h1

Who Are You For Pakistan?

October 12, 2010

Lt. Ali Faraz Haque

Son of the soil, our beloved Ghazi from the Pakistan Army Waziristan Operations

When one thinks about Pakistan, what comes to mind? Well, for some it’s the cradle of terrorism, a land with troubled tribal areas. For some, it’s a heaven for corrupt politicians backed by a corrupt legislation and flawed constitution, and for some it maybe a mistake commited by Mr. Jinnah 63 years ago. Ask a young college boy, what is Pakistan for him? And he will probably answer, “A country in which I was born, raised and taught the tricks of getting my way in the world by hook or by crook, a country where guilty is the person who is caught and honest is a man who didn’t get the chance. Ask an elderly man the same question, and probably he will have a bleaker picture: a land that was better off without the new generations ruining it with their arrogance, lack of respect for elders, and youth corrupted by the western media. But, ask, once again, with full devotion, by being honest to your own self, taking a break from the hustle and bustle around you, from the race of getting the bigger and better share in life by any means possible and ask…yourself, what is Pakistan?


On 14th August 1947, the greatest and the largest Islamic state was born, whose very basis of creation were the guiding principles of Islam, which was claimed in the name of equality and justice for all. A country that gave the Muslims of the Sub-Continent the right to lead their lives with freedom and without fear of any dominating power over their heads and also to the non muslims of the Sub-Continent the right to exercise their religion, their culture and their values, as they wished. Pakistan stood for acceptance. Pakistan stood for equality, Pakistan stood for humanity.

Alas, today we see ourselves standing at such a juncture in time where all the reasons for a Pakistani to feel proud of being a Pakistani are lost. A Muslim’s life is not safe from the hands of a fellow Pakistani Muslim. A man is not valued by the worth of his actions but by the silver in his pocket. The respect is bought and sold like a whore in the market… Bad times are upon us. Hard times are upon us.

Go back in history a little and see, similar times were faced by the same very nation, the only difference was, that the nation had someone to lead them and the moral fibre of the society was still intact. The year is 1947 and the venue is a narrow dusty track passing somewhere through Ferozepur, where a tattered group of men, women and children are slowly creaping towards the border, the way into the promised land, the way into Pakistan. The children though, hungry for days living merely on water and what little they had in their bullock carts are silent as death, as they know that even the slightest murmur, if heard by the Sikhs or the Hindus, might turn into the screams they had been trying to escape every night. The men are tired to their bones, but still vigilant, watching out for any thing out of place. Armed only with the sticks or maybe one odd axe, they move, enveloping the complete group to safeguard the women and children from any attack. And the women, scared, for their lives, lives of their children and their men, yet holding the children close to their bosoms, hushing their slightest noise, and in doing so, at times causing them pain as they know that this pain is a very small price to pay for what is promised to them, and they had come a long way and had endured a lot not to taste the fruit that had been kept away from them for 200 years. Today atlast, their children would finally breath in the free skies of Pakistan.

Suddenly, there is a hustle in the bushes ahead. Everyone freezes. The men, women and children hold their breath waiting for another attack, a blood bath, a massacre. After a few uneasy seconds, a hyena emerges from the bushes and runs away, but the group remains still, waiting, anticipating. After a minute or two, the leading men start walking again and the journey continues.

A young girl of six, sillently snuggles out of her aunts clutches and rushes to her father, a middle aged man walking beside the bullock cart and holds his hand. The father looks down and tries to hide his tension behind a smile, picks the girl up in his arms and asks politely, “Whats the matter?”.

“Will we be seeing Saqeena in Pakistan?” The girl asks.

The father’s eyes swell with tears but he tries to be strong infront of her daughter and replies, ”Hopefully, my child, hopefully, Saqeena will meet us in Pakistan”. The girl smiles back, relieved to hear that her elder sister is already in Pakistan waiting for them. Little does she know that her sister had been raped and killed by a wretched Sikh in a riot in their village the day before they had started for Pakistan.

What pushes that father to give her child hope? What pushes that man to carry on after his first born had been brutally killed? WHAT? The answer is the soil on which we stand today, and the promise that came with it. The promise that has yet not been fulfilled. I ask you, each and every one of you and I ask myself as well, is that how we treat the freedom for which our fathers were killed, mothers and sisters raped and children orphaned? Is this the importance of this land for us that we cant choose a worthy enough man to lead us towards prosperity. Is this the importance we give to our motherland that after everything that we could have gained from her we abandoned her saying, “is mulk ka kuch nahin ho sakta”? Is this the love for freedom we have in us that after paying such a high price we leave our country, only to be labelled as second class citizens in the country that had kept us worse than dogs for 200 years? IS THIS THE WORTH WE HAVE OF THE SALT OF THIS COUNTRY?

I leave you to find answers to these questions. Some of you will justify your existance and your stance over abandonment of your country on the pretext of personal gains and excuses to silence your maligning conscience, many of you will say, “Yes, after all, what has this country given to me that I should give a damn”, and some of you will accept the failure as your personel failure.

You, yes YOU, are the one for whom I laboured to write this whole thing. YOU, are the one who has awakened from the slumber. Now its your job to wake others as well. If someone comes with you, fine, if someone doesn’t, leave him, he is not worth the effort to be convinced of having a self respect. This country needs the same sacrifices that it demanded in 1947 and even then not all were willing to sacrifice.The ones who choose to live with dignity and honour chose Pakistan, and the rest are still slumbering in India. Their fates have been sealed and Babari Mosque is the testimony to it. Now I ask you, again. Will you be party to this farce that is being played against us or do you have the GUTS to fly against the wind, because if you can, you are Iqbal’s Shaheen and if you can’t, get out of the way…

PKKH

Advertisements

One comment

  1. MashAllah beautiful and emotional article…may Allah bless you….Aameen



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: