Hope and Healing Concert at Hindu November Fest
Pakistani ghazal singer Tina Sani performed at a concert titled ‘Hope and Healing’ during The Hindu Friday Review November Fest in Chennai.
Folklore sans frontiers
There is no alternative to peaceful coexistence within South Asia, says Raza Rumi
As we crossed the blood lined Waagah, after three hours of soul-destroying bureaucratic tangles and multiple forms filled in by the guardians of our borders, nothing changed. It was an eerie reminder of how the two Punjabs are but one. The roads were dusty and rural life remains as time-warped as ever. The street vendors were selling dirty, unhygienic food items wrapped in a thick cover of flies; and the money changers and CD-sellers attacked you with a frenzy that one is used to back home.
I was part of a delegation from Pakistan that was driving to Chandigarh to attend the SAARC folklore festival organized by Punjab’s legendary writer Ajeet Caur. This was a motley crew: ten Punjabis of various stripes, and five Sindhis who have travelled all the way from Bhit Shah to Lahore. We were greeted with garlands and the usual Punjabi warmth by our hosts at the border. This was my first trip to India via land or, as they say on visa forms, “on foot”. One could not escape the strange sensation of striding across a “hostile” frontier.
The road was still called the Grand Trunk Road and the traffic was a little more chaotic than that on the Pakistani side. The over-loaded road space reminded one of the simple fact that India’s population is out of control There is simply an explosion of humanity in all directions. As we drove towards Jullandar, our stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant called “haveli”, the driver bumped into a motorcyclist who was driving on the main highway thinking that he was still navigating the fields of his village. Thankfully, he was not hurt and the Sardarji had to only report the incident at a nearby police-post. My companions and I stood on the roadside waiting for the Sardariji to return. However, the general comment was that the lost side of the Punjab was more developed; and the images of women riding on motorcycles and scooters were simply astounding for first time visitors to India.
Six decades have passed since rivers of blood were unleashed by the tragic events of 1947, where an unnatural division of a territory was imposed by a cabal of self-obsessed politicians of all varieties and faiths, in cahoots with their imperial masters. Humans are resilient, after all, and the Punjabis have coped with this trauma rather well. On our side they have captured the entire country, held it to ransom and have not shied away from undermining other nationalities when need be. On the enemy side, they have turned into mega-entrepreneurs, flourishing businessmen across North Indian urban centres and a huge diaspora with lots of money in the Western capitals. But the tragedy refuses to go away. The most revered shrines of Sikhs are in Pakistan and the oldest Shiva temple is in our Punjab. The Muslims, of course, have left their saints and shrines in the Hindu kingdom, not to mention traces of a seven-century cohabitation with the Indian gods.
At sunset, we were closer to Chandigarh – city beautiful – a city that had to be built anew to refresh the memories of Lahore. A project that Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru was extremely proud of, Chandigarh became the first prototype, well-planned socialist experiment. It is a shame that five decades later, it is nothing like Lahore, as it still gropes to find an identity and it has turned into a testament of India’s deep-seated inequality across class lines. Having said that, it is a model city, with big boulevards, wide pavements, multiple educational institutions and mercifully, lots of green spaces.
We arrived at Himachal Bhavan, a government owned rest house of sorts built like a socialist castle. Very soon, we merged into the streams of visitors from other countries. The bauls, fakir followers of Lalon Shah in Bengal, the singers from Nepal, Kashmir and dancers from tribes of Bengal and Maharashtra constituted the delightful mosaic of South Asian folk universe carefully assembled by the legendary Ajeet Caur.
Thus a packed festival commenced in sleepy Chandigarh which, not unlike Islamabad, is a quiet city. The performers started the day with public performances in educational institutions and public auditoriums. Concurrently, a seminar took place for four days with scholars, writers and researchers presenting papers on South Asian folk art and cultures. The afternoons were spent on sightseeing and every evening folk performances were held at the Tagore Theatre in the city.
There was little room for a traveler of my kind to explore the city. But the wide variety of people who attended the seminars and performances provided ample opportunities to speak to the residents of the lost Punjab. Countless stories permeated our conversations, jokes and periods of serious discussions. A Sardarji from Gujranwala district narrated his memories of Lahore and native village. Such are the machinations of nostalgia that it becomes a reality; a shadow that hangs over the present, sometimes strong and at other times muted and subtle. But it is there, all the time. A family that migrated from Lahore had named their business in Chandigarh after the mohalla that they had to leave in the frenzy of 1947’s mayhem.
Surinder Caur, the popular singer from Indian Punjab had visited Lahore a decade ago and she nearly broke down when she identified her house in the Chauburji area. Her talented daughter Dolly Guleria is continuing the traditions and she sang with gusto at the festival. Dolly has a majestic voice and is well-versed in Sufi poetry from the Punjab. Her rendition of Baba Farid’s verses and pieces of Heer left the audience swooning.
Dolly also wants to visit Pakistan again as her maiden trip with her mother left an indelible impression on her.
Perhaps the most soulful performances at the festival were those by the Bauls of Bengal and the fakirs from Bhit Shah who retained the essence of original performative features unlike the pop-folk that is in vogue now. The malangs from Madhoo Lal Hussain’s shrine in Lahore were a hit for their direct connection with the audience. The trance-like state and losing themselves attracted the spectators as each one of them may have wanted at some stage of their life to have entered oblivion. The dhamalis, as these resident malangs are known, dance each Thursday to remember the tradition of devotion that Madhoo Lal had started in the seventeenth century to honour his patron, teacher Shah Hussain. The syncretic roots of our folklore are difficult to miss.
As I narrated in my paper on the myths of Indus river that, even today in parts of Sindh, there exists the practice of wrapping the holy Quran in colourful cloth and cradling it, the way Hindus have worshipped the birth of Lord Krishna.
Scholars from all over the region lamented how folklore traditions were threatened due to rampant commercialisation and the globalised mono-culture where manners and lifestyles are all inspired by the dominant West. During the festival, I loved the dancers of Sherdukpen tribe from Arunachal Pradesh who performed the traditional Yak Dance. These tribals are engaged in farming for their livelihoods, while dancing provides a balance of their interaction with Nature and daily rigours of their lives.
Other groups from India presented amazing performances showcasing the vibrant cultural kaleidoscope of India. The Yakshagaan from Karnataka, Laavni from Maharashtra, Hafiz Nagma from Kashmir, and Ustad Qadri Sardar Ali’s Qawwali group from Punjab displayed the way folk traditions continue in these difficult times.
The festival aside, it was the Punjabi environs that pleased me the most. Indian Punjab is now divided into governable units of Himachal Pradesh, Haryana and the Punjab. In addition, Chandigarh is a Union territory that also happens to be the headquarters for Punjab and Haryana states. Nehru’s land reform, industrialisation and the spread of education at all levels have made these states distinctly different from their mammoth counterpart: the Pakistani Punjab. A large middle class has transformed the cultural ethos and democratic traditions have ensured that citizen voice is given its due in governance on the Indian side.
Chandigarh, for instance, has an impressive literacy rate of nearly 82% and its per capita income is also the highest for the service sector flourishes here. Guess who can boast of a parha likha Punjab? On the other hand we have a small, populous strip of central Punjab that has the promise of prosperity; otherwise, southern Punjab is the poorest of regions in Pakistan. The barani north is also impoverished with limited citizen services and entitlements. With our indoctrinated India-hatred, we often tend to overlook these developments in our immediate neighbourhood. How come the infidels, those scheming banias and stumbling Sikhs achieve this? A question that must be addressed by us all.
On my last day in Chandigarh, I visited the Punjab University to meet an old acquaintance from the international public administration network. Mr and Mrs Ghuman live in a peaceful house within the university, grow their own vegetables, and are raising two sons who are acquiring state of the art education. I was offered baisan ki mithai, kachorees and barfi with lots of affection for Pakistan and the Punjabis. I did not feel as if I was in a hostile territory and the conversation and its tenor reminded me of my family on this side of the border. Ironically, the same day another former Professor of Chandigarh, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, a son of Chakwal was trading allegations against Pakistan for spreading terrorism. Politics can deplete cultures and destroy common bonds. 1947 was this awful watershed when high politics dominated the lived and shared lives of the Punjabis.
Ajeet Caur-ji, who calls me her son, is a remarkable woman. She is relentless in her efforts in forging South Asian bonds and effecting literary and cultural exchanges. She has kept a flame ablaze in dark times. Let the light prevail. Ajeetji is not alone. The writers from all over South Asia are her family.
It will take years, perhaps decades, but the dream for a visa-less, peacefully coexistent countries of South Asia will be realized. We will wait, but not give up.
First published in The Friday Times
Raza Rumi blogs at www.razarumi.com and edits Pak Tea House and Lahornama e-zines
An undivided India? (video)
Should India and Pakistan Resume Dialogue? (video)
This was aired in January 2010
Indians and Pakistanis talk on the occasion of the 62nd anniversary of independence/partition. Starts witha family divided across the border.
Burma VJ
BURMA VJ is a movie shot as part of the Democratic Voice of Burma’s mission to capture and highlight the brutality of the Junta and the bravery of the people willing to stand up against their oppressors making sure their voice is heard in spite of the various attempts to suppress any dissent or raised voice.
THE ONE EYED MAN
For a country that prides itself on winning independence through non violent means enabled by a man who valued the human dignity and life above else, India seems to have fallen a long way down in the past 60 odd years since independence. To boast of being the only long lasting democracy in the South Asian region is perhaps laudable but the fashioning of democracy as an institution that is independent of the people who make it possible and an institution whose primary concern becomes power itself is appalling . The lack of a strong Indian response be it regarding the Sri Lankan issue, or the Tibetan protests before the Olympics, or the Burmese protests last year or the Junta’s response to Cyclone Nargis or even its own disquieting human rights record only underline the complete disregard for the values and the principles that the nation and its democratic institutions were built upon. The silence of the government in face of the arrest of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi on May 13th, even when western governments were quick to make their displeasure known is just further evidence of how low the government and its foreign policies have fallen. By not responding or showing a strong negative response to the detaining of a women who has for the last two decades fought on the principles that were made popular by the Mahatma, the Government of India has shown clearly where their interests lie.
The placement of economic interests and economic growth above all else does not come as a complete surprise. India, after all is just following in the footsteps of the west who have repeatedly turned a blind eye towards human rights issues in the Middle East, China, Latin America, Africa and in many other places if that blind eye meant an increase in their economic status, an move to the top of the developed nations list and the recognition of being on par with the first world. Globalization and global capitalism has shown to be two faced again and again. The human cost of it has been increasingly whitewashed with figures of people who have profited from it. The bigger hoax has been the UN Human Rights council which this year boasts a list of who’s who amongst the world’s worst Human rights offenders. For an institution which boasts its mission as being to strengthen, protect and promote human rights issues around the globe, the inclusion of United States, Saudi Arabia, Cuba, Russia, Bangladesh, China, Indonesia, Pakistan, and India would be funny if it were not so depressing. The absolute lack of concern, the mind numbing indifference, and feigned ignorance of the status of the human rights situation in these countries and amongst the countries that relate to these countries is frightening. The double standards of the United States, the United kingdom and many of the Western developed countries when it comes to dealing with the nations that have poor or no standards of human rights just sets the tone for how an international organization that depends on the support and economic support of these countries will behave and how countries that aspire to become democratic and members of the free trade consortium will behave. None of the countries have a right to be appalled by Daw Suu Kyi’s detention until they show the same degree of concern for the minorities who suffer through the communist regime of China, or the degrading status of women, and minorities in the Middle East, or the status of immigrants in their own countries. Secretary’s Clinton’s show of friendship and her dismissal of human rights as an issue in her first visit to china show the priority of the Obama administration. Neither the US or the UK have any right to criticize the Burmese Junta until they can convince India and China to stop trading with Burma, supplying it with Military equipment and build roads and ties with the Junta in a never ending one-upmanship competition.
The new incoming Indian government needs to set its foreign policy priorities straight. It cannot stand up in the international stage and claim to be a voice for democracy and boast of its history of preserving human dignity until it takes concrete measures to stop the massacre along its borders. It cannot support the military junta in Burma while talking about non violence and value for human life, it cannot support the Sri Lankan government with arms and money while talking about complete rights for all minorities, it cannot maintain a cordial relationship with china while sheltering the Dalai Lama and talking about respect for all religions. Above all, it cannot claim to be a democratic, secular country with equal rights for all its people and act as a beacon for the downtrodden while ill treating the refugees who come to its shores. A system has to be put in place in coordination with the UNHCR to make sure the refugees who come are not left to die in under prepared camps or sold off into prostitution and trafficking. There has to be a concerted effort with the western nations to bring governments like the Burmese Junta or even the Sri Lankan government to task and to highlight the violations of minorities, tribes and other people in those countries. There has to be an awareness that the responsibilities of a rising power extend far beyond its shores and far beyond providing food, water and shelter to its people. It’s high time the western countries were made accountable too. There needs to be a better system to bring violators of human rights and justice to task than just closing one’s eyes, and there needs to be a better international system that is just and equal in bring countries to task not based on their relationship to the west but rather on their history of trying to suppress the human will to be free.
Her dreams of the future
| Raza Rumi describes the launch of Fahmida Riaz’s novel and how it turned into an occasion for introspection |
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| Barricaded Islamabad enveloped by the ghosts of national gloom has one little corner of hope. The Pakistan Academy of Letters, under its dynamic and committed Chairman, Fakhar Zaman, continues to weave narratives that still inspire. Even when the bitterness of our grim present affects us all, Fakhar Zaman was forthright in his views on Pakistan, its future and most importantly, its literary tradition. The venue was the book launch of Fahmida Riaz’s novel Godavari that has been translated into English. Fahmida Riaz is better known as a poet but her unique prose is lesser known. Her short stories and novels are extraordinary pieces of literary works rendered into sheer poetry. Often it is difficult to determine the genre of her ‘prose’ works as the lines between watertight compartments blur and fade away, only to reappear as a gentle reminder to the readers that our author is experimenting in her inimitable style.
Godavari was published last year by the Oxford University Press and Fakhar Zaman organised its launch under the aegis of PAL only to ensure that there are many indigenous, native voices in English that have yet not caved in to the pressures and inducements of Western publishing houses. Godavari is a deceptively simple story of a few characters visiting a holiday hill resort in Maharashtra a little before the communal riots that shook Bombay and India in the 1980s. But deep within its lines, sub-textual connotations and shifting moods lie tales of discrimination, communal hatred and the unfettered spirits of its universal female characters. The heartening aspect of this book launch was that there were a few dozen enthusiasts present on the occasion, and a few powerful intellectuals who spoke of Fahmida’s life and her works as symbolic of contemporary Pakistan. The most forceful of voices at PAL was that of Dr. Tariq Rehman, the eminent linguist who was quick to clarify that he was neither a literary critic nor a connoisseur but had only come there in support of relentless fighters such as Fahmida Riaz who had devoted their lives to the cause of a progressive Pakistan. Dr. Rehman spoke of the challenges that Pakistan faced, and reminded everyone how these had been subtly and deftly handled by Riaz in her novel. Of all these challenges he cited the two-fold menace of snowballing Talibanisation; and the silence that had gripped those – mentally exiled – who ought to rise and confront it. Dr. Rehman was deeply worried, forceful in his presentation and sincere in his warnings that we all facing certain dangers together as a nation that has been betrayed time and again by its ruling elites. Dr. Mujahid Barelvi, the eminent journalist, reminisced about the younger Fahmida in Karachi of the 1970s, and how she inspired younger writers. Her infinite charms made a whole generation fall in love with her. He cited the upheavals of the 1970s and the onset of martial law, Fahmida’s exile and how the dreamers saw their ideals crashing one after another during General Zia-ul-Haq’s monstrous rule. Godavari was written when Fahmida Riaz was in exile in India during the 1980s. This was the time when she had a relatively safe environment, for she had been booked under the sedition law in Pakistan. However, this was also a time when Fahmida was not at home in the promised secular land because of its deep-seated casteism, its roving communal demons and above all, its typecasting of Pakistanis. Therefore, Godavari also emerges as a tale of an exile as much as it is about the marginalisation of women and India’s lower castes. Salman Asif read an erudite paper, almost a literary tribute to our greatest living poet. He spoke of the inherent lyricism of Fahmida’s prose and its overt feminist stance and intonations. He quoted verses from Dara Shikoh and ended his paper with moving lines from Forugh Farrokhzad, the legendary Iranian poet who was also castigated by the prophets of chauvinism and ignorance. Alamgir Hashmi spoke about Godavari’s plot, its characters and genre, and raised numerous questions about the difficulty of categorizing it. Shabnam Shakil and Kishwar Naheed also attended the ceremony as guests and reaffirmed their solidarity with Riaz. There was nothing more endearing than hearing the sari-clad and reflective Fahmida Riaz, speaking in English about her novel and answering many questions. She also set its context, and mentioned how Sir Sayid’s message on education and modernization was still relevant and perhaps the best counterweight to the growing extremism in the country. Fahmida was also emphatic in affirming our South Asian identity as the founders and creators of Pakistan were themselves “Indians” and not foreigners. Thus she lambasted the insidious efforts of the Pakistani state to impose a foriegn identity on us, basing it on alien regions and cultures. In spite of such realities, she emphasized, we were distinctly Pakistani and this was the beauty of our country’s pluralism, which is now at the mercy of fundamentalist obscurantism. She looked calm and satisfied at the translation rendered by Aquila Ismail, not to mention an excellent introduction by Pakistan’s gifted bilingual writer Asif Farrukhi. In his eloquent background to the novel and its author, he cited the incident when Fahmida’s house was searched during Zia’s era and the house “begins to appear in a new light as she begins to hear, for the first time, heartbeats reverberate through the four walls:” All these tribulations over a book – Search Warrant’ translated by Patricia Sharpe The chair, Fakhar Zaman, was the most unconventional speaker I have ever heard at such literary events. He delivered an insightful, self-exploratory speech. Tired of hearing about Iqbal’s religiosity, Zaman complained of how desperadoes were searching for religion in Faiz too. He was quick to confess that he was a political worker, but his primary identity was that of a writer. Through this curiously hybridized identity, he understood Fahmida’s works, related to her anguish and shared her concerns for Pakistan’s past and its uncertain future. He also spoke of the ludicrousness of visa barriers in South Asia and the demeaning immigration forms that placed writers, poets and intellectuals in a category titled as the “other”. The audience laughed and also ruminated as he spoke extempore without fear and without cavil. Fakhar Zaman is a rare breed of intellectual, and it is good to see the Academy thriving under his leadership despite the turbulent environs of the mighty capital. It is a separate matter that we have learnt to sit in comfortable zones of apathy concerning our writers. Thousands of employees recruited by the past PPP governments have been reinstated, but Fahmida Riaz stays in her Karachi apartment without a vocation or decent livelihood that would enable a litterateur of her towering stature to create more art. For all its other acts of omission, the present government will not be kindly remembered if it fails to honour the progressive artists who struggled against dictatorships and lost their homes, dreams and moorings. Perhaps this is why we are condemned to be haunted by the ghosts of authoritarian rule and the shadows of anti-human ideologies. Fahmidaji, keep on writing: posterity is all yours. This is what your predecessors Mir and Ghalib and many others faced. We are incapable of breaking the callous circles of indifference. Raza Rumi blogs at www.razarumi.com and edits Pak Tea House and Lahornama e-zines |
History – An issue of perspective
Education can open a lot of doors, sometimes these doors are the ones that are within our minds. Growing up through years of history classes I had always had the impression that it was only the era of the Guptas and tales about the 9 gems in Chandragupta Vikramaditya’s court that Sanskritic learning was at its peak. And when it came to the history of the Mughals a lot of us held the notion that it was only the persian arts that they encouraged. Sometimes, within the ramparts of our own definitions of what constitutes culture we often forget that history presented in a school textbook is only a small snapshot and that other snapshots exist. I would go on to say that text book designers have a great responsibility on their hands and in a lot of cases they fail to satiate the young minds that are in need of wider basis.
In the course of reading a history of Sanskrit literature, I stumbled upon a very interesting text in an area where very little work has been done or an area where there is more prejudices and notions than introspection and a discerning analysis of history. To me, this shows that history is not at all what it seems or what you are taught to believe in.
The fact that many moslem rulers of India liberally patronised Sanskritic culture and learning is not generally known. Their courts were adorned with Sanskritic scholars and writers of high repute who got every encouragement monetary and otherwise from their royal patrons. Of the Sanskritic poets who adorned the courts of the Moslem rulers, three of the greatest are BhAnukara, AkbarIya kALidasa and Jagannatha Panditaraja. Of the Mohammedan rulers who liberally patronised Sanskrit poets and scholars the foremost are Shahabuddin, Nizam Shah, Sher shah, Akbar, Shah Jahan, Muddalar Shah, Burhan Khan and others. Some of the other poets patronised by them are AmrtaDatta, Pundarika Vitthala (the same person who has written musicological treatises such as Ragamala, SadrgaCandrodaya), Harinarayana Misra, Vamshidhara, Lakshmipati and so on. When this is the case with history within a nation divided across religious lines, I am sure there are so many such blurring borders between nations if only we care to look
Read the full downloadable text here..
http://library.du.ac.in/dspace/bitstream/1/7321/1/Muslim_Patronage_To_Sanskritic_Learning%20%281942%29.pdf
The Dome (A Short Play)
The Dome
(A Short Play)
By Kali Hawa
[The stage is a blank rostrum set in coal black background and foreground. There is absolutely nothing visible to the spectators due to dull diffused lights facing them from the stage edge. Abruptly the lights causing illusion of darkness to the spectators, begin to dim. Simultaneously soft white light slowly submerge a human form. Bang in the middle of the stage are two long solid blocks. Due to completely black furnishings only silhouette of the man and the two blocks are visible. The man stirs and appears completely baffled]
Man: [Whispering in soft voice] Its pitch dark here. I can’t see a thing. Looks like it wouldn’t have mattered if I was completely blind. [Now a little laud] Blind! Am I blind? [He broods over this for while] No I don’t think so. Certainly not, I am not blind. There is a difference in seeing dark and not seeing at all. Where is this? Who am I? I don’t seem to remember anything. Am I dead? [Again broods over this, then feels his body with his hands] I have limbs; I have form like human being. I am not dead after all. [Softly, as if afraid] Hello! Anybody here? [Nothing happens, emboldened, he walks around in a small circle trying to feel for solid contact with his hands and feels the presence of blocks. His footsteps echo in with short trailing sounds.] This place appears familiar, at least the milieu is familiar. Yes I am inside a dome like structure. [Shaking his head, sits down on one of the blocks] Yes definitely inside a massive dome. The short trailing echo, indeed this a dome. [Now loudly] Hello! Anybody here? Can any one show me the way out?
Voice [A tired but gruff irritating voice] Stop that racket, you fool! Be quiet.
Man: [Perplexed, now speaks in a soft and friendly tone] Sorry! Old chap, if I bothered you, but you see I am lost here and need help. Who are you? What is this place?
Voice: How dare you ask that? Who am I! Yes indeed, Who am I? Oh! It doesn’t matter any more, does it? Why should I help you, I don’t care what miserable piece of shit you are. By the way I am miserable for God knows whence. I am Khurram.
Man: Some luck I have. I run into a badmouthed guy with a queer name. Khurram is it. That’s a violent abrasive name.
Khurram: [Exasperated] you are an extremely insolent person aren’t you. Another time another place you would have paid dearly for this. What is the big deal about Khurrum? You have no familiarity with Arabic-Persian names.
Man: [Trying to make up] I am sorry if I have upset you. You appear to have been around here for sometime while I am a confused stranger here. I don’t even know who I am, what I am doing here. I don’t think I am dead I have physical form. This place seems like a massive dome. Why isn’t there any light……
Voice: You are not the only one baffled [Sounding philosophical]. What makes you think you are not dead?
Man: I told you, I have physical form. If I was dead and assuming dying is just not the end, it is unlikely that existence will continue in the same form. By the way what is this place, Khurram!
Khurram: [Annoyed] Oh! What impudence! This is the Taj Mahal. Can’t you see?
Man: I can’t see, its pitch-dark here.[Then realizing slowly] Taj Mahal! Is it? And you, what are you doing here [waits a few seconds and then excitedly]. You mean! You mean you are the Shah Jehan?
[ There is silence for a few seconds]
Khurram: It doesn’t impress me anymore. All the veneration, awe and fear matters no more. I spend time in complete oblivion siting over judgement on my own doings. I am nowhere near a satisfactory judgement, which angers me even more. What did I do wrong?
Man: You made the Taj Mahal. You are one shinning example of everlasting love and devotion. That should be a fair judgement.
Khurram:You think so. That’s what people think. I hate Mumtaj. I hated her most of the time. I didn’t make the Taj Mahal, I ordered its construction. An army of very skilled artisans made this magnificent monument. I merely ordered its construction in a fit profound loss, just the loss a deep sense of insecurity and loss. Later I wished I hadn’t ordered its construction but then somehow I couldn’t stop its construction. I had become a zombie. My love for Mumtaj was infatuation. Later it is was just a magnified public perception because of the massive construction lasting a lifetime. I was like a zombie not interested in any thing. I watched its construction in state of complete detachment. I saw laborers falling from the high scaffoldings to their death, their heads opening like crushed pumpkins. The rasping sound of whips peeling the skin of workmen for making mistakes did not make me wince in horror. I saw despairing families breaking their back to complete the construction. Supervisors whipping tired workmen to hurry up with raising marble blocks, bringing in heavy materials etc. Scores of them were dying like fleas due to my perceived urge to complete the monument at the earliest. The state was left to flounder and hurtle freely from a prosperous to near bankrupt kingdom.
Man: That is a very harsh judgement. Remember you were the king, that was your destiny. We are partly creatures of our circumstances. Since everything came to you as a matter of right, your behavior was molded in that fashion. Death and misery meant statistics to you as concerns of mere statecraft; therefore you did not realize true significance of a personal tragedy. You were surrounded by some indifferent, some power-hungry people, some good advisors and may be perhaps some well-meaning well wishers too. But they all had their own personal world to attend; besides a king is something unique therefore he has no benchmarks or role models to look for parallels. The King is center of an unreal microcosm where ostentatious behavior over-shadows everything else. Much of his decisions are spontaneous, even though these decisions have far reaching consequences, the king is helpless in that.
Khurram: That’s very well articulated but unfortunately it does not pass the test the morality and responsible behavior. If we accept what you say then no one shall be responsible for his acts. Everyone will blame his circumstances for his failures or acts of omissions and commissions. As you said we are partly creatures of our circumstances but only partly. We have within each of us a sense of judging right and wrong, therefore only part of the blame for our acts can be attributed to circumstances, rest we have to own up.
Man: You speak well your Majesty, but wouldn’t you consider your incarceration in this dungeon for all these centuries enough atonement for your failings? Eventually what counts is sum total of our actions in a lifetime. Surely you were good to your queen and your children and also many other in the multitude constituting your realm.
Khurram: Your are not correct when you say I was good to my queen and children. Perhaps I was for a brief period but as you say it is the sum total that counts. After a while, a long while I hated them all, the cloying closeness made me even more remote and disdainful. Public perception though is quite the contrary. Yet, you are right about the sufficient atonement for my failings. I can say that now with all the earnestness. Goodbye! Young man. You will wake up soon. Good bye!
[Briefly the faded lights, fade even more until it is completely dark. When the lights again come up the stage has metamorphosed in to ruins of an ancient tomb. A man is slumped on the floor his head has slight injury and blood oozing in a light trickle. The man stirs and crawls up, rubs is head and notices the injury]
Man: What a fall through the stairs. This is a tricky ruin, hope ASI does something about it. Wonder how long I had been here unconscious.
[Curtains]
Kali Hawa
