ambore Refugee Camp, across the border into Pakistan,” Our village is surrounded by the Indian army in a big number. They are much more than us. My husband left to join the resistance movement and is fighting for our freedom. When these men saw me working alone in the fields for a couple of days, they came to my house and demanded to know where my husband had gone. I could not tell them, so they started to beat me. Then they set fire to my house and said that if I did not tell them, they would burn my children. I had determined not to say anything even if they raped me but when they talked of burning my children, I weakened. My two young sons were standing next to me but my three year old daughter was in the midst of the soldiers. I could not have attracted her attention without alerting them. I had no choice. If I stayed, they would have killed us all. I fled with my sons till I reached safety.” Can we ever begin to understand the horror this woman lives with?
Nobody cares to hear these voices as the powerful seek to prove their might. We watched in stunned disbelief as ambassadors of Peace come to our region and began to sign arms deals. A new kind of war games began. The people of Pakistan jaded and cynical after decades of betrayal and disillusionment shrugged their shoulders and said this had to be. Like a bad dream once seen and never forgotten, the images of war came to haunt us. The embassies were shut down, but strangely immigration of highly skilled professionals was open. What did this imply? The spoils of war?
My husband learnt that his European colleagues were being evacuated and he was given a choice. In my weaker moments, I had sometimes toyed with the idea of applying for immigration always for the sake of my children. Now that the moment had come, I realized that I had no option. I could not run away to live and leave others, who were helpless to stay and die. Ironically, the same thoughts come echoing from across the border. As Arundhatti Roy, an Indian writer, expresses the dilemma: “If I go away, and everything and everyone – every friend, every tree, every home, every dog, squirrel and bird that I know and loved – is incinerated, how shall I live on? Who shall I love? And who shall love me back?” It makes one wonder who really wants to fight this war, for the civilians on both sides, are definitely not the victors.
I had made my choice but after all it was my children who had to live with my choice. As I set to work making relief packages for the family, I decided it was time to talk to the children. My children listened with anxiety. It made me realize they knew much more than I had thought. Thanks to CNN my five year old had seen images unfit for his tender eyes. This war on terrorism, had invaded our family rooms. I didn’t know what to say to them? What was the best and what was the worst that could happen? The nuclear death or the suffering and pain that followed if one survived. In my heart, I fervently prayed that if death was to come to us then let it be instant. Was this to be my ambition for my children?
For their sake I had to try? I could not let us all suffer in Silence. Some of us got together and called an emergency meeting. Many more turned up as the world spread like fire. And as a starting point, we staged a Peace Stand outside the U.N headquarters in Islamabad.
I don’t understand this war any more. Why are Muslims being targeted all over the world and what have the Central Asian Gas Reserves got to do with it. The only thing I understand is that as the sole super power, America has immense responsibility to set the right precedence. And since its decisions are based to serve the interests of its people, you all have to take responsibility for its actions.
Nobody can justify such planned killings as those last September and no religion can sanctify such an action. But neither should the world justify the cold-blooded terrorism that killed 23,000 innocent people at the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps or the Genocide in Bosnia and Kosovo, and the very recent Gujarat Carnage in India. Did we do enough to avenge them? The truth is that fanaticism and terrorism are not restricted to a particular religion or region. It is not a Muslim problem. It is also the Christian problem and the Jewish problem and the Hindu problem. It is a problem of the human nature. Problems that are resolved by the basis of all faiths: Peace, Tolerance, Humility, Moderation, Justice, and Liberty. These also determine the fundamentals of Islam. And ironically, this struggle against evil is what Jihad is all about. As I understand it is also what the American constitution is all about.
The truth is that “We hate that which we do not know”. The message, since the beginning has been the same by the same Allah, no matter what we choose to call him. The tragedy has been that man has been unable to understand the miracle of his own creation and hence its purpose.
A Zimbabwean once said that it is the variety in life that makes it so alluring, so sit back and enjoy - a different version of the same universal experience. Do not condemn if you do not understand for this is our way of expression and makes us happy.
Remember the American dream is not confined to this continent alone, it is the dream of individuals across the globe. We all need to dream and we all need to cling to hope and when you target or worse bombard a people you take away that right and when they cannot dream and when they cannot hope they lash out in anger and ignorance.
So what is the solution?
The answer now lies in forming a global pressure group of tolerant people from all walks of life and all countries who will convince their leaders to adhere to policies of Peace and Justice. It lies in searching for the roots of terrorism, borne out of desperation and frustration that have been fed by injustices – of dealing with the causes rather than forcibly oppressing the symptoms.
In the words of Zayed Yasin, the young Harvard graduate, I hope and pray that for the sake of our children, our grand children, and those who will take our seats in years to come, that we will be the change we seek in this world. If you remain unconcerned then this war of civilizations will never cease. This war between the have and the have knots, which will wipe us out one by one.
The world is starved of role models as they seek one who can give them hope. This priority has to redefine United Nations role in these changed times. It is up to you to decide whether you are going to pass on this fragmented world to your children where dreams turn into nightmares or will you illuminate the darkness of hatred due to ignorance with the beacon of hope and knowledge. - The choice is yours.
It is true that 9/11 saw the beginning of a new world order, one in which much soul searching was required in order to understand what the world expects from us now. Personally, I had to delve deep in the past so I could comprehend how a young and once promising country, my Pakistan, found itself facing conflict and ultimate disaster.
Pakistan was created to realize a dream. A dream of freedom and justice and peace, to live according to the ideals of Islam. This was to be a society in which education and health would be top priorities.
My own grand mother began a small school for the less privileged children, in her house right after our independence in 1947. My mother recalls that she and her sisters were responsible for making sure each and every student was given a glass of milk and supplementary vitamins. This was the beginning of APWA College for Women.
My grand mother was not unique, she was one of the many .The dream of a pure Muslim land was passed on to my parent’s generation. These people lived clean, honest and simple lives. They too gave their best, struggling to overcome the inevitable problems of a society in transition with Unity, Faith and Discipline, the vision of our founding fathers,
Today, there are many like me who cannot let go of the dream they have inherited, many who continue to hope as a nuclear catastrophe threatens to extinguish all that is of value, many whose voices are ignored as media propaganda turns each and everyone into a fanatic and a terrorist.
I was only 11 years old when I heard that the Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan. I understood very little of what I heard, but it was enough to make me have regular nightmares based on Holly wood images of the KGB. My mother was being held captive by men in uniform, as I raged and screamed for help, but in vain, and I would wake up sobbing but tell no one.
At the time Pan- Islamism and Jihad were justified by the world as a freedom struggle against oppression. It also served the American purpose - It had found its army. So the Madraasah culture, which is actually the Islamic version of an orphanage, was propagated to create young freedom fighters that later wore the masks of the Taliban. It did not matter to the west what interpretation was given to the religious schooling as long as it convinced them to fight the enemy. As for us, living uneasily on the edge of conflict, I guess, we all were too insecure to really question what was happening. And the war was won but only after a decade of suffering for the millions of afghan people.
There was a general sense of relief when it was all over. But it did not last long. Some one had to clear up the mess and who better than the neighbors next door. So wave upon wave of homeless refugees poured into our country, seeking help that we could ill afford. We could not evade our responsibility as Muslim brothers. Unfortunately there was a price to pay for compassion. Our young economy, our culture, our people, our image all paid this price. Had the world come to our help at the time, the troubles in Afghanistan could have been solved earlier, bringing relief to the 4 million Afghan men, women and children, that we sheltered and fed.
And it was not easy.
The refugees put immense strain on an economy, which was already reeling from huge defense expenditure against the age-old India threat. Education and health were the first casualties. The Afghan demand for Food, shelter and security overrode all other concerns. Slums mushroomed everywhere and suddenly a new minority emerged, as beggars on our roads and, shopkeepers in our markets and hawkers everywhere. Where we had been used to open and fairly clean spaces now, waste and pollution stifled our surroundings.
The ripples from the Afghan war continued to spread into a frightening tidal wave that threatened to engulf our society. When I was young, the only guns I saw were toy guns that were sold in shops. My children have grown up with real ones. The sight of the Klashinkov, memento of the so-called victory still evokes disturbing images of ruthless killers, who effectively disrupted an innocent and young country.
And now a new foe emerged – a foe more deadly than any that had gone before. The opium cultivation that had begun to help fund the war continued to finance the power struggle in Afghanistan. It was a lucrative trade where supply in the east met demand in the west. Pakistan was used as the gateway and now the scum began to rise to the surface. The dream was ending.
The land of the pure became the land of greed and corruption. A new class emerged – upstarts with little education and lots of money. Gone were the outstanding men who willingly sacrificed their lives for a vision. Politics was no longer about serving your country; it became a short cut to earning big bucks. Our institutions began to weaken and the builders of society, people of education and integrity became increasingly frustrated. Thus began the brain drain – our greatest tragedy.
Lets be realistic now. Every society has its share of saints and sinners, and there are still enough good people in Pakistan.
23 years later, the war is still on next doors. Except that the script has altered considerably. The allies are now enemies and enemies, friends. And most ironically, my own daughter is the same age as I was when it all started.
The Media still continues to fashion the global opinion against us, causing great despair to our youth. I had a chance to observe the journalists closely when they invaded our cities post 9/11. What I saw convinced me that they saw nothing beyond the sensational stereotypes to sustain interest in their particular viewpoint. Thanks to such images most people imagine that the average Pakistani man has a beard, a Klashnikov on the side and by profession is a soldier or a spy. And the women are invisible. Yet, one British woman challenged the popular versions by her eyewitness accounts and understanding of the Afghan’s through long association. I speak of Maureen lines, a writer cum photographer. In the Immortal words of Harper lee in “ To kill a Mocking Bird,” You never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them”
So to understand us you have to understand our problems. Now history repeated itself but irony of ironies, we were cast for the former role of the Afghans. Pakistan emerged as the frontline state in the present war to the resentment of our neighbors. 9/11 gave them the perfect excuse to cast the freedom fighters of Kashmir in the role of terrorists. For me the issue of Kashmir is not about land and power. It is about real nightmares, the loss of all hope. I would like you to hear the words of a Kashmiri woman who had fled to safety of the Ambore Refugee Camp, across the border into Pakistan,” Our village is surrounded by the Indian army in a big number. They are much more than us. My husband left to join the resistance movement and is fighting for our freedom. When these men saw me working alone in the fields for a couple of days, they came to my house and demanded to know where my husband had gone. I could not tell them, so they started to beat me. Then they set fire to my house and said that if I did not tell them, they would burn my children. I had determined not to say anything even if they raped me but when they talked of burning my children, I weakened. My two young sons were standing next to me but my three year old daughter was in the midst of the soldiers. I could not have attracted her attention without alerting them. I had no choice. If I stayed, they would have killed us all. I fled with my sons till I reached safety.” Can we ever begin to understand the horror this woman lives with?
Nobody cares to hear these voices as the powerful seek to prove their might. We watched in stunned disbelief as ambassadors of Peace come to our region and began to sign arms deals. A new kind of war games began. The people of Pakistan jaded and cynical after decades of betrayal and disillusionment shrugged their shoulders and said this had to be. Like a bad dream once seen and never forgotten, the images of war came to haunt us. The embassies were shut down, but strangely immigration of highly skilled professionals was open. What did this imply? The spoils of war?
My husband learnt that his European colleagues were being evacuated and he was given a choice. In my weaker moments, I had sometimes toyed with the idea of applying for immigration always for the sake of my children. Now that the moment had come, I realized that I had no option. I could not run away to live and leave others, who were helpless to stay and die. Ironically, the same thoughts come echoing from across the border. As Arundhatti Roy, an Indian writer, expresses the dilemma: “If I go away, and everything and everyone – every friend, every tree, every home, every dog, squirrel and bird that I know and loved – is incinerated, how shall I live on? Who shall I love? And who shall love me back?” It makes one wonder who really wants to fight this war, for the civilians on both sides, are definitely not the victors.
I had made my choice but after all it was my children who had to live with my choice. As I set to work making relief packages for the family, I decided it was time to talk to the children. My children listened with anxiety. It made me realize they knew much more than I had thought. Thanks to CNN my five year old had seen images unfit for his tender eyes. This war on terrorism, had invaded our family rooms. I didn’t know what to say to them? What was the best and what was the worst that could happen? The nuclear death or the suffering and pain that followed if one survived. In my heart, I fervently prayed that if death was to come to us then let it be instant. Was this to be my ambition for my children?
For their sake I had to try? I could not let us all suffer in Silence. Some of us got together and called an emergency meeting. Many more turned up as the world spread like fire. And as a starting point, we staged a Peace Stand outside the U.N headquarters in Islamabad.
I don’t understand this war any more. Why are Muslims being targeted all over the world and what have the Central Asian Gas Reserves got to do with it. The only thing I understand is that as the sole super power, America has immense responsibility to set the right precedence. And since its decisions are based to serve the interests of its people, you all have to take responsibility for its actions.
Nobody can justify such planned killings as those last September and no religion can sanctify such an action. But neither should the world justify the cold-blooded terrorism that killed 23,000 innocent people at the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps or the Genocide in Bosnia and Kosovo, and the very recent Gujarat Carnage in India. Did we do enough to avenge them? The truth is that fanaticism and terrorism are not restricted to a particular religion or region. It is not a Muslim problem. It is also the Christian problem and the Jewish problem and the Hindu problem. It is a problem of the human nature. Problems that are resolved by the basis of all faiths: Peace, Tolerance, Humility, Moderation, Justice, and Liberty. These also determine the fundamentals of Islam. And ironically, this struggle against evil is what Jihad is all about. As I understand it is also what the American constitution is all about.
The truth is that “We hate that which we do not know”. The message, since the beginning has been the same by the same Allah, no matter what we choose to call him. The tragedy has been that man has been unable to understand the miracle of his own creation and hence its purpose.
A Zimbabwean once said that it is the variety in life that makes it so alluring, so sit back and enjoy - a different version of the same universal experience. Do not condemn if you do not understand for this is our way of expression and makes us happy.
Remember the American dream is not confined to this continent alone, it is the dream of individuals across the globe. We all need to dream and we all need to cling to hope and when you target or worse bombard a people you take away that right and when they cannot dream and when they cannot hope they lash out in anger and ignorance.
So what is the solution?
The answer now lies in forming a global pressure group of tolerant people from all walks of life and all countries who will convince their leaders to adhere to policies of Peace and Justice. It lies in searching for the roots of terrorism, borne out of desperation and frustration that have been fed by injustices – of dealing with the causes rather than forcibly oppressing the symptoms.
In the words of Zayed Yasin, the young Harvard graduate, I hope and pray that for the sake of our children, our grand children, and those who will take our seats in years to come, that we will be the change we seek in this world. If you remain unconcerned then this war of civilizations will never cease. This war between the have and the have knots, which will wipe us out one by one.
The world is starved of role models as they seek one who can give them hope. This priority has to redefine United Nations role in these changed times. It is up to you to decide whether you are going to pass on this fragmented world to your children where dreams turn into nightmares or will you illuminate the darkness of hatred due to ignorance with the beacon of hope and knowledge. - The choice is yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)