Here’s How Every Former Pakistan PM Was Shunted Out of Power

Since the country’s formation in 1947, none of Pakistan’s premiers have lasted the full five-year parliamentary term, as they have been removed through direct coups, palace conspiracies or judicial orders.

Note: This article, first published on April 1, 2022, was updated and republished on April 10, hours after Imran Khan joined the list of Pakistan prime ministers who did not complete the parliament’s full term.

New Delhi: A no-confidence motion in Pakistan’s parliament has ousted Prime Minister Imran Khan.

In spite of Khan having named the United States as the country behind the attempt to remove him from office, it was a confident  opposition that amassed the numbers that led to him leaving.

It was always highly likely that Khan will not break the record of any of Pakistan’s prime ministers who could not complete their tenures since the country’s formation in 1947. Now, he has joined the list, becoming the first to be removed through a trust vote.

Also read: Pakistan National Assembly Resumes, Opposition Likely to Table No-Trust Motion Against PM Khan

Most prime ministers were dismissed after palace conspiracies, with presidents utilising controversial sections of the constitution. The higher judiciary also allied itself with the establishment, providing a legal cover for removing premiers on unconstitutional grounds. The key player behind the scenes has always been the Pakistan army, but the military has directly staged a coup to oust an elected government only twice since independence.

Since this article was originally published, discussions on social media have led to experts pointing out that in a parliamentary democracy, it is not the prime minister who has a “term” but a parliament.

The prime minister serves as long as his or her party has the majority in parliament, pointed out Farahnaz Ispahani. “For example, the PPP & PML-N completed their terms. The PMs did not last 5 years,” she wrote.

Here is a list of how Pakistan’s prime ministers fared in the last 75 years:

Pakistan’s first prime minister Liaquat Ali Khan. Photo: Wikimedia Commons/CC BY-SA 4.0.

A doyen of the Pakistan movement, Liaquat Ali Khan, became the country’s first prime minister on August 15, 1947. He was shot dead by an Afghan while addressing a rally at Rawalpindi’s Company Bagh on October 6, 1951. It was renamed Liaquat Bagh after his death. Fifty-five years later, Benazir Bhutto was assassinated at the same venue. With the assassin lynched on the spot, the mystery about Liaquat Ali Khan’s murder remains unsolved even now.

After the death of Pakistan’s first prime minister, the aristocratic Khawaja Nizamuddin, who had been the governor-general, was asked to step down to take over the post of premier. He lasted just one year and 182 days, until April 7, 1953, before governor-general Ghulam Muhammad dismissed him on the grounds of being unable to control the widespread riots and agitations in Lahore and East Pakistan.

A diplomat, Mohammad Ali Bogra, who reportedly forged Pakistan’s alignment with the United States, lasted longer. Even though he had been personally installed by Ghulam Muhammad, Bogra’s effort to curb the powers of the governor-general by amending the India Independence Act 1954 resulted in the constituent assembly being dissolved in 1954. The Sindh high court declared the move illegal, but the federal court overturned it, claiming that the constituent assembly was illegitimate as no constitution was finalised for six years.

In the meantime, Bogra had been forced to head a cabinet formed by persons chosen by the president, including the army chief Ayub Khan as the defence minister. In the 1955 elections, the Muslim League lost the majority, but Bogra came back through a coalition government. However, after Iskander Mirza replaced the ailing Ghulam Mohammed as president, Bogra’s days were numbered, and he was forced to resign on August 12, 1955.

Under Chaudhari Muhammad Ali, Pakistan got a new constitution in 1956, which ended its dominion status and promised parity between West and East Pakistan.

In September 1956, Chaudhari was asked to resign by president Mirza after League ministers resigned en masse from the cabinet. The Muslim League was unhappy that the prime minister was being asked to support the formation of the Republican Party to govern the then province of West Pakistan.

He was followed as prime minister by Hussain Shaheed Suhrawardy, who was from another party, Awami League. In 13 months, he was out of power, with the supporting coalition falling apart.

Also read: At Massive Rally, Pak PM Imran Khan Claims Foreign Powers Behind Conspiracy to Overthrow His Govt

After that, Muslim League’s Ibrahim Ismail Chundrigar, former law minister when Pakistan became a republic, was sworn in by the chief justice on October 18, 1957. Less than two months later, he would lose the confidence of his party and coalition partners when he tried to modify the electoral college.

The last prime minister before General Ayub Khan would impose martial law in October 1958 was Feroz Khan Noon of the Republican Party. He lasted for just 10 months.

Towards the end of the Bangladesh liberation war, Nurul Amin, a politician from East Pakistan, was appointed by General Yahya Khan on December 6, 1971. But after Yahya Khan resigned in the aftermath of Pakistan’s defeat and losing East Pakistan, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was handed over the presidency. Nurul Amin was asked to leave, having held the post of prime minister for just 13 days. He was sworn in two days later as Pakistan’s first and only vice president.

After the 1973 constitution came into force, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto stepped down as president to become prime minister after getting the majority of votes in the parliament. He returned to power as prime minister after the March 1977 elections, but only for a short time. On July 5, 1977, General Muhammad Ziaul Haq conducted a coup d’état, deposing Bhutto. He was hanged in April 1979 at Central Jail, Rawalpindi. His total term as prime minister lasted for less than four years.

In the 1985 non-party elections, Mohammad Khan Junejo was re-elected from his constituency and was invited by president Zia to form the government. He managed to survive for three years and two months but was dismissed on the grounds of a breakdown in law and order. Junejo’s relations with president Zia had deteriorated by that time, and he was removed from power using the controversial eighth amendment.

In the 1988 elections held after Zia’s death, political parties went back to the polls, and Benazir Bhutto was elected as prime minister on December 2.

She managed to dodge an impeachment move in 1989. Still, her government was dismissed by president Ghulam Ishaq Khan on August 6, 1990, accusing her administration of corruption, nepotism and other acts ”in contravention of the Constitution and the law.”

Winning the election, Nawaz Sharif became the 12th Pakistan prime minister. Using powers inserted through the 8th amendment, president Ghulam Ishaq Khan dissolved the National Assembly and appointed an interim PM on April 18, 1993. Sharif went to the Supreme Court, which ruled in his favour on May 26. Sharif was forced to reach an agreement under pressure from the military, under which he tendered his resignation along with Ghulam Ishaq Khan in July 1993.

Nawaz Sharif, former Prime Minister and leader of Pakistan Muslim League (N) gestures during a news conference in Islamabad, Pakistan May 10, 2018. Photo: Reuters/Faisal Mahmood.

Benazir Bhutto returned to power for the second time in the 1993 elections, but president Farooq Leghari, whom she chose, removed her administration in a midnight swoop in November 1996, again on the grounds of not being able to follow provisions of the constitution.

Nawaz Sharif returned for his second non-consecutive term after winning a mandate in the February 1997 elections. He remained in power for less than three years before Army chief Pervez Musharraf conducted a coup in October 1999.

Under Musharraf, Pakistan saw three prime ministers – Mir Zafarullh Khan Jamali, Chaudhary Shujaat Hussain and Shaukat Aziz. The shortest term was that of Chaudhary Shujaat for two months before Aziz became the PM in 2004. He left office at the end of the parliamentary tenure in November 2007, becoming the first Pakistan prime minister to do so.

Following Pakistan Peoples Party’s win in the 2008 elections, Yousaf Raza Gillani became the prime minister. During this period, the presidential powers under Article 58 (2) (b) were withdrawn by parliament. Following this, the method of removing prime ministers moved from the presidential office to the judiciary.

With just nine months left for his term, Gillani had to leave office in June 2012 after the Supreme Court disqualified him for not writing a letter to Swiss authorities to re-open corruption cases against President Asif Ali Zardari.

Raja Pervaiz Ashraf completed the remaining term of the PPP government till March 2013.

Nawaz Sharif romped to power for the third time in the 2013 elections. But in a replay of the fate of the previous PPP government, the Supreme Court disqualified him in the last year of his tenure due to his involvement in the Panama papers offshore accounts case. He stepped down on July 28, 2018. Shahid Khaqan Abbasi was elected to be the prime minister for the rest of the term till May 2018.

After over two decades in politics, former cricketer and Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaaf leader Imran Khan finally became the prime minister of a coalition government, after his party won the largest number of seats in the 2018 elections.

Note: This article, first published on April 1, 2022, was updated and republished on April 10, hours after Imran Khan joined the list of Pakistan prime ministers who did not complete full term.

Pakistan: Trouble in Hybrid Regime’s ‘Paradise’ Over Appointment of ISI Chief

A PM trying to create his or her lobby in the army is seen as an attempt to undermine the outfit’s discipline. The ISI, as influential as it is, is still supposed to strictly follow its de facto remit laid down by the army.

“I can see he’s not in your good books,’ said the messenger.

‘No, and if he were I would burn my library.”

– William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

A ruckus has been going on in Pakistan over the appointment of a new Director General Inter-Services Intelligence (DG ISI).

What is generally considered a routine matter in which the Chief of Army Staff (COAS) recommends a name – or a few to choose from – to the Prime Minister, became a matter of intense speculation when the incumbent PM Imran Khan dithered to affix his approval to the change of guard.

With the ISI’s deep and dubious involvement in Pakistan’s domestic politics as well as its cross-border machinations, the appointment of its DG is always an area of interest but what really fuelled the rumour mills is that there is a virtually hybrid regime at the helm in Pakistan that is supposed to function like a well-oiled machine in such matters.

The army under the present COAS General Qamar Javed Bajwa, had installed Imran Khan after an election heist in 2018 for the manifest purpose of using him as a titular civilian head of the government, while the junta actually ruled from behind this façade. There was supposed to be no trouble in this paradise, let alone a standoff between Bajwa and Khan.

So, what really happened? Is there much ado about nothing and will the two kiss and make up or would the rift deepen and the chasm widen?

Lt General Nadeem Ahmed Anjum. Photo: Twitter/@Ufaqmujahid.

The issue started when the Director General Inter-Services Public Relations (DG ISPR), along with several routine transfers and appointments, also announced that Lt General Nadeem Ahmed Anjum, who is serving as the commander of the Corps V at Karachi will replace the Lt General Faiz Hameed Chaudhry as the DG ISI.

General Faiz (known thus in Pakistan) was appointed to command the army’s Corps XI, headquartered at Peshawar. The catch was that the ISPR had made the announcement before the PM’s secretariat issued the notification approving the new DG ISI’s appointment. For his part, PM Khan has always wanted to not only retain General Faiz as the DG ISI but to eventually appoint him as the COAS in November 2022, when General Bajwa steps down after completing his extended term.

Installing Imran Khan as its puppet PM had been the army’s longstanding project, fostered by several army and the ISI chiefs. But it was on General Bajwa’s watch that it came to fruition in 2018. General Bajwa first appointed the then Major General Faiz – his junior from the Baloch Regiment – in charge of the ISI’s Directorate C, where he did the legwork to undermine Nawaz Sharif’s Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N’s) government and subsequently steal the elections for Imran Khan. Within four months of becoming a lieutenant general, Faiz was appointed the DG ISI in June 2019.

He replaced Lt General Asim Munir, who had a mere nine-month stint – shortest in the ISI history – as the director. The Bajwa-Imran-Faiz trio has since worked together without much friction, with the PM essentially doing the army’s bidding without questioning or invoking any rules and the brass ignoring his occasional tantrums and consistent incompetence as the chief executive.

So, what gives?

While the army would’ve had no issues with Imran Khan working with its chosen new DG ISI towards securing a second term, even by manipulating the 2023 elections, it frowns as an enterprise over the civilians – even its handpicked ones – personally teaming up with individuals in the general staff.

A PM trying to create his or her lobby in the army is seen as an attempt to undermine the outfit’s discipline. The ISI, as influential as it is, is still supposed to strictly follow its de facto remit laid down by the army, and it really does.

When established in 1948, the ISI de jure came under the Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee, and through that body reported to the ministry of defence and the PM. And there is no evidence to the contrary that this pecking order was every changed officially and legally. The very name inter-services – implied that the ISI could not be under any one service chief. The Australia-born British Major General Sir Walter Joseph Cawthorn, who had opted to join the Pakistani armed forces, and the Lucknow-born Brigadier (later Major General) Syed Shahid Hamid had conceived the idea of the ISI and patterned it after the British military intelligence apparatus, with a Joint Intelligence Bureau (JIB) whose remit was the foreign espionage and a Joint Counter-intelligence Bureau (JCIB), which was responsible for counter-intelligence operations within the military.

Also read: Pakistan Military, ISI Installed ‘Puppet Govt’ of Imran Khan, Says Ex-PM Sharif

General Hamid became the agency’s first chief and General Cawthorn its second and, to date, the longest serving head. Both laid the foundation for tremendous growth of the ISI from a measly, understaffed organisation in a single-story building in Karachi, to a robust outfit making its mark, but still reporting to the PM.

All of that changed with Field Marshal Ayub Khan’s 1958 martial law, with all powers vested in him and the civil and military bureaucracies – not just the ISI – reporting to him. With three more martial laws and another three decades of the army ruling from behind-the-scenes, the de facto reporting hierarchy and the remit became permanent. Contrary to the popular belief, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was not the first one to create the political cell(s) in the ISI. It was the FM Ayub Khan who deployed the JCIB – a precursor of the Directorate C – to manipulate domestic politics on his behalf. Bhutto indeed ordered the DG ISI major (later Lt) General Ghulam Jilani Khan – whom he retained in that position through his tenure – to create cells against his political opposition in the 1970s only to see it backfire and the wily generals impose a martial law.

Various civilian PMs tried to wrestle back the command and control but failed. In 1989, Benazir Bhutto appointed a well-read but retired Lt Gen. Shamsur Rahman Kallue as DG ISI to replace the jihadist General Hamid Gul. Failing to dissuade her, the COAS at the time, General Mirza Aslam Beg had the serving officers stonewall the retired general to the extent that he earned the moniker no-clue Kallue.

Similarly, Nawaz Sharif insisted and appointed Lt General Ziauddin Butt as the DG in 1998 as he suspected that the army-proposed General Aziz Khan would destabilise his government, only to be ousted a year later in a coup in which General Khan played a key role. In 2008, the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) government made a half-cocked attempt to place the ISI under the ministry of interior but withdrew it swiftly, after drawing the ire of the brass. Parliamentary attempts in 2014 and 2017 to legislate over the ISI’s structure and mandate were also blocked by the army.

The bottom line is that even though the ISI remains an intra and supra-services body, the army sees and runs it as one of its corps. In fact, with its burgeoning numerical strength and resources, the ISI is larger than most corps. The military historian Shuja Nawaz has noted:

“In addition to the three-star general head of the ISI, there are six two-star major generals responsible for each of the wings of the agency, more than even in a corps headquarters of the regular army. The overwhelming majority of the staff at senior levels is from the army.”

And each one of these officers – and even contractors – has his umbilical cord attached to the parent outfit. The Pakistan army is many things, but one thing it is not: ill-disciplined. The ISI remains a powerful agency in service of the army, not a policy-making entity. It prepares for and executes domestic and foreign policy goals set by the army brass, not define them.

Contrary to the perception, especially in the west, the ISI is neither a rogue entity nor a separate power center within the army. The chief is the army, and army the chief. Anything or anyone seen to be challenging the power and decision-making structure is not tolerated.

The brass acts collectively to protect the chief with or without his explicit orders. For example, the October 12, 1999 coup d’état was launched by the generals in the GHQ, while the ousted COAS General Musharraf, was still airborne en route from Sri Lanka. In the rare instances, where the army chiefs, like Field Marshal Ayub Khan or General Pervez Musharraf, eventually became a liability, it is the top brass’ collective decision to put them out to the pasture.

Imran Khan’s tight embrace of General Faiz and instance on retaining him on the pretext of the evolving situation in Afghanistan didn’t hold water with the brass. The army knew that the duo’s bear hug had multiple other reasons. The worst kept secret in Islamabad is Imran Khan’s delusional reliance on the supernatural for temporal decision-making. His wife is said to be a religious soothsayer who directs the PM whom to pick and when for key official positions.

Pakistan Prime Minister Imran Khan with appointed DG ISI General Faiz Hameed. Photo: Twitter/@alisalmanalvi.

Imran Khan’s second ex-wife had caused ripples when she wrote in her tell-all book that she had once found her “new husband lying naked on a white sheet, rubbing kaali daal (black lentils) all over himself…,” ostensibly to ward off a “black magic” spell.

Islamabad is abuzz with similar rumours that the PM Khan has been advised by his wife to cling on to General Faiz, at least for several months, if not more. But the army was not just miffed over their blue-eyed PM running the show through voodoo; it is also upset at General Faiz’s personal ambition to become the army chief in a quid-pro-quo with Imran Khan.

One could argue that an arrangement like that won’t be much different than the extension that General Bajwa squeezed out of Imran Khan after installing him. But the army apparently saw that aberration as serving its institutional needs at the time. Additionally, General Faiz is seen as too controversial due to his very public personal involvement in domestic and foreign policy affairs.

His signature appeared on a deal with religious zealots he himself is believed to have propped up to undermine Nawaz Sharif in 2017, over which he was chastised by a Supreme Court justice.

In a different matter, a high court judge had accused the general of asking him to manipulate judicial proceedings. The victory lap that General Faiz took in Kabul after the Taliban victory was also splashed across media everywhere. Most recently, Nawaz Sharif’s daughter and political heir-apparent, Maryam Nawaz Sharif accused General Faiz of planning, orchestrating, and influencing the legal proceedings against her. General Faiz Hameed Chaudhry, therefore, is seen as a liability by the army, which historically has had only one DG ISI – General Ashfaq Parvez Kayani – become the COAS.

So, what lies ahead? There has been a flurry of activity and assorted pronouncements from the Imran Khan camp.

A coterie of ministers went to see General Bajwa, after which the COAS met with the PM and the issue was ostensibly resolved, only that it wasn’t. As of this writing, the PM house has not issued any notification confirming a new DG ISI. Instead, the information minister has suggested that the PM may interview the individuals proposed by the army chief, before deciding on one. This by itself is going to be a huge departure from the past practice.

Also read: With the US’s Exit, Pakistan Army’s Grip on Afghanistan Is Now Complete

Whereas there is a precedent for the army submitting several names for DG ISI, the PM interviewing the “candidates” is unheard of. For example, in the final years of the General Zia-ul-Haq’s brutal dictatorship, the army had submitted 5 names to the PM Muhammad Khan Junejo, out of which he “picked” the jihadist General Hamid Gul. There is a possibility that the army may go through with some manner of a song-and-dance to let its puppet get over his tantrum. On the other hand, Imran Khan may see the “divine light” courtesy his spiritual advisor wife and sign off on General Anjum’s name. The third possibility is that the standoff continues till one side blinks, but chances are that it won’t come to that since neither Imran Khan, nor the army has any great alternatives immediately.

Former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif

Former Pakistan Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif. Photo : Reuters/Mohsin Raza/Files

The opposition parties are rightly seeing this as a mere lovers’ tiff and not a battle for civilian supremacy. The army, under General Bajwa, was completely out of line to announce the DG ISI’s appointment without the PM actually signing a notification. On the other hand, the PM, who has delegated any and all domestic and foreign policy matters to the COAS, just realised that he has merely been carrying water for the army these past three years. The army might be itching to put Imran Khan in his place, and he may be craving a political martyrdom, but for now both might have to go through some therapy and reconcile.

The foremost opposition party, the PMLN led by Nawaz Sharif and his daughter Maryam, has shown no inclination to clean up the hybrid regime’s mess. With a bleak economic forecast at home and a mega mess in Afghanistan, largely of Pakistan’s own making, the PMLN – or the PPP for that matter—do not appear willing to throw a lifeline to the junta. By all accounts, and his public pronouncements, Nawaz Sharif is unwilling to settle for a mere ouster of Imran Khan without the army actually allowing for a hard reset in the civil-military relations equation. The army, for its parts, would be happy to let another political party replace Imran Khan so long as the terms of contract are similar.

So, for the foreseeable future, a large party with popular support like the PMLN won’t step in to pull the army’s chestnuts out of fire. That means that the army will have to work with Imran Khan for now while preparing ground for another pliable dispensation. The trouble in the hybrid regime’s paradise has rendered several people as damaged goods. First and foremost, the too-clever-by-half General Faiz has zero chance of becoming the COAS even if he drags on as a lame duck DG ISI for a few more months. The collateral damage truly is General Nadeem Anjum, who became controversial even before taking the office he was designated for.

And while General Bajwa is likely to come out of this morass unscathed, he won’t be looking at another extension come November 2022. But above all, Imran Khan seems to have burnt his bridges with the army. He has worked really hard to get himself out of the army’s good books. And if he were still there, chances are that they would burn their library.

Mohammad Taqi is a Pakistani-American columnist. He tweets @mazdaki.

With Repression at Home, General Bajwa’s Regional Peace Pledge Remains a Lie

The generals usually sing Kumbaya when domestic economic interests are in doldrums.

“He’s a soldier, and for one to say a soldier lies, ’tis stabbing.”

– Shakespeare’s Othello

Pakistan’s hybrid regime, in which Prime Minister Imran Khan serves as the proverbial fig leaf for the army junta that actually rules the country, made quite a farcical somersault even by its own incompetent standards over opening up trade with India. A few days ago, the cabinet’s Economic Coordination Committee (ECC) had recommended allowing imports of sugar, cotton and cotton yarn from India.

But within hours the cabinet rejected the ECC’s proposal. The PM’s special advisor on national security – not to be confused with a National Security Advisor – Moeed Yusuf had to make a complete fool out of himself by saying that the PM, who also holds the commerce portfolio, had recommended the opening up of trade in that capacity, but he then rejected it as the head of the government and cabinet. The Pakistani puppet PM isn’t called U-turn Khan for nothing, but that contortionist explanation really takes the cake!

The long and short of it is that the Pakistan army’s Imran Khan project remains in a hole deeper than they had imagined. Despite the rupee gaining some ground against the greenback, Pakistan’s economy has been on the rocks, and is projected to remain so. With the new US administration keeping Pakistan in the diplomatic doghouse, the Saudi and other Gulf sheikhdoms acting all stingy, and the Chinese Shylock unwilling to loosen the purse strings without an assurance for its geopolitical pound of flesh, the Imran-Bajwa regime remains in economic dire straits.

The trade proposal was supposed to dovetail with Pakistan’s incumbent Chief of Army Staff (COAS) General Qamar Javed Bajwa’s conditional peace offer to India. General Bajwa had grabbed headlines a couple of weeks ago with his speech in Islamabad where he proclaimed a “desire to change the narrative of geo-political contestation into geo-economic integration.” Many observers saw General Bajwa’s speech as a harbinger of a thaw in Indo-Pak relations, while others deemed it as the blatant lie – not a pledge – that wasn’t even worth the paper, he was reading it from.

Also read: After the Pakistan Senate Elections, Imran-Bajwa Regime Faces the High Tide of Opposition

But both the optimists and realists tended to agree that proof of this policy pudding would be in its eating. And rightly so. While General Bajwa stated that “we feel that it is time to bury the past and move forward,” with Pakistan’s army the past is always the prologue. There is absolutely nothing new in what the general has said. In fact, this is a boilerplate move used by the Pakistani army chiefs since Field Marshal Ayub Khan. He wrote in his autobiography, ghostwritten by his advisor Altaf Gauhar:

“On 24 April 1959 I said that in the case of external aggression both India and Pakistan should come together to defend the sub-continent. The Indian leaders thought that I was suggesting some kind of a defense pact and their reaction was one of fright and distrust. A few days later in Quetta I clarified my proposal, explaining that it did not mean any special type of pact about which India need be so perturbed. What I had in mind was a general understanding of peace between the two countries. I emphasized that the prerequisite for such an understanding was the solution of big problems like Kashmir and canal waters. Once these were resolved, the armies of the two countries could disengage and move to their respective vulnerable frontiers. This would give us the substance of joint defense; that is, freedom from fear of each other and freedom to protect our respective frontiers.”

Ayub Khan repeated a similar pledge at the UN even after the 1965 war, which he had conceived, instigated and nearly lost. He told the UN General Assembly on December 13, 1965, that if India were to allow the referendum in Kashmir, he would agree to a settlement of all other issues through non-military means, including Pakistan accepting an arbitration, and should those conditions be fulfilled he would enter a no-war pact with India. This canard was to be repeated ad nauseum by several Pakistan army chiefs and dictators, for example, by the austere Islamist General Zia-ul-Haq offered a no-war pact to India in the fall of 1981.

Former Pakistani Military Ruler Pervez Musharraf

Pakistan’s former President Pervez Musharraf speaks during a news conference in Dubai March 23, 2013. Photo: Reuters

General Pervez Musharraf, who just like Ayub Khan, maintained a personally secular outlook while siring all manner of jihadists, too proposed a no-war pact to India at the UN in 2000. He rehashed the Ayub formula with his “four-point Kashmir solution”, which did push the envelope quite a bit and is discussed in some detail in his autobiography. Interestingly, Musharraf has credited Altaf Gauhar’s son, Humayun for his “editing contributions” to the book. The mouthy Musharraf’s rather reticent successor, General Ashfaq Parvez Kayani also peddled a similar spiel when he declared in April 2012:

“We in the army understand very well that there should be a very good balance between defense and development. You cannot be spending on defense alone and forgetting about development. Ultimately the security of a country is not only that you secure boundaries and borders but it is when people that live in the country feel happy, their needs are being met. Only in that case will a country be truly safe.”

General Kayani went to speak about how the high-altitude military standoff between India and Pakistan was impacting the environment and would hurt the Indus waters adversely, and called to resolve the Siachen glacier issue. His successor General Raheel Sharif had declared that Kashmir was the unfinished agenda of Partition, but he too called for peace with India after negotiations “on equal level”.

File photo of former Pakistan Army Chief of Staff General Raheel Sharif. Photo: Reuters

The bottom line is that General Bajwa’s peace proposal remains just a leaf from the Pakistan army’s standard playbook. So, should he be taken on his word? For that one has to look at what the army has done internally in Pakistan. Leon Trotsky had noted, “foreign policy is everywhere and always a continuation of domestic policy, for it is conducted by the same ruling class and pursues the same historic goals.” In Pakistan’s case, the army went from the praetorian guard to becoming the sole arbiter of what the country’s national interest is, and eventually morphed into a fully-fledged economic and ruling class.

Also read: In Pakistan, the Junta Hangs on to Its ‘Imran Khan Project’

The generals usually singing Kumbaya when their economic interests are in doldrums. The no-war pact offers from the three dictators had come within the first few years of their stints, when they were both uncertain of their future and the economic windfall that eventually came their way from the US and the west thanks to the Cold War and the War on Terror and buttressed their domestic position. In General Kayani’s case, the US gravy train had come to a halt, and for General Bajwa it doesn’t appear that it would start off anytime soon.

Each one of these half-a-dozen army chiefs who pledged peace to India trampled on the democratic forces in Pakistan whenever they pursued reconciliation with India. In fact, the army has systematically smeared civilian leaders like Benazir Bhutto who sought a rapprochement with India a security risk. When her widower, the former President Asif Ali Zardari offered a conditional no first use of nuclear weapons to India, General Kayani differed with him. The general remained mum publicly but had made life miserable for the civilian government through intrigue, including assorted political and judicial manoeuvres.

More recently, a three-time elected Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was publicly rebuked by an army spokesperson – a mere major general – over a matter which involved leaked reports that the PM and his team had warned the army that its continued support to jihadist proxies was leading to international isolation. Army’s troll regiments and political proxies later besmirched Sharif as a traitor for meeting PM Narendra Modi and discussing mutual as well as facilitating Afghan transit trade. He was eventually disqualified through a manipulated court verdict.

The problem is that the army cannot have its cake and eat it too. The jingoism that it has drummed up through its unbridled control over the conventional print and tele-media as well as several religious and political proxies, has created a toxic environment where talking peace seems like a cuss word. While General Bajwa’s proposal was dead on arrival as far as India goes, it did not much any traction within Pakistan either. The people were largely, and rightly, skeptical of his motives, and of course, the army’s. After all, army is the chief and chief the army, as far as Pakistan goes. And on social media, both were called out for their blatant hypocrisy, including by Nawaz Sharif himself. The common refrain remained that how come peace with India was foul when the civilians called for it, but has become fair when the general is pushing for it.

Also read: Nawaz Sharif Has Now Gone for the Pakistan Army’s Jugular

It is social and online media’s reach and ability to dismantle the army-controlled narrative that unnerves the junta to the extent that it consistently and perniciously hounds both professional journalists and common users. For example, last July, a senior Pakistani journalist Matiullah Jan was abducted and tortured by the army thugs for his YouTube channel content that challenges the army’s narrative. Most recently, a young history buff named Sarmad Sultan, was forcibly taken from his home in Attock. Sultan’s crime was that he uses Twitter to post historical references that put the junta’s current moves in perspective.

Pakistani Prime Minister Imran Khan with Chief of Army Staff General Qamar Javed Bajwa. Photo: Twitter/PTIofficial

Within hours, Pakistani Twitter was ablaze with calls for bringing him back safely. The Amnesty International, South Asia, opposition leader Maryam Nawaz Sharif and scores of others joined the call for his release. After two days, Sultan returned home safely and later posted a video clip questioning the role of “state institutions” – a euphemism for the army and its intelligence agencies – in his ordeal. These are not isolated occurrences, and more ominously, targeted harassment and enforced disappearances are systematic and sanctioned at the highest levels of the army. The Pakistan army has many flaws, but a lack of discipline is not one of them.

In fact, the brass is well aware of which journalists and columnists were censured at the army’s behest and which blogger disappeared when. The independent Human Rights Commission of Pakistan and the United Nations special rapporteurs have consistently documented the premeditated harassment of journalists and human rights defenders in Pakistan and called for an end to impunity. On the other hand, the Imran-Bajwa regime has connived to make the official National Commission for Human Rights dysfunctional. Combine this with the near-complete censorship over covering the army’s actions in Balochistan and the former tribal districts of the Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa provinces, as well as that of the Afghan Taliban thriving alongside the Durand Line, and one gets a sense of the repression unleashed at home by the junta that is pledging peace across the eastern frontier.

General Zia-ul-Haq’s modus operandi against the Soviets in Afghanistan was to keep the jihadist pot simmering but not to let it boil over. The army’s India calculus is not much different. General Bajwa’s attempt to dial the heat down cannot be seen and understood in isolation. While the India and Afghanistan pots are important, in order to contextualise the general’s gimmick, attention must be paid to the domestic pot that is on the front burner.

General Bajwa claimed that his geo-economic vision is for “moving towards a lasting and enduring peace within and outside”. But by hounding the political opponents, media men and women, and common social media users, he has nothing to show for that peace within. Without a meaningful change at home, General Bajwa’s peace proposal remains meaningless, nay, a blatant lie.

Mohammad Taqi is a Pakistani-American columnist. He tweets @mazdaki.

Remembering Sherbaz Khan Mazari, the Dehradun Cadet Who Helped Frame the Pakistani Constitution

Imprisoned dozens of times by both military and civilian rulers, he remained steadfast in his devotion to a federal, democratic Pakistan. There aren’t many left like him.

One cold night in October 1947, some Muslim boys were woken up from sleep in their dormitory at the Prince of Wales Royal Indian Military College (RIMC), Dehradun. They were told to pack up quickly and leave; their destination was Pakistan. Communal riots had broken out and there was an imminent threat to the RIMC. They were first escorted by a Gurkha posse and later evacuated to Lahore under Colonel (later general) Tikka Khan.

The boy was Sherbaz Khan Mazari, who was to later make his mark as a formidable opposition politician in Pakistan and help frame the country’s constitution in 1973.

Sherbaz Khan was born on October 6, 1930 to Sardar Murad Khan a Baloch tumandar or paramount chief of the Mazari tribe. He lost both his parents, in quick succession, while he was still an infant. His elder brother Balkh Sher was selected the tumandar, and the boys became wards of the British court.

He was initially educated at the Queen’s College, Lahore – a girls’ school, which only admitted boys for elementary schooling. Later on, he went to the Aitchison College, Lahore, the RIMC, and the Harvard Business School.

Despite his preeminent tribal position and elite schooling and company, Mazari developed a disdain for certain aspects of tribal-feudal customs, at an early age. In fact, he never wrote the title ‘sardar’ or ‘tribal chief’ with his name. He once saw a man being tortured, on the orders of a local elder and intervened to stop him. While he was a living, breathing example of the traditional tribal values like hospitality and chivalry, he was exasperated by the brutality and oppression practiced in the name of tribal code.

He ended up building his own residence away from his ancestral Rojhan, in an oasis called Sonmiani. His other favorite abode was in Karachi. He wrote in his memoir that in Sonmiani, “the first thing I did was to abolish iniquitous feudal practice. The sharecroppers on my farmlands got a two-third share thereafter.”


Another tribal practice he abhorred was the so-called “honour” killings, especially of women suspected of adultery. Under the local tribal customs, the only reprieve left for a woman so condemn, was to seek sanctuary with the tribal chief. Mazari opened his doors to women thus facing imminent torture and death, without regard to their alleged “guilt”.

Also read: Years Ago, Two Urdu Poets Had Spoken on the Dishonour of Honour Killings

But one custom he could not buck was a pre-arranged marriage to the daughter of the Bugti tumandar Nawab Mihrab Khan, whose son the legendary maverick Baloch leader Nawab Akbar Bugti also happened to be his close friend. The marriage had taken place just after Mazari had married his beloved wife Souriya, a Kashmiri-origin lady from the Hyderabad Deccan. Mazari was a moderate, forward-looking man who practiced what was good in his tradition and tried to reform what he felt was regressive and unjust. And the same held true for his politics. He stood for what he thought was right, even if it meant going against his family or friends. A fiercely independent man, he freely spoke his mind, even if it meant that he had to pay a price for it.

While he remained involved with politics at a local and tribal level, Mazari started his active political career with Fatima Jinnah, the sister of the country’s founder Mohammad Ali Jinnah. Jinnah, after much persuasion from politicians of all creeds, had decided to take on Pakistan’s first army ruler, General Ayub Khan and ended up contesting the presidential elections against him. She called him a power-hungry dictator.

General Ayub Khan, who reportedly said, "Aage samandar hai" to Urdu-speaking mohajirs. Credit: Wikimedia Commons.

General Ayub Khan. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.

The 1965 elections were warped and the deck was stacked against Jinnah, who ended up losing. But her struggle clearly laid the foundations of two competing visions for Pakistan.

One being the army’s view that the country would be a national security state, with military jingoism and politicised Islam at its core. There would also be a nebulous Pakistani identity at the expense of national, cultural and linguistic identities and rights of federating units.

The delivery method was to be the assorted variations of a controlled democracy that have since been tried.

On the other hand, Jinnah and her associates, who were formidable leftist and progressive voices, envisaged a federal, democratic state with an abundant quantum of provincial autonomy and civil liberties.

Striving for these ideals became Mazari’s political raison d’être. Another cause, which remained extremely close to Mazari’s heart was the plight of the Baloch in Pakistan.

Three out of the nationalist Baloch leadership quadrumvirate Khair Bukhsh Marri, Sardar Attaullah Mengal, and Ghaus Bukhsh Bizenjo were in the leftist-socialist National Awami Party (NAP), led by the Pashtun nationalist Abdul Wali Khan, a dynamic liberal politician in his own right and son of the Frontier Gandhi, Abdul Ghaffar Khan. The fourth Baloch leader and Mazari’s personal friend Akbar Bugti had been banned from politics by Ayub Khan but was informally affiliated to the NAP.

Mazari was courted by the NAP leadership, its nemesis the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), led by his other friend Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, and the rising political star of the era, Air Marshal (retired) Asghar Khan, to join their respective parties. But he preferred to remain independent. He had a knack for reaching across ideological divides and overcoming petty issues that have remained the bane of our politics.

After the successful agitation by the Combined Opposition Parties (COP) against Ayub Khan, and his medical conditions taking a toll on him, the army eased him out and General Yahya Khan replaced him as a military ruler. The Yahya Khan regime conducted the general elections in 1970, in which Mujib-ur-Rehman’s Awami League (AL) swept the polls in East Pakistan and scored an overall majority as well.

Also read: Fifty Years of the Cyclone That Triggered a Civil War and Created Bangladesh

The PPP won the Punjab and Sindh Provinces, while the NAP fared well in the former Northwest Frontier Province (NWFP) and Balochistan. But the military regime and certain West Pakistani politicians were loath to give, on one pretext or another, the Bengalis what was rightfully theirs. Despite having captured 53% of the national assembly seats, the AL was denied a right to form the government. Bengali demands for autonomy swiftly morphed into a call and struggle for independence. The Pakistan army, abetted by a coterie of politicians, went to war against its own people, which culminated in a genocide of the Bengalis, an incredibly humiliating defeat and surrender of the haughty Pakistan army, but most importantly the independence of Bangladesh.

General Yahya Khan abdicated power to his foreign minister and the largest vote-getter in Pakistan, Bhutto. Bhutto became the civilian Chief Martial Law Administrator and the President of Pakistan.

Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Mazari himself had scored a resounding electoral victory from his native region in Dera Ghazi Khan and returned to the rump national/constitutional assembly of Pakistan. On the eve of the assembly’s inaugural session on April 14, 1972, scores of elected-parliamentary leaders and party heads – both religious and secular – descended upon Mazari to convince him to contest against Bhutto for the president of the constituent assembly. He was the unanimous opposition candidate. His friend, Bhutto who wanted the position unopposed, was miffed and called him to withdraw his candidature.

But Mazari rebuffed Bhutto’s friendly and unfriendly overtures, citing the spirit and sanctity of the democratic process. Bhutto trounced Mazari 104 to 39, but the Baloch retained the democratic high ground. He was subsequently elected the leader of an independent caucus in the assembly and signed the constitutional accord on behalf of that group that paved the way for adopting the 1973 Constitution of Pakistan and parliamentary form of government. The PPP and its allies ruled at the center and in the Punjab and Sindh provinces, while the NAP and the Jamiat-al-Ulama-e-Islam (JUI) formed coalition governments in the NWFP and Balochistan.

Bhutto, however, was not the type to be content with power-sharing arrangements. He orchestrated the dismissal of the NAP government in Balochistan on precarious law-and-order pretext, fired the party’s governors in Balochistan and the NWFP. The NAP-JUI government in the NWFP resigned plunging the country into a political crisis. Bhutto got the NAP leaders arrested, including Wali Khan’s father, son and later his wife. He, with the help of the army intelligence services fabricated a sedition case against the NAP, filed a judicial reference against the party and got it banned by the superior court on flimsiest of charges. The Baloch tribesmen took to the mountains and launched an armed insurgency.

Bhutto attempted to quell the resistance by deploying the army against the Baloch, an action that had the brutal echoes of the East Pakistan debacle, and made matters worse. Mazari tried his best to be an honest broker, pleading with Bhutto privately and also trying to placate his Baloch colleagues.

Sadly for him, his friend Akbar Bugti, who felt that he had been slighted by his Baloch friends in the NAP, opted to side with Bhutto and was serving as a governor in the province, virtually to rub it all in. Mazari moved resolutions in the parliament demanding a halt to the army operation in Balochistan. He reached out to Bhutto, Baloch and other opposition parties to find an honourable and peaceful solution to the imbroglio. But despite his knack for reaching out to both friend and foe with dignity, he was not able to break the impasse. The NAP was banned in February 1975 and its top leaders and active cadres were incarcerated by the Bhutto government, to face what became the infamous Hyderabad Conspiracy Case.

Mazari was dismayed but not disheartened. Though an independent parliamentarian, he went batting for the NAP and organised protests for restoration of the party and release of its prisoners. But Bhutto, feeling all powerful, would have none of it. He even fell out with Akbar Bugti, who ended up quitting as the governor of Balochistan. Bhutto’s rule was turning increasingly totalitarian, bordering on fascism. He had organised his party’s own paramilitary outfit called the Federal Security Force, brutalised his non-NAP political opponents as well, and above all defaced the 1973 constitution through assorted amendments.

With the NAP banned and its top nationalist, socialist and Marxist leadership under arrest, the progressive intellectuals and fellow travellers felt an urgent need to organise a new party. Mazari had made his mark inside the parliament and outside, challenging Bhutto’s every excess. Revered Marxist editor Mazhar Ali Khan and his wife Tahira Mazhar Ali Khan, a leading Trotskyite herself, approached Mazari to head the new party. ‘Tahira Apa’, as we called her, had been Mazari’s senior at the Queen’s College. Other leftists like the defunct NAP’s general secretary Syed Qaswar Gardezi and parliamentarian Jennifer Musa, and nationalists like Ghulam Ahmed Bilour, and above all Begum Nasim Wali Khan – the wife of the imprisoned NAP president – pleaded with Mazari to lead the new party.

On November 6, 1975 a reincarnation of the NAP, called the National Democratic Party (NDP) was launched in Islamabad. Photo: www.pakpedia.pk

He eventually agreed and on November 6, 1975 a reincarnation of the NAP, called the National Democratic Party (NDP) was launched in Islamabad. Mazari was first appointed the party’s convenor and later elected its first president. It was a rather unique instance where an array of nationalists, socialists and Marxists had unanimously posed confidence in a man who technically didn’t check any of those ideological boxes. Mazari’s forte was his honesty, incorruptibility and fortitude in the face of immense odds and brute force. He was a democrat to boot, who did not believe in political expediencies and taking a shortcut to power.

While the NDP initially was a Pashtun-heavy party with a Baloch at the top, Mazari was eventually able to bring to its fold the former NAP stalwarts like Sardar Mengal and Bizenjo, albeit for a short period, when the Hyderabad Tribunal was eventually disbanded. In that, Mazari’s NDP was the last Pakistan-wide mainstream, multinational leftist party which included Pashtuns like Wali Khan and Ajmal Khattak, Baloch like Mazari, Mengal and Bizenjo, Punjabis like Habib Jalib and Begum Abida Hussain, Sindhis like Hakim Ali Zardari, Saraiki like Qaswar Gardezi, and Muhajirs like Abid Zuberi. And Mazari led the party for eight long years.

During those years, he frequently visited my hometown Peshawar, where I got to see him courtesy of my uncles who were in the NDP. He almost always wore a khadi shalwar-kameez suit and donned dark sunshades. His hair would invariably be trimmed short, perhaps a legacy from his days as an RIMC cadet. He usually spoke in short sentences at a fast cadence. He looked rather stern, but his warmth would quickly put one at ease. In fact, he contested the 1977 elections from Peshawar but lost that seat. He did win another national assembly constituency from Karachi though.

The events leading up to the 1977 were tumultuous, to put it mildly. The assorted opposition parties had had enough of Bhutto’s highhandedness. But Bhutto’s populist appeal was also not lost on them. Nine large and small political and religious parties forged what became known as the Pakistan National Alliance (PNA) to throw a unified electoral challenge to Bhutto’s PPP. They included the NDP on left of the political spectrum, to Asghar Khan’s centrist Tehrik-e-Istiqlal (TI) and Pakistan Muslim League (PML), to the rightwing Jamat-e-Islami, Jamiat-e-Ulama-e-Islam and Jamiat-e-Ulama-e-Pakistan (JUP), as well as a few smaller groupings.

Mazari and Wali Khan’s NDP was a key force in the alliance. But come election day, the PPP claimed to have swept the polls. The PNA leaders were livid and called for the boycott of provincial assembly polls scheduled for the next day. The boycott was quite successful in the urban areas and many polling stations were deserted, prompting the PNA to morph it into a fully-fledged agitation against Bhutto. The elected PNA members, including Mazari, refused to attend the national assembly and take oath, plunging the Bhutto government into a mortal crisis.

Sections of the PNA were also hobnobbing with the army brass, which wanted to get rid of Bhutto. The PPP-PNA parleys focused on annulling the disputed elections, holding fresh polls, restoring the 1973 constitution in its original form without the amendments, disbanding the Hyderabad Tribunal and release of political prisoners. Headway was made eventually, and an accord was about to be signed, when General Zia-Ul-Haq launched his coup d’état and abrogated the constitution. The martial law that ensued was perhaps the most brutal and longest in the country’s history.

Rajiv Gandhi with General Zia-Ul-Haq prior to Indo-Pak official talks in New Delhi on December 17, 1985. Photo:PKK/December, 1985, M32RG/A63(9)

General Zia-ul-Haq tried to co-opt politicians. The NDP was the first one he approached with an array of goodies, including personal and political perks. Mazari rebuffed the overtures and declined to become part of a system that had come into being after trampling on the constitution, which he had helped draft. Many from the PNA’s other component parties joined the government. Mazari, however, insisted with the general to fulfil his pledge of holding the free and fair elections and transferring power to the elected representatives.

He also called upon Zia-ul-Haq to disband the Hyderabad Tribunal and release the NAP leaders and cadres. Zia-ul-Haq did dissolve the infamous tribunal, but the wily dictator kept postponing the elections on one pretext or the other. Mazari became particularly exasperated with the general, when the latter declared on a visit to Tehran disparaged the politicos, saying that even if he tore the constitution up and replaced with his own system, the mightiest of politicians would still follow him with their tails between the legs. Mazari concluded that the general was not cleansing the system, as he claimed, but was out to purge the politicians out of it completely. General Zia-ul-Haq ended up physically eliminating Bhutto through what in effect was judicial murder.

Mazari conferred with Wali Khan, Maulana Mufti Mahmud, and Piyar Ali Alana of the PPP to forge a challenge to the military regime. The problem he faced was that the PPP and the PNA had been at each other’s throat for half a decade. The PPP saw the trail of Bhutto’s blood leading to the PNA’s agitation. But it was also politically isolated and friendless. On the other hand, Wali Khan felt that Bhutto had imprisoned him, and his father, son and wife, as well as party members and ultimately banned his party. But Mazari rose to the occasion and conferred with Nusrat Bhutto, and persuaded her to join hands with the former foes in the PNA.

Through his powers of persuasion and unflinching commitment to democracy, Mazari was able to convince various parties from the former PNA to now form an alliance with the PPP against the military dictatorship. The Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD) was thus formed on February 5, 1981. Mazari not only helped bring the PPP out of the cold, but he also helped throw the first formal challenge to army rule. While the MRD’s track record is a mixed bag and it was not successful in toppling the general, who eventually perished in an air crash in 1988, it nonetheless denied legitimacy to the army rule and a party-less model of controlled democracy that Zia-ul-Haq had implemented in 1985.

The highest point of the MRD was an agitation campaign in August 1983, which was brutally suppressed by the regime, especially in Sindh. It also happened to be an emotional low point for Mazari, who was the MRD convenor at the time. On one hand, the PPP leadership was secretively engaged in talks with the martial law authorities and on the other many Pashtun leaders of Mazari’s own NDP first gave a tepid response to his call for protest, and then dropped out of it altogether.

Mazari was dejected. He took the responsibility for his party’s failure and wanted to step down as the president in early 1984 but was asked by the party to continue on. He had, however, made up his mind and in November resigned his position in favor of Wali Khan. He became further disillusioned with his party when the leadership impugned the 1973 constitution. Mazari resigned from the NDP in July 1985. The NDP led by Wali Khan, merged with three smaller factions in July 1986 to form the Awami National Party (ANP).

Mazari had continued to be a formidable opponent of the military regime and was eventually prevailed upon by friends to revive the NDP, which he did in September 1986. But it really wasn’t the same thereafter.

General elections were finally held in winter 1988, after Zia-ul-Haq’s death in a plane crash. Benazir Bhutto offered him a seat adjustment but Mazari politely declined and contested from his ancestral Rojhan as the NDP candidate. He lost but as he had himself said upon revival of the NDP, his goal was “missionary politics” than electoral victories. And in that he had succeeded throughout his long career.

Imprisoned dozens of times by both military and civilian rulers, he remained steadfast in his devotion to a federal, democratic Pakistan. In an increasingly dirty word of politics, he managed to conduct himself with dignity, honesty and poise. He always chose commitment over compromise, spurning the offers of high office and personal privilege. Extremely well-read and well-traveled, Sardar Sherbaz Khan Mazari was gentleman politician.

He died last week at age 90. Rest in peace Sardar Sahib, there aren’t many left like you.

Mohammad Taqi is a Pakistani-American columnist. He tweets @mazdaki.

Ibn-e-Safi’s Urdu Novel ‘Prince Chilli’: An Interpretation of Pakistan’s National Maladies

On the 40th death anniversary of the writer, known more for his detective novels, a look at ‘Prince Chilli’ reveals a satirist chronicling Pakistan’s social and cultural background in the 1950s and 1970s in a way that continues to be as relevant.

“Chillis have been born in every era and every class….We are all Chillis.”

I was least prepared for this candid disclaimer in the author’s preface to his astonishing novel, Prince Chilli, by Ibn-e-Safi the great pioneer of detective novels in Urdu, who passed on 40 years ago today, in Karachi. Astonishing, because while this novel can be read as a relatively enjoyable romp of romance and intrigue, it deserves to be much better known as a social satire chronicling the social and cultural background of Pakistan in the 1950s and 1970s.

Ibn-e-Safi carved a universal reputation for himself and the genre of detective fiction in Urdu across the subcontinental divide in the space of a relatively short life. However, merely to define him as a writer of pulp potboilers does no justice to his considerable talent, for he was also a poet and satirist of no mean accomplishment.

This is the sense I got from Safi’s son when I met him in Lahore two years ago, one month into the monsoon season, in the first week of August. After all, 2018 was the 90th birthday year of Ibne Safi and I had resolved to write something on his work then. But then I instinctively abandoned the project and moved on to other things.

At the outset, one must understand and appreciate that the tradition of a social or political satirical novel in Urdu is not very old. However, that is not to say that there was never any satire in Urdu fiction. If we are to take Kanhaiya Lal Kapoor’s word for it, then the first-ever Urdu novel that was a social satire was Muhammad Khalid Akhtar’s dystopian Bees Sau Gyarah (the year 2011), which will celebrate its 70th anniversary of publication in September this year.

This information makes Safi’s effort under review only the second Urdu novel intended as a purely socio-political satire. Both novels were originally written in the 1950s; both have been neglected by readers and critics alike, perhaps overshadowed by their creators’ more illustrious careers in humour and detective stories, respectively.

Unlike Akhtar’s novel, Safi’s Prince Chilli has an interesting publication history, which enables the reader to put the novel in the perspective of two important periods in Pakistan’s political history. In the preface to the novel, Safi informs us that he originally wrote the first part of the novel, titled Zulfen Pareshan Ho Gayeen (The Tresses Became Scattered), in 1958, while the second part together with the first was published in its present form in 1977, almost two decades later. The date on the expanded edition is November 1, 1977.

Also read: Farewell Khalida Hussain, A Master of the Abstract Urdu Short Story

Both the years are significant – 1958 was the year when Pakistan’s first military dictatorship under Ayub Khan came to power, while the country’s first democratically elected prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was overthrown in July 1977 by Pakistan’s third military ruler, General Zia-ul-Haq.

Given this background, the novel is basically a story of those powerful groups which are spread throughout the country as student unions. Politicians, bureaucrats, the police and influential people use these student organisations for their respective objectives. Many students become inclined towards student politics and their influence and importance also increases greatly.

Along with the student organisations, this story also unveils the greed/lust for money, power and influence and the family fights waged for the same. Actually, Chilli is not the name of an individual but a condition which can overwhelm anyone. Safi writes about this himself in the aforementioned preface to the novel, which in itself exemplifies his mood and his mastery of humour:

“The history of Chilli is perhaps as old as that of evolution. Chillis have been born in every era and every class. From Prince Chilli to Sheikh Chilli; from the Stone Age to the Space Age, one will see an abundance of Chillis. He even dreams of ruling the Heavens by establishing himself upon the throne of empire, and as Sheikh Chilli, beginning with the egg, even washes his hands with the pot of ghee. Whatever the case, he indeed provides a source of entertainment for the ‘non-Chillis’, whether he falls upon his head along with the throne from the sky to the earth like Afrasiab owing to the treachery of the hawks, or whether he makes the pot of ghee fall off his head while scolding his imaginary children.

“Had there been no Chillis, human history would have been totally blank. There would have been neither wars nor the flourishing of the rule of prostitutes. There would have been neither rise nor fall. The world would not have been so bright at all and various types of Chillis would not have put their lives at stake for it.

“Chilli is a standard; a measure. Analyse the whole life of the wisest person keeping in mind his end and then do think placing a finger to your chin, ‘Yar he too was a Chilli.’

“‘Chillism’ is a universal reality. We are all Chillis. But it is very odd that separating ourselves from this crowd, we remain in search of other Chillis for entertainment. If you don’t believe me, then just have a look at your castles in the air, and if the hawks tied round the feet of the throne do not deceive you, then I will be responsible. If the pot of ghee does not fall off the head, I will be answerable. Meaning that,

“I am Chilli, you are Chilli, indeed the whole world is Chilli”’

Also read: Exploring the World of Pakistani English Fiction

The late 1950s – the period when the novel was written – was a problematic period in Pakistan’s history. It was not an ideal time to be a student. Pakistani colleges faced immense social and cultural problems. Even before the anti-labour, anti-student military coup of 1958, Pakistani students were facing a host of issues such as rising tuition fees, inadequate or nonexistent library facilities, and lack of better classes.

Ibne Safi. Photo: Author provided

These issues pointed to the need for the establishment of a proper university, and it is for the fulfilment of this aim that the leftist Democratic Students Federation (DSF) came into being in 1953. The government responded by founding a parallel organisation called the National Students Federation (NSF), consisting of the old nationalist student wing of the All India Muslim League (AIML), the Muslim Students Federation (MSF) and conservative students, to counter these demands.

Indeed, in the novel itself, the main protagonist Raees-ul-Hasan is shown as being enrolled in the second year of college for as long as eight years. Both students and professors are wary of him. He is a day scholar but chooses to remain in the student hostel. Then there are social problems on campus like gambling through card game which are ignored by the warden to preserve his own privileges.

Here it may also be mentioned that a very poignant symbol of the clash of the old versus the new is that Prince Chilli, the eponymous character of the novel, is willing to shave off his beard in return for being patronised by his newfound ‘Chacha’ Raees.  This patronage comes into effect when Chilli’s father disinherits him on coming to know that he has shaved off his beard and the Prince cannot pay his tuition fee and mess charges. However, Raees has access to a fund he has set up for the Association for Raising the Children of Incompetent Children!

In October 1958, Ayub Khan became Pakistan’s first military dictator and promptly banned student unions and student politics. In 1962, the student movement in Pakistan, like its counterpart in India and around the world, split into pro-Peking and pro-Moscow factions engaged in a tussle for power, which benefited a new entrant to student politics, the Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba (IJT), the student wing of the Jamaat-e-Islami.

Socially too, many college students, like the eponymous character of the novel, had begun arriving from the rural and conservative countryside to cities like Karachi, where they were indoctrinated by the likes of NSF and IJT. It is impossible to understand the novel’s subsequent story without these political and social developments in the Pakistan of the 1950s and 1960s.

Also read: Asif Farrukhi: A Literary All-Rounder Who Deserved A Century

So, Prince Chilli uncritically accepts Raees as his leader in return for the benefits of patronage. One such benefit is his introduction to a tawaif tastefully named Haqiqat (reality). During their first meeting at her kotha, she asks him to visit her often. He ends up falling in love with her.

Raees drives him away from ‘Reality’ and into the arms of another patron, Sir Fayyaz. As part of the new arrangement, Prince Chilli is required to cultivate his new patron by excessively praising him for his chess moves at the exclusive Fairies Wing Club. An invitation to the birthday party of Sir Fayyaz’s daughter, Shahida, sets up a third avenue of patronage for Chilli. He begins to fall in love with Shahida and learns the art of buttering up her father by intentionally losing to him at the many chess sessions they have at the Fayyaz home.

Meanwhile, Raees himself is shown to be dealing with a revolt in his own ranks – a reference to the inter-union violence among students in the Pakistan of the 1950s. On at least two occasions, he is asked a question by Prince Chilli – why is Raees so kind and indulgent towards him. On the first occasion, Raees says that social service is his motto; on the second occasion he is a bit more specific and personal in that he ‘wants to defeat headstrong parents.’ Could these headstrong parents be a metaphor for the so-called paternalistic Pakistani state under Ayub Khan?

Raees, who had put a stop to Chilli’s love affair with ‘Reality’, actively encourages his pursuit of Shahida. Shahida also confesses her love for Chilli. Sir Fayyaz too is happy, but once he finds out that Chilli has been disinherited by his parents he tells him not to come to his house again.

After a hastily organised marriage – which, as the reader finds out, could not have been possible without the intervention of the interior minister –  and eventual acceptance by Shahida’s father, the novel moves forward after Raees sensationally admits to Chilli that Shahida was once betrothed to him in childhood.

Prince Chilli is now ready to be exploited once again — not only by his wife but also by her sympathetic cousin, Naheed, who has ‘revolutionary ideas’ and, like his benefactor Raees, is hell-bent on avenging selfish old men, in this case Chilli’s father-in-law, Sir Fayyaz. It also transpires that Chilli is a cog in the wheel, part of his wife’s scheme of being the leader of a group of strong and healthy women who will eventually kidnap men from the street. He is to serve as a guinea pig in this scheme.

A true comedy of errors ensues as Chilli flits from one patron to another – from would-be ‘comrades’ (while torn between Shahida and Naheed) back to ‘Chacha’ Raees, who apparently is ready with another plan for his beloved ‘nephew’: a sensational escape to idyllic Rajgarh, where he stays with a mystery partner in a hotel room before he is  ‘rescued’ by a blonde femme fatale called Sonia who then conveniently disappears after depositing him in another dreamy place, “far across the horizon”, only to be accosted by the police on the charges of cocaine-smuggling and put in jail.

Also read: A Search for Identity: Pakistani Literature as a Lifeline

Meanwhile, Shahida has been persuaded to be at her husband’s side by a sympathetic housekeeper. Once again, the good offices of Raees ensure that Prince Chilli is swiftly brought out of jail and he is on his way to commencing a comfortable domestic life with Shahida.

Some of the political and cultural references in Prince Chilli refer to later developments in Pakistan, following the ouster of Ayub Khan by a powerful student movement across the country. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had become the darling of the NSF after the Indo-Pak war of 1965 and his public break with Ayub Khan; even the pro-government MSF began to support him. The 1970s became the golden era of student politics in Pakistan, though, unlike the 1960s, the student movement would never again be able to topple another Pakistani ruler.

Before the 1970 elections clashes between the leftist NSF and fundamentalist IJT, leading to bloody attacks, street fights and reprisals, and slandering campaigns. These are alluded to briefly in the novel, especially in the scene where Chilli, dejected about Shahida’s attitude, is visiting Naheed, and Shahida and her friends reach Naheed’s home armed with small axes to teach both of them a lesson.

When Bhutto’s Pakistan Peoples Party gained power after the 1970 elections, it created its own loyalist student union, the Peoples Student Federation (PSF), to control campus politics and counter the NSF. After 1974, there was another challenge to the PSF in the form of the Sindhi nationalist Jiye Sindh Students Federation. Between 1970 and 1977 – the year Prince Chilli was written – student unionism was at its height in Pakistan. There were regular student elections and students’ issues were democratically addressed.

It was only after 1977 that the PSF produced a stalwart student leader, Salamullah Tipu, under whose leadership armed pitched battles were fought with the resurgent IJT in Karachi campuses and democratic activism gave way to violence and gun-running. Tipu himself had a violent end some years later in Kabul while on the run from the police, a victim of the politics of patronage in the IJT, which he had initially joined, followed by the NSF and, finally, the PSF.

It is tempting to compare the fictional Raees and Prince Chilli with the real-life Tipu, but Raees is too comfortably ensconced in the corridors of government and Chilli in domesticity for them to end up like Tipu!

Also read: Remembering Ismat Chughtai, Urdu’s Wicked Woman

Safi may not have seen the rise of the likes of Tipu, but the astute social critic and humourist that he was, in the novel itself he poked fun at the opportunism in the ranks of the socialists within the student unions and gently critiqued the contradictions within Bhutto’s party, which led to his overthrow in July 1977:

“‘Easier said than done. Look at me…I am the real socialist.’

‘Meaning…’

‘The matters of the beard and marriage are nonsense. Actually, I had raised a voice against injustice to peasants, so I have been disinherited…after all what is left in a beard and marriage.’

‘Ss…so…you are socialist.’

Chilli thought what harm is there in saying ‘yes’ when gradually all the feudals and capitalists are becoming socialist.

‘Yes. I am socialist.’

‘Then why did you marry Shahida.’

‘So that iron can cut iron. Like you I also want that these classes should become extinct by fighting among them [sic] indeed…did Shahida show you that letter, which my abba huzoor has written to Sir Fayyaz.’

‘Yes, she showed us.’

‘I have made two landlords fight in this way. Soon abba huzoor will send an army of two, two-and-a-half dozen rustics here, which will destroy Sir Fayyaz’s mansion.’

‘Really’, the eyes of that girl started shining.

‘Yes comrade.’

‘Then you are indeed from among us.’”

Then there are other social and cultural changes which Safi chronicles in Prince Chilli. Most of these changes took place with the ushering in of the Bhutto government. A more liberal atmosphere exemplified by cafes like the Fairies Wing Club in the novel; class conflict as highlighted by the romance between scions of the rural classes (Chilli) and women of the upper class (Shahida and Naheed); conflicts between the hereditary rich (Naheed) and the newly-rich (Shahida); and the  independent and outspoken streak of Pakistani women, rebelling against their parents by getting involved with and marrying middle or lower-class men (the effect of women’s lib and its impact on Pakistani society).

Also read: A Tribute to Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi, Pakistan’s Renaissance Man

The reader remembers that Shahida’s father tried to sabotage her marriage to Chilli, forcing her to move out of her paternal home eventually. Another interesting issue, namely the use of hashish among college and university students in the Pakistan of the 1970s, is lightly alluded to in the novel, with the Rajgarh police trying to unsuccessfully implicate first Raees and then his protégé Chilli in a case of cocaine smuggling. The hippie culture of the time also manifests in the novel by way of Chilli’s decision to shave off his beard, as does the rise of goondaism in the streets over ideology and over women. One can argue that Safi’s novel comes as close to depicting the populist-liberalism of the 1970s as some of the superhit Pakistani films of that period like Samaj and Aaina.

It is thus a huge pity that Ibne Safi is known in our midst more for his bestselling detective novels than for his poetry or social satire. In Prince Chilli, he identified a national condition that was and continues to be as symbolic of Pakistan as Ivan Goncharov’s Oblomov was of 19th century Russia and Bertolt Brecht’s The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui was of the rise of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party in pre-World War II Germany.

Forty years on from Safi’s death and on the second anniversary of the elections that voted in Imran Khan’s Naya Pakistan as I write this piece, he deserves our gratitude and appreciation for daring to interpret our national maladies with sparkling wit that is as instructive and relevant as it is entertaining.

All translations from the Urdu are by the writer.

Raza Naeem is a Pakistani social scientist, book critic and award-winning translator and dramatic reader currently based in Lahore, where he is also the President of the Progressive Writers Association. He can be reached at: razanaeem@hotmail.com

Calling Faiz’s Hum Dekhenge ‘Anti-Hindu’ Is Both Laughable and Insulting

Just as there was no dearth of the Right slandering an enlightened, secular poet like Faiz in Pakistan, there is no lack of such people in India too. The laughable charge that his iconic poem, ‘Hum Dekhenge’, written against the Zia-ul Haq dictatorship, is anti-Hindu, proves that.

Truth is certainly stranger than fiction. Otherwise, a poem written by an avowed communist in opposition to a fundamentalist dictator would not have been branded anti-Hindu by some people in an august institution such as the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT), Kanpur. Students who recited Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s iconic Urdu poem, ‘Hum Dekhenge’ (We will see) in solidarity with Jamia Millia Islamia students who were subjected to police brutality on December 15 while protesting the Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA), were accused of reciting a poem that provoked anti-Hindu sentiments. Following several complaints, a committee was set up to probe the affair and we await its decision on whether the extremely popular ‘Hum Dekhenge’, recognised as a universal poem of protest, is ‘anti-Hindu’ or not. Clearly, it is a measure of the times we live in.

Faiz wrote Hum Dekhenge in January 1979, while visiting the US. It was a time when his country’s (Pakistan) first democratically elected prime minister, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who had been overthrown in a coup by General Zia-ul-Haq in 1977, was about to be hanged. Apart from writing this poem against the Zia dictatorship, Faiz also had in mind the Iranian people who were struggling against a dictatorial monarchy in their country at that time:

We will see
It is incumbent that we too will see
The day which it has been promised will be
Which is written on the tablet of eternity 

When the mountains of tyranny and oppression
will be like cotton scattered by an explosion
When the earth will palpitate in apprehension
beneath the feet of the ones bowed in subjugation
And over the head of the ruler
when lightening claps with thunder

When all the objects of idolatry
will be lifted from the Kaaba of God’s country
When we, the pure-hearted, the rejects of the holy sanctuary
will be made to sit on the throne of royalty
All the crowns will be thrown
All the thrones will be  strewn

Only the name of God will have eternal presence
who is absent, but also in attendance
who is the beholder as well as the countenance

The cry of ‘I am Truth’ will rise
Who is me and you likewise
And there will be the reign of God’s creation
Who is me and you even

Faiz passed away in 1984 and the famed singer Iqbal Bano immortalised this poem by performing it before a packed audience in 1986 in the Alhamra Arts Council auditorium in Lahore. During the dictatorship of General Zia, Pakistani women were prohibited from wearing the sari because it was deemed un-Islamic attire. Opposing the military dictatorship, Iqbal Bano performed wearing a white sari. A recording of the poem, done secretly, was smuggled out of Pakistan and reached the world.

Also Read: To Decide on ‘Hum Dekhenge,’ the IIT-K Panel Must Learn to Read First

While one does not know what the IIT committee will say in its decision, but to order an investigation into the poem is a clear indicator that the ideology of the ruling dispensation is as regressive as that of Pakistan at the time when Faiz wrote Hum Dekhenge.

This iconic poem forms part of Faiz’s collection, Mere Dil, Mere Musafir (My heart, my traveller). The shadow of remembrance of the homeland is very deep in this poem. Such too was the demand of the time. But in this sorrow, there is not a trace of the darkness of despair or defeat. The same trust in the human’s ability to overcome all travails, the same glad tidings of the victory of truth in the battle between good and evil, which was the philosophy of Faiz’s thought and art is dominant here as well.

Protests at IIT Kanpur. Photo: By special arrangement

Faiz and Sufi metaphors

Like many other poems written during Faiz’s incarceration by the Pakistani establishment, his poems abounded with Sufi metaphors. For example, he incorporated Masoor Hallaj’s famous declaration, An-al Haq (I Am God), as a political cry in Hum Dekhenge. The poem became as much an anthem of protest for Pakistanis struggling for democratic rights and civil liberties under Zia-ul-Haq as it has now become a call for resistance for the current generation of Indians under the Narendra Modi regime. This poem is the closest one can get in Urdu to an equivalent of Shelley’s equally iconic poem, Ozymandias, juxtaposing the inevitable decline of rulers with their pretensions to greatness.

The reference to the ‘objects of idolatry’ being ‘lifted from the Kaaba of God’s country’ was not intended to demean the followers or sacred images of a particular religion; nor is the pious hope, ‘Only the name of God will have eternal presence’, an advocacy of the religion Faiz was born into. He wrote the poem at a time when a dictator was claiming to be following God’s evangelical path, labelling those who opposed him as infidels, hence Faiz resorted to religious imagery to challenge Zia’s claims. The phrase, ‘the objects of idolatry’, becomes a metaphor for all the false and transient idols like fundamentalism, dictatorship, oppression and injustice – like Ozymandias for Shelley – and ‘God’ stands for secularism, humanism, democracy and justice, values which are destined to be permanent.

Just as there was no shortage of those from the Right slandering an enlightened, secular poet in Pakistan in Faiz’s own time, there is no shortage of such people in neighbouring India as well. Indeed, such slanderers are the real connoisseurs of Faiz, these men of ‘truth’ and ‘purity’. Just like the censor grasps the hidden secrets of the tavern better than the one who drinks, the circle of abusers understand the dangerous mysteries of Faiz’s personality and poetry better than his admirers. Indeed, Faiz said:

With the censor, indeed all is well
With his name, the names of the drunkards, bearer, wine, jar, measure all swell

If there were to be a Mount Rushmore of Urdu poetry, Faiz’s face would be in serious contention. Like Ghalib and Iqbal, Faiz has been written about, translated and commented upon abundantly.

Also Read: Why the Controversy Around Faiz’s ‘Hum Dekhenge’ Is So Fatuous

Faiz was a Ghalibian, a Gandhian and a Marxist rolled into one. His poetry was infused with an unsurpassed lyricism, but spoke evocatively and urgently against the regimes of exploitation. He was an early member of the Progressive Writers’ Association, and formed a Punjab chapter in 1936. He wrote poems against colonialism, and after Independence/Partition, he settled in Lahore. He was among the Pakistanis who travelled to India in 1948 to attend Gandhi’s funeral.

His activism in the labour movement irked the right-wing elements in the Pakistani state, especially Ayub Khan. Months after Khan’s elevation to the position of commander-in-chief of the Pakistan Army in 1951, Faiz and several of his colleagues were imprisoned under trumped-up conspiracy charges. He was incarcerated for four years, during which he wrote some of his finest poetry. More than half of Faiz’s verses are the creation of his days in prison; almost all of the poems and ghazals of Dast-e-Saba (The hand of the breeze) and Zindaan Nama (The book of prison) were written between 1951 and 1955, when he was in jail. His fourth collection, Dast-e-Tah-e-Sang (Hand under the stone) also includes poems from his time in prison.

Even after his release, he was subjected to surveillance and harassment and he spent many years in quasi-exile in the Soviet Union and the Middle East, where his poetry developed a truly international ethos. He won the Lenin Prize in 1962, and things came full circle when the Pakistan government bestowed its highest civilian honour, the Nishan-e-Imtiaz, on him (posthumously in 1990).

File photo of Faiz Ahmed Faiz. Photo: Flickr

Not a stranger to controversy 

Faiz is neither a stranger to controversy, nor to immense love from his fellow South Asians. The first controversy regarding his poetry occurred when he wrote his famous poem, Subh-e-Aazadi (The dawn of freedom). It roiled the Progressives because it was insufficiently progressive for them, while the conservatives censured it for being insufficiently Pakistani. On the other hand, more recently, in August 2019, one of Faiz’s poems, Falasteeni Bacchon ke Liye Lori (Lullaby for Palestinian children), was adapted by the Indian group, Dastaan Live, into a moving performance, using mixed media elements of shadow puppetry to create a powerful anti-war narrative. Faiz’s song did not attract much attention, or ‘anti-national’ rant, from the powers that be in India.

The idea that Faiz’s Hum Dekhenge, and even he himself, was anti-religious is as laughable as it is insulting. Even to say that he was an atheist, as progressives from across the border like Javed Akhtar and Rahat Indori are insinuating, is far from the truth. If Faiz had a religion, it was love, and his understanding of religion was more nuanced than that of most people. He never spoke ill of anybody while he lived. In fact, his closest friends longed for a riposte from Faiz to his opponents who kept writing against him, but he always said, let them write. He never responded to his detractors or enemies.

He had this to say about religion, even in his final days: two things are in great danger in Pakistan; rather, they are much oppressed – one is our Holy Quran and the other is Iqbal; everyone extracts his or her own meaning from both. Faiz was a great scholar of Arabic and had a great attachment to the language, which increased after his visit to Palestine. He was greatly grieved about people who did not recite the Quran properly or translated it incorrectly.

Watch | Naseeruddin Shah Reads Poems by Faiz Ahmad Faiz

Wherever Faiz lived, be it Beirut, or the US or Moscow, he lived in the hearts of millions of his fellow South Asians, and will remain alive forever. He is our very own Nazim Hikmet and Pablo Neruda. Those in Pakistan or India who are intent on cutting this great poet’s girdle of truth and purity will never be able to change what he stood for.

By subscribing to a reductionist approach, we are further limiting the circle of our ideas and art. If this mentality continues to plague our societies and dispensations, the wellsprings of our creative abilities and imagination will dry up and we will be no better than the proverbial frog in the well. The attempts to reduce Faiz’s poetry by engaging in crass literalism is part of this mentality. If things go on in this manner and we keep on reducing Faiz and his legacy thus, the day is not far when Faiz will be reduced to being merely a poet of Sialkot rather than a universal man.

So, 35 years after he passed away, Faiz’s spirit calls out from beyond the grave:

Imprisoned in the cage, we are not alone, the morning breeze of the homeland every day
fragrant with memories it arrives, illuminated with tears it goes away

Lest this couplet too be investigated for being anti-Hindu, let me hasten to add that Faiz’s poetry has always exhibited a strong metaphorical connection with the trope of qafas (cage) and the relationship of the prisoner with the saba or naseem (breeze). His metaphor reflects his incarceration, and he reads the signs of his garden’s (country’s) fate from the breeze that eventually reaches his cage (prison cell). Despite millions of compulsions and constraints, the prisoner’s heart receives solace from the thought that here at least, there is the fragrance of the homeland’s soil. The winds from the homeland come in through the cracks in the cage. Whether it is the jangling of chains and fetters or the cries of prisoners in the air, the pain is expressed in the same language as that of the prisoner, notwithstanding the efforts of sections of society and the powers that be to forge language into a weapon of polarisation.

* Note: All the translations from Urdu are the writer’s own.

Raza Naeem is a Pakistani social scientist, book critic and award-winning translator and dramatic reader currently based in Lahore, where he is also the president of the Progressive Writers Association. He can be reached at razanaeem@hotmail.com.

Watch | You Turned out to Be Just Like Us – Equally Stupid: Fahmida Riaz

Yasmeen Rashidi pays tribute to famous Pakistani poet and writer Fahmida Riaz.

You turned out to be just like us

Equally stupid, wallowing in the past…

Your demon of religion dances like a clown

Whatever you do will be upside down

You too will sit deep in thought

Who is Hindu, who is not.”

–Fahmida Riaz

Fahmida Riaz, distinguished writer, poet, short-story writer, novelist and translator, died on Wednesday, 21 November. Born in 1946 in the Indian city of Meerut, she migrated to Pakistan right before the Partition only to return to India after General Zia-ul-Haq’s regime clamped down on progressive voices. Back in India, she associated herself with the Indian People’s Theatre Association and stayed as a writer in residence at Jamia Milia Islamia. As a poet and an activist, she spoke for human rights, women’s freedom, and, importantly, a woman’s freedom to be a woman. In this video, The Wire‘s Yasmeen Rashidi recites and discusses Riaz’s poems.

Remembering Mushtaq Ahmed Yusufi, Urdu’s Greatest Wordsmith

A master of Urdu satire and humour, he was ever-ready with a delightful turn of phrase and kept us enthralled for more than half a century with his unparalleled wit.

Explaining how he survived the dark decade of General Zia Ul Haq’s dictatorship, Mushtaq Ahmed Yusufi, who passed away last month, quoted the great French writer Joseph Emmanuel Sieyes. Abbé Sieyes, the catholic priest, was once asked what was his significant contribution to the French revolution and he said, “J’ai Vecu” (I survived).

After migrating from India in 1947, Yusufi survived through four dictators, 71 years of Pakistan, and nearly a hundred of life. Writing about the third world’s preference for dictators, Yusufi notes that when leaders become selfish, mullahs become opportunists, the people terrified and intellectuals sycophants. Then a strongman takes over by invitation and soon enough he begins to label his opponents:

“Anti-God, his critics as traitors and the declares Allah’s land, its produce, its moonlight and its sanctuary out of bounds for all discontent. He feeds writers and intellectuals from the Royal Kitchen in order to instruct them in the art of writing and commissions a cohort of under-conscience-sellers to certify that freedom of expression reigns supreme in his regime – everybody is free to use any form, meter or rhyme they like to write a panegyric to the leader.”

No wonder Yusufi sometimes pronounced the Quranic verse Min ash Shaitan ur Rajim [seeking deliverance from Satan] as Min ash Shaitan ur Regime.

Yusufi was not only the greatest humorists of modern Urdu but also its greatest satirist and its most erudite prose stylist who purveyed the arcane and the abstruse in a delightful turn of phrase but always in a classical diction.

Even his colloquial was recondite. Of the dozens of WhatsApp and Facebook one-liners that are now circulating as examples of his unparalleled wit, let me reproduce a few while cautioning you that they mislead in their simplicity. Yusufi was a flowing ocean of highly refined wit who forced you to smile and to go on smiling for hundreds of pages on end:

‘The problem with Pakistani rumours is that they often turn to be true.’

‘There are three kinds of enemies – enemy, mortal enemy and relatives.’

‘The thing that has made the greatest sacrifice for Islam is goats.’

‘Once a man becomes a professor, he remains a professor all his life even if towards the end of his life he starts spouting sense.’

‘Ghalib is the only poet in the world who gives you re-doubled joy even when, or particularly when, you don’t understand him.’

These WhatsApp aphorisms have a purpose: they make Yusufi palatable to the ordinary reader for whom Yufusi was not easy to consume. He wrote in chaste, classical Urdu, often coining words at considerable will and labour such as maskhaina for distorting mirror, lateefa-e kaseefa for dirty joke, and gharq-e arq-e khud for ‘stewing in his own juice’. His writings are replete with re-moulded Persian and Urdu verses, with choice quotation from world masters such as William Shakespeare, John Donne, Marcel Proust, Rudyard Kipling, W.H. Auden and Mark Twain as well as anecdotes and stories from ancient China, Greece and classical Persian and Arabic literature. From Buddha to Wajid Ali Shah, from Jonathan Swift to George Bernard Shaw, historical characters flit in and out of his narratives. Undoubtedly, he was one of Urdu’s most learned writers as also probably its most multi-lingual one.

Yusufi was born in Tonk, Rajasthan, which he celebrated and caricatured in equal measure (Rajasthan is famous for its Bhand-Rand-Sand-Khand, or jesters-women-bulls and sugar). Along with singers Mehdi Hasan and Reshma, he formed the troika of the three greatest gifts which Rajasthan bestowed on the newly-formed Pakistan.

Born to a distinguished family, Yusufi’s father was the speaker of the Jaipur legislative assembly. Yusufi joined the Indian Civil Service but soon after bade goodbye to the service and to India. In Pakistan, he became a banker and eventually became the chairman of the Banking Commission of Pakistan in the 1970s.

The cover of Zarguzasht, published in 1976. Credit: Goodreads

It was also a profession he caricatured with great finesse in his memoir Zargushazt, the account of money, a pun on the Urdu word for memoir Sarguzasht. His first collection of essays was published as Chiragh Tale (Below the Lamp) in 1961 and over the ensuing six decades, he only published three more books, Khakam Badahan (With Dust On My Face), Zarguzasht and Aab-e Gum (The Mirage). His final publication, Sham-e Sher-e Yaran (‘The Evening of Friends’ Verses’, again a play on one of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’ collection titled Sham-e Shahar-e Yaran) , was a compilation of his speeches and other writings, and not really a finished work of prose like the others.

Yusufi was understandably parsimonious in publishing. He worked on each of his books, chapters, lines, for years, chiseling and refining it further and further so that each sentence became as well polished and as well laid out as a Mughal miniature. Like the latter, you can read his works in small samples, page by each page, read them whole, read them again and again and read them from anywhere and they always delight and always surprise with their innovation and their sharpness.

He reworked the old Urdu genre of inshaiyya, or essay and reinvigorated it as being more than an essay – a memoir, profile, portrait, character sketch, history and biography and thereby invented a form for himself. I first read his greatest work Aab-e Gum, literally, ‘The Lost Water’, when I was in college and my Urdu was, as they say, kamchalau, workmanlike, and I struggled through the form as well as the prose.

Like all his works, the book is hard to characterise. Perhaps the word faction was invented for him. Outwardly, it is a series of memoiristic essays about a fictional character Basharat Ahmed Farooqui. The essays describe the protagonist’s early life in India, his early years and professions in Pakistan, his father’s life and his nostalgic return to India for a short visit. It is a story without a plot and Yusufi adduces Proust, James Joyce and Eugene O’ Neil to explain his plotlessness, but, like the authors he quotes, he attempts nothing less than a totalising narration of the Indo-Islamic civilisation before Partition and the denouement it faced afterward. I read it without mastering it but for years afterwards I described my vocation as being a social critic, for the book taught me to critically engage with language and social mores, and their connection, like few have done before or after. Consider this:

“No country in the world has laid so much store by izzat as South Asia has done. ‘May God keep you and/or recall you in izzat.’ You will not find this prayer or blessing in any other part of the world. Perhaps those engaged in [colonial] naukri accept a certain amount of humiliation as being par for the course…It will be long before we are fully rid of our feudal notions of honour and self-respect.”

Elsewhere in the same work, Yufusi reflects, with marvellous humour, on why South Asians have such a passionate contempt for the ass or the donkey, which is revered in other cultures, or their teachers’ particular penchant for the ‘murgha position’ as punishment. Clearly, he was more than a humorist, he was also a sociologist and, going by the numerous historical references from around the world, also a historian.

The literary culture in which Yusufi flourished came into being in the aftermath of the Partition where Pakistani Urdu writers in general and muhajir writers in particular were trapped between the compulsion to celebrate Pakistan and the impolitic impossibility of doing so. Like his immigrant contemporary Intizar Husain, Yusufi satirised the reality of Pakistan but also the nostalgia of the migrants who longed for the India they had left behind not necessarily because it was any good but simply ‘because they longed for their own youth’.

After the initial years of dismay, this literary culture, as I have written elsewhere, created a robust space for itself, centering around coffee houses, PTV programmes and a far from subdued leftist protest culture. Like Intizar Husain, Yusufi relentlessly poked fun at muhajir condescension at other ethnic Pakistanis and their grandiloquent claims of what they had left behind. They both deal in nostalgia, but Yusufi punctures its myths through his characters’ memories of India as well as its present, sordid and shabby, reality.

Apart from being a humorist, Yusufi was also an ethnographer and an urban anthropologist. He celebrates the North Indian qasbas and cities and the patriotism they generated, but he also lampoons their quixotic fancies. As a prose stylist, he brings us different variants of Urdu: Gujarati Urdu, Pashto Urdu, Punjabi and Sindhi Urdu and the different registers of Urdu in India.

Through his profiles and sketches, he satirises different ethnicities with all their foibles intact. He is after arcane coinages and such esoteric details such as Ghalib’s diet on his last day but also words for common objects such as the dark spot on the tabla (khiran), the blade used to sample grain through sacks (sambha) and the compulsive truth speaker (sachar). Police speak and double speak, bankers’ talk, tongawallahspatois, rhapsodies on the ubiquitous gamchha, Yusufi’s encyclopaedic gaze celebrates high literary culture as well as demotic usage and the objects of everyday life. If there is Karachi and Pakistan bashing galore in his work, then there is also mohajir nostalgia bashing, India bashing and history bashing in equal measure.

Shri Lal Shukla, (1925-2011).

It is impossible to read Aab-e Gum or Yusufi’s other writings without thinking of Shri Lal Shukla and his cult classic Rag Darbari, whose fiftieth anniversary is being celebrated this year. Yusufi’s Dhirajganj  and Shukla’s Shivpalganj resemble each other. Their common mockery of the emphasis on Brahmcharya, saving your semen and your breath and other North Indian nonsensical beliefs contain mutual echoes. The colleges they describe and their non-functioning are similar as are their police and local bigwigs and remind you of Vijay Tendulkar’s marvellous play Jaat hi Poochho Saadhu Ki.

Like Shukla’s Rangnath, forever taunted for being educated yet still, or perhaps because of it, being useless, Yusufi admits that in South Asia there is no abuse ‘greater than being called an intellectual’. Undoubtedly Shukla is more obviously political than Yusufi but then Yusufi’s prose is so sophisticated that it is said to be the best since Ghalib’s.

Harishankar Parsai, Hindi’s greatest satirist was much more biting than Yusufi (quick recall – ‘Bapu, a day will come when they will remember you only because you were killed by Godse’), whereas Yusufi mocked without insulting. He could also satirise without wounding, as he does with Mehdi Hasan and several other giants, and that is a great skill indeed. There is more humor in Yusufi than in the two Hindi greats mentioned above. He mixes wit, satire and humour in equal measure. He could make you smile, smile wryly, laugh bitterly and laugh out loud.

In trying to conserve words and memorialise a culture, Yusufi was after more than humor or satire. He was against the amnesia that is the lot of the colonised. He wanted to denigrate the present without slipping into what he satirised as a maazi-e tamannai, a fantasy past. There was no piety that he would not demolish on his holy search for a South Asian identity that was healthy without being hypocritical, that could be critical of itself without being servile and where otherness often lay inside, rather than outside. Here he is poking fun at the Mullas who heal or protect by the power of their breath:

‘He used to say that he is preparing such a wazifa (spell) that whatever I breathe upon will either be sold within a month or I will go blind. Three or four times a day he would scrutinize his hands and count his fingers to ascertain that he still had vision. After reciting his spell he would walk from the mosque to the shop, very carefully preserving his breath in his tightly shut mouth, lest the wazifa leaked [sic] from his mouth and expended itself on something else.’

For nearly half a century, Yusufi kept us enthralled with a unique spell and wazifa of his own. No doubt we are now more unprotected and more unprepared to face our future without him. 

Mahmood Farooqui is known for reviving Dastangoi and is the author, most recently, of A Requiem for Pakistan: The World of Intizar Husain, Yoda, 2016.