My other blog

Dear friends, I am continuing to post my stories on my other blog which is talesfrompakistan.wordpress.com/ 
Please, please visit my blog anytime!

Preface

The stories that I am writing are from the country called Pakistan. Located in South Asia, Pakistan is viewed in the world with many different viewpoints. The Pakistan I was born and raised in and the one that I know- is a land of moderate, peace loving people, majority being Muslims. That is why the stories contain references to Muslim religion which is Islam. However, my stories are not political. They relate to the general citizens of the country who are I would say, certainly not an exception to human attributes of flaws and errors but majority are virtuous, moderately religious and brave- just like people in any other part of the world. In fact these very qualities keep them going through all the rough times and different governments. Some of the stories are true while others originate from my experiences and observations.

Irum Ansari

Story # 1- Stifling Humanity

Introduction

In Pakistan the art of beggary is very common. It would be just to say that it is quite a fulfilling profession that yields significant income with least effort. In many important areas of the big cities, beggars roam freely. The choice on the part of the people is to hand out money if they so choose, however, distinguishing between the genuine and frauds is a difficult task. Irrespective, people call the older beggars ‘Baba’ which signify respect for their old age. The story revolves around one such Baba who was totally unlike the majority and was as genuine as the emotions we possess.

Baba died today……! He was neither an elite nor a bureaucrat. He was not a politician either. In fact he was nowhere close to any of the above. He belonged to the lowest tier of the social ladder- he was a pauper. One, whose existence or nonexistence simply meant nothing to the materialistic world that surrounded him. In other words he was a ‘nobody’- someone so worthless that no one had the slightest interest to mourn his death. Everything about his death was comatose; just the same degree as it was about his life.

The story dates back to the time when I was in high school. Baba used to sit in a corner few streets down my house. At first I thought he was a phony; a type who cheats on dignity of labor and feigns a sorry state and kept myself away from him while walking to and fro from my school. I would often see a crowd around him.

“He makes sense”,

“It gives me peace hearing him”,

“He is a Sufi (saint)”.

I would often overhear people around him. Silently, I don’t know why but I was observing him, noting down his actions and gestures while passing him as I walked home from school every day. Many days crept by slowly.

”People are right”, I concluded one day while standing on the side street of the busy ‘Sharaa-e Faisal’ (1) road and observing Baba and the crowd around him. The cars were racing off like usual, some of them honking and some leaving trickles of smoke behind them. It seemed everybody had an urgent business to attend to. That’s another feature about Pakistan-most people do not follow traffic laws and the drivers lack patience. As a result, the roads are congested and the drivers defensive. I also concluded that Baba was not feigning his handicap. He was not a beggar in the true sense for I had never seen him beg like those sly professional types who chant-“Give something in the name of Allah (2). May Allah protect you and your family!” However, if anybody gave him any money by their own free will, he would not refuse that either. Well, I guess he was a beggar but perhaps of a different kind. He was a crippled old man and this seemed to be his only means of livelihood. Passersby would often stop beside him so they could hear him talk. His circumstances didn’t allow him to attend school and it was no surprise to anybody. He was one in millions who were below the national poverty line in an underdeveloped nation. That’s a typical scenario of all such nations- only the ruling class and elites get to be the privileged ones. The disparity is very sad and simultaneously very true. The two facts run parallel to each other like railroad tracks. However, in this case amazing thing was that, Baba was very learned. He seemed to have educated himself enough to be able to read and also seemed to understand the Holy Quran (3) well. I would often hear him quote from the different Ayahs (verses) of the Quran (3). I knew just by looking at him how hard he must have worked for that. It was a great achievement for a poor, crippled old man who had no means whatsoever.

“Knowledge is not confined between the walls of the schools and other educational institutions alone. It is knowingly or unknowingly, sometimes visibly and sometimes invisibly all around us”. I heard Baba one day. He continued, “It is definitely not meant to be restricted by its Creator and so all it needs is the eye that can spot and unravel it, a mind that can demystify it and a soul that can consume it”. Baba always emphasized that the educated and literary should try to educate many uneducated yet smart people around them. Many people in the country were remarkably brilliant and sometimes I just could not help but wonder what they could be, if only their circumstances allowed them school education. It could have done wonders for them. I agreed one hundred percent with Baba. In a country where the literacy rate is only sixty percent, the importance of education couldn’t have been stressed enough.

“A candle lights another candle. We should always try to transfer what knowledge we have for whatever little time our lives permit. Just imagine the difference it would make in someone’s life if he or she is able to read and write!” Baba would often remark, his eyes gleaming with the thought. He believed that knowledge is like a treasure that is for its discoverer to keep; a finder keeper kind of a thing. Once the finder gets to it, trudges the difficult path in its quest, all his hard work pays off and he gets to keep the treasure forever and perhaps that’s why, he always seemed to be pleading the fortunate and literary to help the unfortunate- ones who were brilliant but simply deprived of the means to build on their intelligences. Baba’s philosophies made sense to everybody. People would come to him and share their grief and sorrows. I would see Baba hearing them out patiently and counseling them.

“Don’t lose patience; it is the Sunnah (5) of our Prophet Mohammed (4) (Peace be upon him). Persevere and keep praying. I will also pray for you but you must not give up. I’m sure Allah (God) will help you. He certainly helps the righteous and hard working”. Baba’s kindness consoled many poor and suffering people, who perhaps needed nothing more than a considerate ear and few kind words for their miseries. As for me, I considered Baba learned. Uneducated yet learned in all its true sense!

My first encounter with him was quite interesting. I was standing on the side road and watching him when suddenly he motioned to me. I looked around, thinking he meant somebody else. He motioned to me again, kind of like asking me to come to him. It was 3:00pm and very few people were around him at that time of the day. Summer afternoons in Karachi (6) are usually very hot and humid and many people prefer to stay indoors during that time, either at homes or at work places. I walked slowly towards him. “You seem like a very nice girl beti (7) (daughter)” he said. I was very nervous; it was the first time in my life that I was interacting with a stranger who was addressing me as ‘beti’ (7).

“I pass you everyday” I replied abruptly.

“I know that” he smiled, and then added, “You are welcome to come here anytime you wish”.

After that, I never had to stand at a distance; I would walk over and sit with Baba on my own special space beside him and undoubtedly had the most wonderful conversations with him. My attraction towards him grew strong with every passing day and on my walks back from school, I started stopping to exchange a few notes with him quite regularly. I could never figure out what actually attracted me to him. Was it him being an old, crippled, lonely pauper out on the streets? Or the magnitude of knowledge he possessed? Or perhaps was it simply his God given art of eloquence? Whatever it was, surely it kept me mesmerized. And mesmerized I was!

Ever since Baba came to know of my passion for Jasmine, he would often make a garland of fresh Jasmine flowers for me. (Use of garlands and jewelry made of fresh flowers is very common in Pakistan.) Don’t get me wrong; Baba treated me like his daughter and similarly he was a father figure to me and it would be right to say that our friendship was as unique as the situation we were in. Time passed slowly…. I began to learn a lot from him with each passing day. We discussed how human beings can live peacefully and yet simultaneously can also respect each other’s differences- just what Allah (2) expects from His creation. He considered life in the world a test from God Almighty and would often talk about how trust in Him alone and patience combined with hard work can solve our numerous problems. Baba was a very religious man and considered religion a necessary binding force for all humans of different faiths. I would often sit with him for as long as I was permitted by my parents and felt that after each meeting I walked away wiser. I would also discuss our conversations on the dinner table in the evenings and it was always exciting to hear my family’s input about them. My parents also had nothing but respect for my new friend and they planned on meeting him one day. My life was good and sure enough I wanted to keep it that way. But then…. something unthinkable happened one day…… something so incredible that it shook me deep down in the core!

It was a day no different from the rest. I headed home from my school on my usual time in the afternoon. I saw Baba on his usual spot. Right next to him was the garland of fresh Jasmine flowers waiting for me. I started walking towards him excitedly as I had a lot to discuss with him today. I was close to his spot when I saw him get up with the help of his crutches. It seemed that he suddenly remembered something. He looked cautiously at the road and seeing only few cars, began to cross it carefully. (It would be important to note here that there are no ‘walk’ or ‘don’t walk’ signals in Pakistan. Pedestrians cross the streets cautiously at their own judgment.) Baba was midway on the road when a car suddenly zoomed into the scene. Baba turned his head to look at the racing car when………Like a bolt of lightning; it zoomed in and hit him head on!!!---- In a flash, he darted up in the air like a tiny ball and….. BANG!!!! Fell on the ground as fast as he had bolted upwards. All the pedestrians close to the spot heard an enormous thud as Baba fell on the ground seemingly unconscious! All this seemed to have happened in just a few seconds. The impact was so enormous that Baba’s crutches went flying couple of yards away. The car screeched and swiveled recklessly as if it was drunk, but ultimately gained control and was zapping out of sight on the narrow road. The driver didn’t even bother to stop and left the scene as cruelly and abruptly as he had entered it. A soul shattering scream released from my mouth as I came out of my trance and just then by sheer chance, I glanced at the driver who could have competed successfully with a speeding bullet at that moment. There I was…. standing stiff like a mannequin in the midst of the scene…. The driver was no other but the famous and respected social worker Mr. Raheel Shah! Every now and then all the newspapers and TV channels raved about his services for the poor and destitute. He was a very popular and respectable figure of our country. I was in utter disbelief and frozen in a state of shock. A crowd had gathered around Baba. In my heart I knew that he was no longer among us, he was gone from the world and even from a distance I could see the jasmine garland held tightly in his hand. The flowers were crushed and withered exactly the same way as their possessor…

Slowly, I gathered my courage and walked towards my friend. I felt as if I was a robot in a science fiction movie. Baba’s crushed, and decrepit body was bleeding badly now. But quite amazingly, there were no signs of any pain on his face. Instead, there was a deep hard to explain type of serenity there- serenity very mysterious and beautiful! His face looked so content, so peaceful that I couldn’t take my eyes off it for some time. I was lost in the moment and felt no emotion at all. No remorse, no pain and no sense of loss. Perhaps Baba’s misery had actually ended. I often felt that this world was not meant for him. He was, first of all very poor and belonged to the lowest section of the social class. Then, he was not materialistic, dishonest or sly. He believed in true values of Islam and actually practiced and preached them. I didn’t think anybody possessing such qualities could fit in with the materialistic world we live in today. Of course there are many steadfast people around but, they have a very difficult terrain to navigate in my opinion. Baba was one of those steadfast few but now, he was no more.

I knew that Baba was nobody important according to many people in this world; he was not a wealthy man in their eyes, had no social contacts with big people and so deserved no respect or importance for that matter [sic]. And apparently there seemed nothing wrong with that because what worth is a pauper to anybody anyways? Only I knew how content Baba was, living the way he was. He was so happy and content practicing virtue that he never cared for the hypocritical values. He sure was a strange man, certainly not made for the world we live in. He was always conscious of his actions and often said that we would be accountable to God for them on the ‘Day of Judgment’(8)- a concept that constitutes the basis of Islam. “It’s a tight rope we are walking on. We must always walk carefully!” he would often remark. Sometimes his philosophies boggled me greatly and simply threw me off guard. I was deep in thoughts when the movement of the crowd brought me back in the present. I knew that pretty soon his body would be buried at some insignificant place by the government officials and then many (if not all) gathered there at the moment would forget about him and the brutal accident and go about their businesses like usual. I knew that some groups of moral and humane people will raise their voices against the murder, protest against it, but the result was easy for almost anyone to predict. In the end the rich and influential will prevail. This fact is known and understood by all in Pakistan. That’s why I could understand the reason why many people didn’t even bother to waste their time mourning the insignificant death and equally insignificant cause of death of that poor beggar. With a weeping heart and a shattered soul, I walked back to my home. My head was down and my feet were as heavy as my heart.

Next day the top newspaper of the country highlighted a big piece of news on the front page-

“The country’s famous social worker and human rights activist Mr. Raheel Shah inaugurated a new organization for the disabled. He also donated one million rupees (9) to the organization.” In the same newspaper, somewhere on the back page, there was another piece of news very small and inconspicuous-

“Yesterday a driver mercilessly crushed and killed a handicapped beggar on ‘Sharaa-e Faisal’(1) road. The driver escaped the scene. No eyewitnesses found.”

Foot notes

1. Name of a road.
2. The name used for God by the Muslims.
3. The religious book of the Muslims.
4. The last Prophet of the Muslims.
5. Ways demonstrated by Prophet Mohammed (PBUH)
6. The Cosmopolitan city of Pakistan.
7. A term used to give respect to a female by considering her like a daughter.
8. The final day when the world will end, as explained in the Holy Quran.
9. Currency used in Pakistan. Approximately 84 rupees equal one US dollar at present. The exchange rate however varies accordingly with inflation.