| November 3, 2003 | Monday | Ramazan 7, 1424 |
Ganga Ram’s birth and after
Sought reduction, got increase
Three deaths along Seaview
1958 martial law remembered
However, by the weekend it appeared that they would relent, for a price of course. So, if they have not exactly got their extra pound of flesh, they have got extra twenty rupees on every kilogramme of mutton they sell. Only slightly less on beef. Who says it is not the month of blessings? Not the butchers. As for the consumer, invited to pay more for the meats, he/she is absolutely free to stew in his/her own juice.
The death of a middle-aged woman and her two teenaged daughters at the hands of a reportedly drunken teenage driver is, to say the least, quite disturbing. A couple of days ago, a Suzuki Mehran, driven by the woman, met a terrible accident as it tried to come on to the main Seaview road, Beach Avenue from Khayaban-i-Sehar.
THE latest violent incident at Quaid-i-Azam University which resulted in the death of a student three weeks ago has prompted the university administration to take action last week against some 30 students who were found to have been involved in the incident. The punishments range from expulsion from the university and rustication to placing some of them on probation and imposition of fine.
The question, which many are asking, is: will these measures be enough to prevent another violent incident on the campus? The answer depends on whether the measures taken by the administration strike at the root of the problem which leads to such unfortunate incident on the campus.
The administration often blames the rivalry amongst the student councils and the latter’s control of the hostels, for the violence on the campus. This is why the university has this time also decided to take over control of the hostels’ management from the student councils and re-allocate the rooms to the students.
But part of the problem rests with the policies of the administration. Take the latest incident for instance. The tension between the two groups of students had been brewing for several days - with the administration apparently looking on nonchalantly - before the problem finally ended up in the killing of a student. The initial issue was, as usual, a trivial one.
It began with a group of students manhandling a member of another group for his behaviour with a girl student. The group to which the manhandled student belonged decided to take revenge, and this resulted in an exchange of fire between the two groups. Nobody was seriously hurt. But three days later, another clash erupted between the two groups which led to the death of a student. Many believe that prompt action by the administration after the first clash could have prevented the second clash and thus, the killing of the student.
Besides, the administration had earlier expelled and suspended students for previous violence and killings on the campus, but this has not stopped the violence nor killing. Moreover, it is said that some of those students who had earlier been expelled or suspende have managed to come back, through the courts, to continue their studies.
As is usually the case with other incidents of killings on the campus, those who were actually responsible for the death of the student in this latest incident have not been arrested by the police. While expulsion is a disciplinary action taken by the university administration, it is the state’s responsibility to arrest the culprits and indict them.
The latest violent incident on the campus has generally been portrayed as a clash between two student councils. But a more underlying and potent cause of tension on the campus is the rivalry between members of the student councils on the one hand, and activists of the Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba (IJT) on the other.
The ideological rivalry between the leftists and rightists in QAU is as old as the campus itself since its inauguration in 1971. This rivalry on the campus developed as a spillover of the ideological tussle which emerged in national politics in the 1970s. The rise of the Pakistan People’s Party, the formation of the People’s Students Federation, the appointment of a new (and second) vice-chancellor of QAU by the PPP government in 1973 all helped to strengthen the position of the leftists in the QAU.
Hitherto, the rightists had predominated at QAU during the tenure of the first and founding vice-chancellor, who got considerable financial support from the Ford Foundation, UNDP and Unesco to kick-start the university, and who also brought back a number of Pakistani academicians working abroad to form the maiden faculty of the university.
The rivalry between the leftists and rightists on the campus reached at its peak during the General Zia era. Student unrest not only prompted General Zia to ban their unions but also resulted in frequent closures of the university, which the General referred to as the “closed university” as opposed to Allama Iqbal Open University. In place of the student union, student councils based on provincial and ethnic lines soon sprung up in the QAU.
The tussle between the rightists and the liberal groups on the campus surfaces whenever an event like a musical concert or basant-kite flying festival is being organized, with the rightists usually objecting to and some time disrupting such functions. But the ideological tension is also very much prevalent in everyday life on the campus. For instance, one rightist faculty member tears down birthday and Christmas greetings whenever these appear on his department’s notice board, much to the annoyance of those students who put them up. Such discriminatory and intolerant behaviour by a faculty member would have been considered a serious offence in any university abroad.
On December 31, 2002, a violent clash took place in QAU between members of the student councils and the IJT activists. This happened just after the religious alliance, MMA’s electoral success in the general elections, particularly its victory from one of the Capital’s constituency. After the clash in which two IJT activists were seriously injured, the Nazim of the JI student wing accused the university administration of supporting the student councils. He criticized the administration for allowing the student councils to organize functions which, he alleged, only promoted vulgarity. He also accused the office-bearers of the student councils for not paying their hostel dues.
On the other hand, the student councils accused the university administration of siding with the IJT and they threatened to boycott classes if it continued to patronize the IJT. The student councils also accused some faculty members of favouring the IJT activists.
Then in February 2003, a student was shot in one of the hostels, controlled by different student councils. He died in a hospital over a month later. A lot of fuss was made over the lack of control by the university administration on the management of the hostels, especially regarding the allocation of rooms to the students.
Last week’s decision on the hostels taken by the QAU university administration must be viewed by the IJT as a victory because the student councils no longer manage the hostels. On the other hand, the administration’s latest action would represent a setback for the student councils vis-a-vis the IJT. If this is the situation, it would seem unlikely that the administration’s measures have struck at the root of the problem which has been causing tension and encouraging violence on campus.
A recent article in Dawn suggests that a tertiary institution established some years ago near Islamabad has been largely successful in maintaining peace amongst its students and between students and the faculty/administration in part because it maintains a policy of zero tolerance for politics on campus. Well, if this is so, then perhaps the government ought to study the success policies of this particular institution and implement them at QAU.
Not only would the government need to ensure that the administration in place at QAU has zero tolerance for student and faculty politics on campus, it will also have to have a zero tolerance for the possession and use of firearms on campus as well. It follows that the administration should conform strictly to rules and regulations regarding the working and functioning of the university, its various departments and allied institutes/centres. Any violation of the rules or disruption of peace on campus ought to be dealt by it promptly and with a firm hand.
It should be the objective of any QAU administration to steer the university into the centre of post-graduate academic excellence that it is supposed to be, where students can pursue their academic ambitions peacefully without hindrance, and where students can engage freely in a host of non-academic and sporting extra-curricular activities that will enable them to develop their character and leadership qualities.
LET me take up from BPL Bedi’s biography of Sir Ganga Ram, Harvest from the Desert, from where I had left off last week.
Bedi continues:
Months prolonged themselves into years, and Daulat Ram lived in mental harmony and profound spiritual contentment. His devoted wife looked to the matters of the household, and gave him complete relief from the worries and cares of a householder’s life.
To her great joy, one day she discovered she was going to have a baby. The news thrilled the hearts of the young couple, and they looked forward to the day when their little home, under the patriarchal care of the old Sadhu, would echo with new life.
When the time came, Daulat Ram’s wife, with her usual prudence, had taken good care to keep a store of eatables in the house, and all the other accessories needed for the confinement.
The women of the village, who, every now and then, used to visit the family, were all interested in the coming event, and it became the topic of the day. Even ordinarily, the birth of a new child is not a minor event in the narrow, circumscribed life of a village, but this time it was the police official’s wife who was going to have a baby. The old women sat and talked of the good fortune of a child who was destined to be born in that house of authority and power.
In the early hours of the morning, when the pale light of the stars was mingling with the rays of the rising sun, a boy was born on the Baisakhi day. Congratulations were on every lip, sweets were distributed in time-honoured fashion, and the old village midwife, who for half a century had worn out her tongue in repeating blessings for every child she had brought into the world, welcomed the child with the pious wish that his future station in life would be more exalted than that of his father.
Baba Bishan Singh heard the news with a gesture peculiar to himself. Without changing the usual expression on his face, he said, in the monotonous voice characteristic of him: “Take good care of him. By the grace of Wah Guru, the child will be to his age what Vikramaditya was to his own times.”
The words were far too flattering for a junior police official to believe, but he took them as an expression of the solicitude and goodwill the old sage had always shown towards him.
The year was 1851. The baby’s parents had given him a good start in life, both being naturally healthy and well-built, so he was chubby, and round faced, and full of the joy of living.
One thing was, from the very beginning, specially noticeable in the little son: his radiant and peaceful disposition. He cried seldom, and all day long smiled and kicked in great contentment. His parents both agreed to call him “Ganga Ram”.
True to the saying that “there is only one best baby in the world, and every mother has got it,” Ganga Ram was almost worshipped by his mother. The placid baby brought new life into the house, and enlivened the surroundings with his presence. Even the old Sadhu seemed to be more interested in the world around him.
In Ganga Ram, he saw his spiritual grandchild. Now that he had an object before him in the person of the baby, he had the satisfaction of showering upon him the affection pent up in the heart of every man, the expression of which he had formerly denied himself, by taking up the life of a recluse.
Often the Sadhu played with the baby, and, symbolising in his little life the creative powers of the Universe, would find himself lost in meditation.
All these influences were gradually imprinting themselves on the mind of the child. He absorbed unconsciously what he could not consciously express. The life of the family ran on as smoothly as the waters by which they lived.
Daulat Ram went on well at his work, being scrupulously honest, and fearless in carrying out orders from his superiors. One day it so happened that the senior officer was away on duty, and news reached the Police Station that a gang of dacoits, who had recently been responsible for some very gruesome murders, was camping in the neighbourhood. If adequate and timely measures were taken, there was a likelihood that they could be arrested. The task was full of danger, but the call of duty was urgent. Daulat Ram, on his own initiative, ordered the chase, and, luck being with him, he succeeded in capturing them after an arduous pursuit.
At this point, temptations of huge bribes and other considerations were thrown in his way, to make him release at least some of the offenders, if not all.
But Daulat Ram had been brought up in a different school. He was unyielding, and refused to be indulgent with the murderers who had been responsible for the ruin of many happy homes, making so many children orphans, and leaving so many wives widowed. He could not condone the crime of setting so many persons free, simply for his own personal gain.
His firm refusal enraged the companions of the accused, and they went away in a wild temper.
In the early hours of the afternoon, Daulat Ram received a warning from the friends of the dacoits, threatening that if the prisoners were not forthwith released, they would murder Daulat Ram, along with his wife and child and make good their escape.
This message dug up old memories. The officer in uniform sat thinking, not about the release of the prisoners, but about days gone by. In the twinkling of an eye, he was living again in the dreaded past. The trampling of hoofs echoed in his ear from the distant plains of Muzaffarnagar.
Daulat Ram stood at the crossroads. He had very little time in which to take a vital and immediate decision.
The past surged into the little room. Before him flowed the stream, seemingly as peaceful as before. Outside he could hear his wife singing at her evening tasks, bathing for the evening puja. The child was gurgling with laughter at some new discovery. But before his eyes was the sword again and the hateful torment of man by man, and the sunlight in the small window, obscured for a moment by the cloud shadows, became a symbol for him of the light of his little home that chance had again extinguished.
In Daulat Ram’s mind, the vision of Mangatanwala crumbled to pieces. As a haven of security and contentment it lost all meaning.
And, in a flash, he hated Mangatanwala as much as he had hated Muzaffarnagar. In fact, he hated it more, because to lose Mangatanwala was a harder and rougher jolt, dislocating life with the suddenness of lightning.
He made his decision quickly, and, before the sunset the family had taken leave for their Guru and were well started on their journey. They must get as far away as possible, before the news of their sudden departure spread.
This city is no doubt an essentially business and trade centre. Indeed, the country’s biggest. Making money is what most of the activity here is all about. But that is what goes on all the time, all round the year. What is hard to appreciate is the blunt and coarse manner in which small traders, retailers, grocers, meat and poultry sellers literally run riot on the approach of Ramazan.
The mad rush to make money in this manner is something so obviously indelicate as to perilously close being obscene. After all, Ramazan comes to be around for no more than 30 days. Perhaps oftener for 29 days. There is all the time and opportunity in the rest of the 11 months of the year to fleece the consumer at will. And goodness knows the traders would not miss any chance of squeezing an extra rupee.
We have no dearth of pious men around. They are preaching tirelessly about vices and virtues, about what would clear one’s path to paradise and what would consign the sinner to the eternal flames of hell. Would anyone kindly suggest to these self-appointed do-gooders to take to their respective pulpits a month or two in advance of the arrival of the holy month of Ramazan and advise the traders how to behave.
In order to pay true respect to Ramazan they should put under leash their ever-unsatisfied appetite for profits for the duration of this month of divine blessings.
One is not tempted but forced to remind that the true spirit of Ramazan is abstinence, self-restraint, discipline, moderation and a drawing away from the push of hunger, thirst and greed. The traders who go on strike at the outset of Ramazan to extort extra money for their goods, whatever the goods be, are acting in a manner that is an audacious affront to the spirit of Ramazan, apart from being an affront to common decency.
It is suggested in all humility that the spiritual leaders owe it to themselves to lead the traders out of their greed as a principle of life.
For the holy month of Ramazan in particular, all traders, merchants, sellers and vendors be advised to declare a 10 per cent voluntary cut on their profit margins as their respectful and voluntary gesture to the spirit of Ramazan.
As far as one can see, there is no hope of this suggestion being taken seriously by any of our virtue autocrats. But one must go on trying. This idea should be seen to be of particular relevance to the money-oriented culture of this city. Here the money-makers call the tune. They have the public servants on their side because of their money-bags. Left out in the cold is the hapless consumer.
If the predators are to be resisted, and the vulnerable consumer is to be protected, we should have powerful citizens lobbies to fight this battle. As the butchers’ strike has demonstrated yet once again, the trader-vs-consumer fight is an extremely unequal contest. No wonder there is no suggestion of consumer resistance anywhere in any situation where the traders decide to go on another fleecing rampage.
What we have witnessed is that the elected city government has leapt more than half way to meet the determined butchers on their high horse. The butchers had demanded an abrupt Rs50 per kg rise on mutton price. They have managed to wrest Rs20. By agreeing to this, the city government is evidently hoping to convince the people that it has brought the butchers down by Rs30. But that is putting logic on its head.
The question is why concede this rise? What has happened to justify this escalation? Why any increase at all? And why at this particular moment? If the consumption is expected to rise, this simply means more sales and more profits on the normal and settled price. There is absolutely no justification for any rise.
The timing of the demand by the butchers reeks of greed. The concession by the city government smacks of failure of will.
This drama does not add up to a show of appropriate respect to the holy month of Ramazan. Let us think of better ways to welcome this month of blessings.
An extremely rashly driven Pajero rammed into the Mehran at breakneck speed, literally splitting the latter into two. An eyewitness who saw the terrible accident said that he and his family were left numbed by what they saw.
Two of the women died instantly while the third died at a nearby private hospital. The driver of the Pajero, who was reportedly in an inebriated state — or was certainly driving like one — was arrested by the police, as were three of the passengers.
This isn’t the first case of its kind in Karachi. And given the unattended state of the roads along the Seaview, it perhaps won’t be the last. The newly-carpeted roads linking parts of Clifton near Bilawal House with the Seaview area need to have lots of warning signs, speedbreakers and lane delineations because otherwise they can only tempt drunken drivers.
Some years ago, there was a well-publicized case of a teenage driver, from an affluent family, who got into a serious traffic accident, in which a pedestrian and a female passenger in the teenager’s car were killed. Then, the young driver’s resourceful family managed to get their son out on bail and soon afterward he was sent out of the country. So much for the rule of law. A couple of similar cases have also occurred in Lahore, again among young male drivers, who happened to come from affluent backgrounds and, like the teenager in Karachi, were studying in elite schools.
As a society, we might try and pretend all we can that cases of people driving under the influence of alcohol do not occur in a Muslim country like Pakistan. But the facts say otherwise. After all, if we are willing to accept (probably an urban legend) the fact that minibus drivers sometimes drive under the influence of opium why should it be so hard for us to accept that some of our worst traffic accidents are caused by people driving under the influence?
In any civilized country, a case such as this would be quite straightforward. Regardless of the fact that the accident was probably unintentional, the driver would be immediately sentenced to a stiff jail term. The reason for this, understandably would be to send a warning to others who think nothing wrong in getting behind the wheels of a vehicle while under the influence. Unfortunately, here things are quite different. Speaking to an Urdu newspaper, relatives of the three dead women said that the police did not seem all that interested in pursuing the case and had charged the driver in a case that was not serious given the circumstances which led to the tragic accident.
A newspaper reported on Friday that the errant driver had already managed to get bail from a lower court. Would the judge like to explain just why he allowed bail to an individual whose rash action led to the deaths of three innocent women? Is the errant driver on his way out of the country? It seems this is going to be another case of a spoilt young brat getting away, literally, with murder.
Syed Afzal Hussain Zaidi, who retired as director-general of the ministry of information and broadcasting and now lives in Islamabad, was with the Press Information Department in Karachi in the late 50s. He was a popular figure among reporters, who used to gather every morning at the PID’s barrack-like offices on Sharae Iraq. The office is still the same but many of its regulars are no more.
Mr Zaidi remembers the day at the PID — Oct 7, 1958 — on which the Iskander Mirza-Ayub Khan martial law was declared, inflicting a deadly blow on the country’s political and democratic system. In a contribution sent to Dawn, Mr Zaidi writes:
The Press Information Department, Karachi, was a mirror in which the perceptive and trained eyes of experienced journalists saw not only the panorama of unfolding official and political activities of the government, but also shadows of coming events. Oct 7, 1958 appeared to be an unusual day. Something hung in the air. Veteran journalists accredited to the government had assembled in the press room by 10am. They expected some major news to break.
The political climate in the city was loaded with rumours of declaration of martial law. The rumours had spread like wildfire and brought the reporters of important news agencies and newspapers to the PID. Their eyes focussed on the movement of Col Majeed Malik, principal information officer. He was in his office opposite the press room.
A heated discussion was in progress among the journalists in the press room. There appeared to be a consensus that the political situation in the country had reached a dead-end and no solution was in sight. Malik Feroze Khan Noon had contrived a shaky coalition at the centre between the Republican Party and Mr H.S. Suhrawardy’s Awami League.
In East Pakistan, the KSP of Fazlul Haq and the Awami League were locked in a war of attrition. In the assembly session, Awami League MPAs had bodily lifted the KSP’s speaker from his chair in the midst of the session, declared him insane and locked him up in a hospital. The deputy speaker who was a member of the Awami League occupied the speaker’s chair. In the ensuing melee, some of the KSP legislators hit the deputy speaker on his head with a loudspeaker and killed him.
In West Pakistan, Khan Abdul Qayum was on the warpath. He led a huge procession of the supporters of the Muslim League from Gujrat to Lahore shouting abusive slogans against President Iskander Mirza. To counter the Muslim League, Nawab Muzaffar Ali Qizalbash had organized a procession of the supporters of the Republican Party from Attock to Lahore. The climate was pregnant with violence all the way. During the lunch break, Col Majid Malik came out of his room and as was his wont peeped into the press room. Finding it rather fuller than usual with journalists, he asked: “Any news, gentlemen?” Someone said: “You tell us.” Col Majeed Malik said: “Nothing that I know of. I am going home for lunch.” Then he spotted Ashiq Bhai (Ashiq Ahmad of The Statesman, India), took him by the arm and led him into his office. They came out after a while. Col Majeed Malik got into his car and was driven away. Ashiq Bhai joined the group in the press room. He told his colleagues that the PID was absolutely sure there was no question of martial law. There was no breakdown of law and order. Civil government was functioning normally and people were going about their business peacefully. The president was a resourceful person and would find ways and means to control the political situation. At this point, Ashfaq Hasan (Morning News) entered the press room and announced he had just seen Gen Ayub Khan being driven in or out of Naval Headquarters in Napier Barracks. Some of the journalists jumped into the car of Shamim Ahmad (Civil and Military Gazette), apparently for confirmation of Gen Ayub Khan’s presence in the city.
The day passed off without any development. The journalists moved to the Press Club. They kept a watch at the President’s House. There was quiet all round.
In the late afternoon I met my friend Aslam Ali, press officer to the chief commissioner. I told him about the rumours of martial law. He dismissed them, saying that the chief commissioner (N.M. Khan) had gone to the Karachi Club to play tennis as usual.
At about midnight, the telephone rang. Aslam Ali was on the line. In a voice shaking with excitement, he asked me to switch on the radio at once. I did so. Someone was reading the president’s proclamation. The president had imposed martial law in the country and appointed Gen Mohammad Ayub Khan as the chief martial law administrator, abrogated the Constitution, dissolved the national and provincial assemblies, and dismissed the central and provincial governments.
The next morning (Oct 8), General Ayub Khan addressed a crowded press conference in the committee room of the Cabinet secretariat in the National Assembly building. He was in his general’s uniform, his face glowing with confidence. Behind him sat a string of severe-faced generals. At the end no one was in doubt that Ayub Khan was in charge. President Iskander Mirza had been sidelined.
Driving back from the National Assembly building to the Press Information Department, I found myself sitting next to Col Majeed Malik in the staff car. He was deep in thought. I asked him: “Sir, who is the ruler?” He looked at me intently and said: “The gun.”
Col Majeed Malik was right. The country that had been founded by Jinnah with the votes of the people was now destined to live under the shadow of the gun.
Ode to indolence
The strong sunlight during the day, unbroken by clouds, and the fasting season have combined to produce a listless mood in the city. A friend’s wife complains that she had to wait in the heat for almost 45 minutes after she had placed an order for chicken — just plain chicken, skinned and cut into eight pieces. This, she said, was a process that normally took the man at the shop 15 minutes.
Neither did she have any luck when she went to buy meat. The butcher had his feet up on a chair and waved his hand indolently. There was a hartal, he explained, as the price fixed for meat by the city government was not acceptable to his fellow traders.
Shaking her head in dismay, the lady then went to buy some fruit. Here too, she had difficulties. “The fruit has still to come from the mandi,” the fruit seller informed her as he and his mate shielded themselves from the burning rays of the sun.
She then went to a marketplace some way off. While she managed to buy some fruit, she noticed that business was not as brisk as usual. Even the beggars reclining on the ground did not deign to ask her for alms.
French diplomat
Georges Dupuis, consul-general of France, died from lung infection in Paris last week. He was 59. Popular among his colleagues and dear to all those who knew him well, Mr Dupuis was the recipient of the highest French decoration, Knight of the Legion of Honour. Despite the fact that he had to spend most of his tenure living in a hotel with his wife for security reasons since his arrival in the city in June 2002 following the killing of French engineers in a bomb blast, he took a keen interest in the political and social affairs of Pakistan.
Mr Dupuis had served his country in Venezuela, Bulgaria, Hungary, Poland, Romania and some African stations. He and his wife Genevieve had recently moved to a house in Karachi. Then he fell ill. He wrote letters to his friends in Pakistan from his hospital in Paris, saying that he was longing to be back. He will be remembered by all those who knew him.
— By Karachian
email: karachi_notebook@hotmail.com