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.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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.
Nessary target
My schedule was so tightly packed that I was not sure I would be able to make it to Nighat Rizvi’s reading of the Necessary Targets. In view of her recent trip to Mumbai, India where she read the play with Jane Fonda, Eve Ensler and Ayeshah Alam, I did not want to miss it. But with my son’s exam a day later, we had our own targets to meet. My husband came to the rescue, taking on the onerous task of teaching our son Urdu while I took a friend along to investigate Necessary Targets at the Islamabad Club auditorium.
Necessary Targets is based on the stories of the women, Eve Ensler (the author) met in Bosnia. Enraged at the injustices dealt to them and moved to tears by their tenacious struggle to cling on to life, she says that” when we think of war, we think of it as something that happens to men in fields or jungles. We think of the moment of violence – the blast, the explosion. But war is also a consequence - the effects of which are not known or felt for months, years, and generations. And because consequences are usually not televised, consequences remain invisible. As long as there are snippers outside Sarajevo, Sarajevo exists. But after the bombing, after the snippers, that’s when the real war begins.”
The story is of two American women, a Park Avenue Psychiatrist and a Human Rights worker who visit a Bosnian refugee camp, believing that they would be able to heal the women by helping them confront their memories of war.” So what else do you think we have been doing,” says one of them. Life has come to a stand still. Amidst the stench and the dismal want, they are waiting to live again, waiting for something to happen, torn between hope and fear, sustained only by memories of the past. The wills of their men, those who have survived, have been subverted completely because of their sense of impotency in confronting war. As the reading moved on, each relived the horror of her experiences, evoking the question, Is war necessary - does is really solve anything?
Nighat played the role of a beautiful girl, Saeda , who is dazzled by the visiting psychiatrist. She sees her as the harbinger of hope – as one uncorrupted by the war. She carries around a precious burden, in complete denial of the memory of her rape after her young husband had been murdered and she had dropped her new born baby in the panic. However, encouraged by the warmth of those around her, she relieves the horror with such conviction that not a soul listening could have not wept for her. Nighat had tears in her eyes as Parveen Malik (Jelena) defends her husband’s volatile temper in such times or when Bilquis Tahira (Azra) weeps for her cow, Blossom, a reminder of her beautiful rural home. Zainab Omar (Nuna) the young teenager provided pauses of relief in the 90 minutes of intensity but she is not without her share of pain. Her father in being on the other side is their enemy. War has done strange things to all of them. The complexities are too deep for a psychologist to unravel. Emma Hooper ( J.S) begins to question her life in the States. The constant struggle for more and more, she realizes seems to have de-humanized her. Ambreen Mirza ( Zlata) , who had once been as privileged as she was, helps her confront reality and she finds that she has found meaning in her life. However, her assistant, Shahnaz Aftab, (Melissa) having recorded all the gory details for her ambition is ready to move on to the next chapter.
As I sat there, I wondered why Nighat did this. Then I remembered her telling me that they had asked her the same question in India and she had told them that during the course of her work, she had came across so many women who had been scared by violence that she could no longer ignore it. She had decided to lend voice to their silence. The audience and the actors were visibly moved. There had been no formal rehearsals. The emotion had to come out raw and unfeigned: they owed this to the real people whose real stories they were reading. I admit some parts were hard for me to take, some details seemed unnecessary, but in totality, it had a powerful effect.
But this story is not of Bosnia alone. This is happening in Iraq right now. It has happened in Palestine, Afghanistan and Kashmir and still continues to happen. Necessary Targets raged for the human in the collateral damage. It reminded me of the story of the kashmiri woman (recorded by my aunt, Rubina Qazilbash herself), who had fled across the border when they threatened to burn her children if she did not divulge her husband’s whereabouts. She escaped with two. The third was left to the mercy of the soldiers.
It is true that when the sensationalism of war has passed, we all lose interest and move on to the latest headlines. We all are anxious to blame the victims for what has happened so as to assure ourselves that it can never happen to us.
A couple of months ago, I came across a Canadian born Arab woman – commonly categorized as Taliban, from Afghanistan. Except that she did not measure up to the impressions, I had conjured of her. She had come to Islamabad in search of her son and husband who had been victims of raid’s in Wazirabad, but nobody was willing to help. “Is there no one who can stand with me and say that I have a right to defend myself,” She asked ” I have done nothing wrong.” My husband was livid when he got to know that I had given her audience. Well-wishers warned me that I must never do it again for the punishment for any support given to them was jail without bail. I was cautioned but the thought that still niggles me is that it could have happened to me.
Eve Ensler had felt for the cause of the Bosnian Muslim woman, seeking to portray her as one of us. The images from Iraq were leaked out by humane elements on the other side of the barracks, people all over the west are protesting against the inhumane treatment of the prisoners in Cuba but Muslim voices are inaudible.
I met Nighat later that night at the house of mutual friends. She was still visibly distressed. It was here that I also met a Doctor from Karachi. I was horrified to hear that he had been the victim of a kidnapping and lucky to be alive only because the kidnappers had realized their mistake in time. And this was outside war. He told us that young professionals like him, many of whom he knew personally, with young kids and wives had been murdered. Why? Nobody knows.
“It is strange ,”said the doctor, “that there is such indifference that even though everyone knows that the next target could easily be them , there is little collective effort to put up any resistance. Business and life goes on, crime an accepted reality.”
It had turned out to be a long day. I felt utterly drained. I had taken in too many impression, too many thoughts muddled my mind. I needed time to think, to sort it out, for it to make sense. Certainly what happened next made up my mind that I would not stay silent any more. Seemingly insignificant, it was the last straw.
As we were driven home later that night, we saw a car toppled over. The accident had taken place only a few minutes before. When we arrived at the scene there was a young boy lying on the road, howling bitterly, his sobs heart wrenching, while onlookers were figuring out what exactly needed to be done. He seemed to have fractured his leg. I thought he had been a pedestrian who had walked before the car but as it turned out he had been pulled out from the car. Then, I noticed a young family cuddled together on the pavement, the father hugging his wife and children who were suffering from shock. They had been the other passengers in the car. Nobody soothed the boy who was the worst hit of all. His dress made me guess that he was probably the hired help. We watched for a while and then my husband detoured and sped towards home. There was nothing we could do, he said, reasoning with my emotion. Perhaps that was true but the events of that evening triggered a reaction. How often do we say this? Is it really true or just a reassurance?
The truth was that the child needed the warmth of words to reassure him. He needed a human touch. It was what he needed most at that time. We all understood but remained aloof and clinical. Why, I wanted to know? In the Doctor words, it’s a million dollar question.
Necessary Targets is based on the stories of the women, Eve Ensler (the author) met in Bosnia. Enraged at the injustices dealt to them and moved to tears by their tenacious struggle to cling on to life, she says that” when we think of war, we think of it as something that happens to men in fields or jungles. We think of the moment of violence – the blast, the explosion. But war is also a consequence - the effects of which are not known or felt for months, years, and generations. And because consequences are usually not televised, consequences remain invisible. As long as there are snippers outside Sarajevo, Sarajevo exists. But after the bombing, after the snippers, that’s when the real war begins.”
The story is of two American women, a Park Avenue Psychiatrist and a Human Rights worker who visit a Bosnian refugee camp, believing that they would be able to heal the women by helping them confront their memories of war.” So what else do you think we have been doing,” says one of them. Life has come to a stand still. Amidst the stench and the dismal want, they are waiting to live again, waiting for something to happen, torn between hope and fear, sustained only by memories of the past. The wills of their men, those who have survived, have been subverted completely because of their sense of impotency in confronting war. As the reading moved on, each relived the horror of her experiences, evoking the question, Is war necessary - does is really solve anything?
Nighat played the role of a beautiful girl, Saeda , who is dazzled by the visiting psychiatrist. She sees her as the harbinger of hope – as one uncorrupted by the war. She carries around a precious burden, in complete denial of the memory of her rape after her young husband had been murdered and she had dropped her new born baby in the panic. However, encouraged by the warmth of those around her, she relieves the horror with such conviction that not a soul listening could have not wept for her. Nighat had tears in her eyes as Parveen Malik (Jelena) defends her husband’s volatile temper in such times or when Bilquis Tahira (Azra) weeps for her cow, Blossom, a reminder of her beautiful rural home. Zainab Omar (Nuna) the young teenager provided pauses of relief in the 90 minutes of intensity but she is not without her share of pain. Her father in being on the other side is their enemy. War has done strange things to all of them. The complexities are too deep for a psychologist to unravel. Emma Hooper ( J.S) begins to question her life in the States. The constant struggle for more and more, she realizes seems to have de-humanized her. Ambreen Mirza ( Zlata) , who had once been as privileged as she was, helps her confront reality and she finds that she has found meaning in her life. However, her assistant, Shahnaz Aftab, (Melissa) having recorded all the gory details for her ambition is ready to move on to the next chapter.
As I sat there, I wondered why Nighat did this. Then I remembered her telling me that they had asked her the same question in India and she had told them that during the course of her work, she had came across so many women who had been scared by violence that she could no longer ignore it. She had decided to lend voice to their silence. The audience and the actors were visibly moved. There had been no formal rehearsals. The emotion had to come out raw and unfeigned: they owed this to the real people whose real stories they were reading. I admit some parts were hard for me to take, some details seemed unnecessary, but in totality, it had a powerful effect.
But this story is not of Bosnia alone. This is happening in Iraq right now. It has happened in Palestine, Afghanistan and Kashmir and still continues to happen. Necessary Targets raged for the human in the collateral damage. It reminded me of the story of the kashmiri woman (recorded by my aunt, Rubina Qazilbash herself), who had fled across the border when they threatened to burn her children if she did not divulge her husband’s whereabouts. She escaped with two. The third was left to the mercy of the soldiers.
It is true that when the sensationalism of war has passed, we all lose interest and move on to the latest headlines. We all are anxious to blame the victims for what has happened so as to assure ourselves that it can never happen to us.
A couple of months ago, I came across a Canadian born Arab woman – commonly categorized as Taliban, from Afghanistan. Except that she did not measure up to the impressions, I had conjured of her. She had come to Islamabad in search of her son and husband who had been victims of raid’s in Wazirabad, but nobody was willing to help. “Is there no one who can stand with me and say that I have a right to defend myself,” She asked ” I have done nothing wrong.” My husband was livid when he got to know that I had given her audience. Well-wishers warned me that I must never do it again for the punishment for any support given to them was jail without bail. I was cautioned but the thought that still niggles me is that it could have happened to me.
Eve Ensler had felt for the cause of the Bosnian Muslim woman, seeking to portray her as one of us. The images from Iraq were leaked out by humane elements on the other side of the barracks, people all over the west are protesting against the inhumane treatment of the prisoners in Cuba but Muslim voices are inaudible.
I met Nighat later that night at the house of mutual friends. She was still visibly distressed. It was here that I also met a Doctor from Karachi. I was horrified to hear that he had been the victim of a kidnapping and lucky to be alive only because the kidnappers had realized their mistake in time. And this was outside war. He told us that young professionals like him, many of whom he knew personally, with young kids and wives had been murdered. Why? Nobody knows.
“It is strange ,”said the doctor, “that there is such indifference that even though everyone knows that the next target could easily be them , there is little collective effort to put up any resistance. Business and life goes on, crime an accepted reality.”
It had turned out to be a long day. I felt utterly drained. I had taken in too many impression, too many thoughts muddled my mind. I needed time to think, to sort it out, for it to make sense. Certainly what happened next made up my mind that I would not stay silent any more. Seemingly insignificant, it was the last straw.
As we were driven home later that night, we saw a car toppled over. The accident had taken place only a few minutes before. When we arrived at the scene there was a young boy lying on the road, howling bitterly, his sobs heart wrenching, while onlookers were figuring out what exactly needed to be done. He seemed to have fractured his leg. I thought he had been a pedestrian who had walked before the car but as it turned out he had been pulled out from the car. Then, I noticed a young family cuddled together on the pavement, the father hugging his wife and children who were suffering from shock. They had been the other passengers in the car. Nobody soothed the boy who was the worst hit of all. His dress made me guess that he was probably the hired help. We watched for a while and then my husband detoured and sped towards home. There was nothing we could do, he said, reasoning with my emotion. Perhaps that was true but the events of that evening triggered a reaction. How often do we say this? Is it really true or just a reassurance?
The truth was that the child needed the warmth of words to reassure him. He needed a human touch. It was what he needed most at that time. We all understood but remained aloof and clinical. Why, I wanted to know? In the Doctor words, it’s a million dollar question.
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