In Quest Of A Dream

Ghulam Akbar
Before proceeding with my memoirs, I find it necessary here to go back to the last days in the world–of the Founder of Pakistan.
There is general agreement on the undeniable truth that the struggle for the creation of Pakistan had not been basically a struggle for freedom from the yoke of the British Rule. That struggle was common for the entire population of the sub-continent.
The roots of that struggle went back to Plasi and Sarangapatam. And because of the need for that struggle, Mohammad Ali Jinnah had at one time been President of both the All India Muslim League and the National Congress. It was when it was realised by Muslims of the sub-continent that their principal opponent had been and were the Hindu majority of the sub-continent that the need for the creation of Pakistan took roots in the Muslim mindset. The actual oppression experienced at the hands of the British, was suddenly regarded as nothing compared to the feared suppression by the Hindus majority of the Faith regarded by Muslims as dearer than life.
The great Quaid in his interview to the famous British author Beverly Nichols in 1943 (published in the book Verdict on India) made the philosophy behind the struggle for the creation of Pakistan quite clear.
Beverly Nichols asked: Why Pakistan?
Quaid-i-Azam gave a simple answer: Because We are a Nation.
Beverly Nichols asked: “Will Pakistan have Muslim Shariah Laws?
Quaid-i-Azam replied: Give me one good reason it shouldn’t. Why should Muslims not adopt the Laws of their own Faith?
Beverly asked: Can’t Hindus and Muslims live together?
“No,” was the Quaid’s blunt reply. “Hindus worship Cows whereas Muslims slaughter and eat them.”
Those who cheat themselves into believing that M.A. Jinnah had secular longings, should read Verdict On India by Beverly Nicholas.
There is however no doubt that during the years of the struggle for freedom, the Great Quaid had put off the key question how Pakistan would be governed once it came into being. Most Muslim Leaguers had a general idea that the new state would be a democracy of the Western (specifically British) type, but their allegiance to parliamentary democracy was based more on convenience than on conviction.
While the Great Quaid lived he was the government of Pakistan. But the close circles around him knew (though not spoke of) what the x rays of his lungs had revealed. The condition of his lungs was such that his life-span after independence could only be measured in months.
During his long political career earlier the Quaid had built a reputation as an astute constitutional thinker, and it was constitutionalism which had characterised his actions in the political arena and in his fight for Pakistan. But in August 1946, he had made a sharp and decisive departure from his past. Stalemated in his negotiations for Pakistan, he had obtained from the Muslim League a resolution called the Direct Action. Speaking to the members he had said: “What we have done today is the most historic act in our history. Never have we in the whole history of the League done anything except by constitutional methods and by constitutionalism. But now we are obliged and forced into this position. This day we will bid good bye to constitutional methods. Today we have also forged a pistol and are in a position to use it.”
This had been the Quaid’s Rubicon—the decisive step onto the Road to Pakistan.
The carnage of the Calcutta killings had followed his call. It had become unavoidable because of the Hindu stubbornness. Direct Action had convinced the British that the subcontinent could not be kept united without a bloody civil war.
Thus had Pakistan been conceded. There is overwhelming evidence to the effect that the Quaid had come to realise that a constitution on the pattern of the Westminster could not resolve the problems that a new state could face. In July 1947, while engaged in the negotiations for dominion status, the Quaid had jotted a note to himself: “Danger of Parliamentary form of government: (1) It has worked satisfactorily so far in only England, and nowhere else. (2) Presidential form of government more suited to Pakistan.
In a speech given in Balochistan after independence, Quaid-i-Azam spoke clearly that Presidential rule would be more beneficial than a legislative form of government. It is amazing how these views of the Quaid were not allowed to surface. His word was supposed to be law, yet Daultana and Mamdot had joined hands in Lahore to defy the orders of the Quaid regarding the governorship of Punjab.
In fact the entire feudal aristocracy and bureaucratic elite had adopted “wait and see” behaviour in anticipation of the Quaid’s eventual defeat at the hands of lung-eating tuberculosis.
Prime Minister Liquat Ali Khan had his own problems —not being a son of the soil and having to rely largely on the support of the scheming elite class.
In my boyhood days I was to learn about a banned book by Dr. Illahie Bux the last physician of the Quaid who had taken care of the Quaid’s health at Ziarat during his last days. In that book he had reportedly written that when one day Mohtarma Fatima Jinnah had informed her brother that the Prime Minister had come to see him, the Quaid had bitterly remarked: “He has come to make sure that I die.”
As I have not read the book I can’t testify to the authenticity of the alleged remark, but the way the Quaid had died on September 11, 1948 in an ambulance on a road-side of Karachi where the vehicle had run out of fuel on its way from the airport, raises very disturbing questions about the character of the companions of the Quaid.
The man who had spotted the failed ambulance with no functioning airconditioner under the murderous September sun was no less than Air Marshal (Rtd) Asghar Khan, who at that time had been a lesser Air Force Officer.
“I was shocked to find that the man dying or dead in that ambulance was the one who could make the whole of Pakistan lay down their lives at one call!”
As I remember these words of the Air Marshal I feel pain stabbing through my heart. This is our history!
My mindset was greatly influenced by the knowledge of what had happened in the early years of Pakistan. I had developed an intense dislike for the politicians of this country who were supposed to constitute the democratic structure of my beloved homeland.
I need to admit here that I had virtually an insurmountable longing to become a soldier during my early boyhood—a longing that had met great resistance from my mother whose lone son I was, and who had memories of the martyrdom of my uncle Captain Maqbool Elahie on the Kashmir front.
I was an avid reader of books ever since I remember. From the novels based on the Islamic History, to the detective stories by Ibne-Safi, to the Earl Stanley Gardner novels featuring Perry Mason, to Dastan-i-Amir Hamza and the Arabian Nights—I used to read everything I could lay my hands on. History was my favourite subject.
I was a keen cinema-goer too. In early days I watched Bhaghwan Babu Rao action films with great relish. Then my taste shifted to Dilip Kumar movies. Among the Hollywood stars, I harboured special liking for Burt Lancaster, Gary Cooper, Tyrone Power, Charlton Heston, Humphrey Bogart and Clarke Gable. My most liked films I remember were Vera Cruz and Blood & Sand.
In 1955 I passed my per-matric examination in flying colours. I have very fond memories of Government High School Shikarpur. It had three compounds and several grounds for games.
I had some wonderful school teachers. And two headmasters whom I remember with great respect— Moosvi Sahib and Hafiz Sahib.
I hadn’t ever been a studious boy by known standards. Most of my time used to be consumed by Cricket, Badminton and Volleyball—not forgetting the books not related to the syllabus that I used to read. Still I had topped in the province in the two scholarship exams-first in the class IV and then in the class VII.
I was amazingly good at mathematics and physics. On the languages I had virtually mastery. Sindhi was my mother tongue, Urdu my non-mother tongue, English my compulsory language and Persian my optional till class IX. I was to score distinction in all the languages in Matric which I passed in 1956. Matric in Sindh used to be of eleven classes.
1956 was a memorable year for me. That year on the 23rd of March our country left its dominion status behind and became Islamic Republic of Pakistan. All the provinces of West Pakistan were merged into one-unit, with Lahore as capital. The Constitution promulgated that day created parity between the country’s two federating units.
Iskandar Mirza became the first President of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, and Chaudhry Mohammad Ali its Prime Minister.
I remember I was not particularly happy at learning that Dr. Khan, the man whose government in the NWFP had been dismissed by the Father of the Nation as his first act as Governor General had been made Chief Minster of West Pakistan.
Let me admit here that my comprehension of the political intrigues that comprised the political establishment of Pakistan was limited at that time. I understood the International Affairs much better.
On a day in August 1956, I was in a South-bound train—where I was to get admitted in Government College Hyderabad.
I was seventeen at that time. And I was to be on my own the rest of my life.
I had passed my matriculation examination in flying colours. But for want of nine more marks I would have topped in the Board. I had secured 300 out of 300 in Mathematics, 177 out of 200 in English, 164 out of 200 in languages, 91 out of 100 in Physics but only 36 out of 100 in Physiology and Heigene. That had been my undoing. The other subject in which I was less than good was Chemistry. I still remember the day when I appeared for interview for admission before the Principal Mr Gillani. He looked at my marks sheet and then at my face before saying with a smile. “This college welcomes you son. I hope you will make it proud.”
“I’ll try my best sir,” I replied shyly.
Little did he know that I was not born for physics and mathematics and that my first year in the college was to prove to be a disaster.
A year later I was to appear before the same principal for admission in the Intermediate, and he was to look at me with disgust—not finding me fit to share a room in the hostel!