WHEN DREAMS LEAD TO DISILLUSIONMENT—-(22)
FROM THE FAILED REVOLUTION OF FIELD MARSHAL AYUB KHAN
TO THE PROMISE TODAY OF THE EMERGENCE OF NEW PAKISTAN
FROM THE DASHED EXPECTATIONS OF OVER FIVE DECADES.
TO THE SURGE OF NEW HOPES TAKING BIRTH TODAY.
THIS IS MY STORY.
MY JOURNEY THROUGH THE ERA OF AYUB KHAN TO THE TIMES OF IMRAN KHAN.
READ FROM TUESDAY THE 13TH OF NOVEMBER 2018 IN INSTALMENTS.
MEANWHILE THE ECHOES OF THE HEART WILL CONTINUE FROM THE PAST.
GHULAM AKBAR
22—THE BATTLE OF THE PAVEMENT OF MARTYRS.
I am not writing here the history of my times. Nor of Pakistan of my younger days. I am writing here the story of my mind— of what was transpiring in my thoughts in my formative days. I am not consulting any books—or any reference material. I am not concerned with who was Pakistan’s Prime Minister in which month and year. I have certain names in my mind.
Chaudhry Mohammad Ali, I.I Chundrigar, Hussain Shaheed Suharawardy, Feroze Khan Noon and prior to them Mohammad Ali Bogra, Khwaja Nazimnddin, Ghulam Mohammad, Iskandar Mirza, Dr Khan and of course Nawabzada Liaqat Ali Khan.
I am writing from memory. Also from the state of mind I was in. During those years I had grown so completely disenchanted with the politicians and the rulers of Pakistan that I really had stopped reading local newspapers. I was interested only in what was happening around my beloved homeland which had been seized and besieged by hoardes of soldiers of fortune acting under the identity of politicians and leaders.
I was interested in the U.S, France, Germany the UK, the Soviet Union, China and the Middle East. But not in the corridors of power here in my own country.
I was also interested in Cricket. And in our history. Here I can’t help writing about Spain—one word that had started digging deep into my consciousness ever since my early boyhood.
That was Franco era in Spain, and the realization always cut through my heart and soul that we had ruled Spain for eight centuries—and the flag of Islam had flown high in the skies of the Western Europe for generations after generations.
What had gone wrong after all those centuries, in some of which Spain was regarded by the rest of the Europe as the Capital of Learning?
Quite obviously the names like Musa bin Nusair, Tariq bin Ziad, Abdul Aziz bin Musa and subsequent rulers and ruling families including Abdul Rahman were ingrained in my mind. Also Yousuf bin Tashfeen and Abu Abdullah the last Muslim ruler on the soil of Spain.
About both the last-named my uncle Nasim Hijazi had written such moving novels as Yousuf bin Tashfeen and Shaheen. The first named was a North African Muslim Conqueror who had saved Spain from falling to the Christian onslaught led by Alphanso of Castile in the thirteenth century. Twenty-three decades later, Granada and Alhamra, the last monuments of Muslim Power in Spain fell to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella’s combined armies. It was in 1492 when Columbus had sailed in the direction of the New World, that when he heard about the fall of Alhamra, he sent an express messenger to Ferdinand. “Thank you King for liberating our land from the evil of Islam.”
The tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella in Castille, carry an inscription reading:
“Here lie the great souls of the Cross who drove away the Curse of Mohammad from our homeland.”
Naoozbillah.
All these facts of history had made my mind a seething inferno.
I am trying to explain here the state of mind that shaped my early youth and the reason I’ve chosen this title for my memoirs—In Quest of A Dream.
Here it will only be befitting if I make a passing reference to the Battle Of Tours that was to shape the history of mankind in the year 732— exactly a century after the passing away of the Holy Prophet (PBUH).
Under the command of Abdul Rahman, the Muslim army had overrun an enormous territory between Paris of today and the frontiers of Spain.
At Tours, a place about 100 kilometers away from Paris, the Muslim army had clashed with the Frankish armies led by Karl Martel the grandfather of Charlemagne.
Till before the sunset that day the Muslim army was in control of the battle-field. Then an arrow found the chest of Abdul Rahman who fell from his horse, and a great hue and cry over the death of the all-conquering Muslim commander filled the skies over the battle ground. And in no time a certain victory turned into a terrible retreat. Paris was saved from falling to ‘Muslim Infidels’. Karl Martel became the hero of a great European folklore.
The Battle of Tours was a turning point in history. Muslims never entered France again. Both the civilizations—Muslim as well as Christian—- have named this battle as the BATTLE OF THE PAVEMENT OF MARTYRS.
I have always loved to dream. I was a dreamer before I could understand the meaning of my dreams. But by the time I entered the second year of my college life I could trace the roots of my dreams back into the history of Islam— to the Battle of Tours and before that to the Scourge of God that Chengis Khan had been —- and ever farther back into the battles for AlQuds. In my mind I had started living in the company of Salahuddin Ayubi, Sulatn Bayburs, Yousuf Bin Tashfeen and other game-changers in our history. I was also living in the modern era and had my inspirational heroes in the Quaid, Ata Turk, Hitler, Lenin, Mao and Nasser for very different reasons.
