Raoof Hasan

Descending dark

The Candid Corner

When the young blood set out on the mysterious paths
Many a hand clutched the hems of their garments
From the restless bed chambers of the enchantresses
Arms kept leaping, seductive bodies kept beckoning

(Adapted from Faiz Ahmad Faiz)

Years ago, one did not realise that, in our lifetime, we would be living through days drenched in blood, reflecting the pain of the times. Not only such days keep us ceaseless company now, the affliction they exude is increasing every passing hour. Far in the distance, one does not see a trace of light either that may shower some hope of better times in the offing. It is like dark is descending all around, engulfing us within an impenetrable wall of pain and agony.

What is really humiliating is that a bunch of convicts and criminals has been imposed on the country as rulers and the subjects are expected to bow their heads in abject obeisance, no questions asked and no protest made. It is like such has been written in our stars and we don’t have a right to stir, the constitution be damned, the justice system may continue to be ruled by doctrine of necessity, the accountability institutions be hijacked to secure incorrigible plunder, state institutions be taken over by proven crooks, and the written and spoken word in the media be put up for sale for paltry gains. It is like the entire state has been forced to wear a criminal apparel to go scuttling around showing its wicked bounties.

People are afraid. Their fear is palpable. It can be seen, it can be felt. They want to yell, they want to stand up to criminals and usurpers. They want to cast off this cover of doom which they have been forced to don. They want to divorce the tradition of enslavement and subservience. They want to demand their inalienable rights guaranteed to them in the statute book. They want to fight for their freedom which was promised to them when the state of Pakistan came into existence. They were also promised justice and equity which they claim as their inherent right. But they are afraid. Their fear is vivid. But they want to fight in spite of this fear, in spite of the inertia which has been cast upon their lives when even their right to life has been snatched away and they have been left by the wayside, scavenging for measly morsels for survival. What a miserable life! What incurable tragedy they suffer! This painful journey called life has become an unendurable burden. It has to be renounced. It has to be shed away. In such times, I am reminded of T. S. Eliot and his classic “The Burial of the Dead”:

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

Why have we come to this pass? What has brought us here? We were promised a land of equality and equity. We were promised a land of justice. We were promised freedom of faith without any entanglements of caste, colour and creed. We were promised a liberal and progressive Pakistan: “You are free; you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place or worship in this State of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed — that has nothing to do with the business of the State”.

We were promised equality of citizenship and parity of rights, privileges and responsibilities: “We are starting in the days where there is no discrimination, no distinction between one community and another, no discrimination between one caste or creed and another. We are starting with this fundamental principle that we are all citizens and equal citizens of one State”.

These were laudatory ideals which are now buried deep under the weight of those who have been trampling upon them incessantly and disdainfully. Human life has been shed of value, importance and relevance. It is treated like a meaningless and dispensable commodity to be done away with when considered to be no longer needed. You are not safe. You continue to live in dread. Even if you flee from the country to bide your time elsewhere, danger looms. You remain in focus of those who are chasing you and who are afraid of you, your honesty, your integrity, your courage and your love for the country and the ideals which are enshrined in its creation. They are gone. They are no longer relevant, because we have a bunch of criminals imposed upon us to define whether we have a right to live and what, if any, would be our destiny. Nothing could be more cruel, and nothing more disparaging to human life. We live it. We suffer it. We endure this humiliation every day we breathe, every day we have blood running through our veins. It is Eliot again who comes to mind talking through the concluding lines of “The Burial of the Dead”:

That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”

There is anger. There is indignation. There is passion. This cannot be contained any longer. It is spilling out on the streets and roads for casting off the descending dark. A peaceful revolution is taking shape as freedom beckons.

The writer is a political and security strategist and the founder of the Regional Peace Institute