| 21 November 2004 | Sunday | 08 Shawwal 1425 |
Who is offended by Edhi's system?
Pakistan: questions abroad
As one merrily write away about the journey through time of Lahore and its people, given the feedback one begins to realize that a vast majority of young people, especially those living outside the old walled city, do not understand the meaning of many of the names that we use for people, places, things and faces.
This piece is an attempt to scratch the surface of this happening, and a most interesting exercise it is turning out to be. Let us being with well-known names. For example the world 'baithak', in a traditional walled city house, manes a place for sitting. You can have a 'mardana baithak' - for males only - and a 'zanana baithak' - for females only.
Depending on its size, it can also be called a 'hujra', though such a description is normally used in mosques or madrassahs where Quranic teaching takes place. A lot of people do not know what exactly does a 'baradari' mean. It is simply a garden pavilion with four sides and three arches on each side, making it have 12 arches. Complex variations exist in this simple description. But these are words that can be made out easily.
The really rarely used words are considerable in number. For example every few people know what a 'Baoli' is. Lahore in the past had a lot of these. It is an underground step-well, a well with a covering with steps leading down to the well. The best example of this is the well of Guru Arjun Singh opposite the Lahore Fort. Few people know what a 'basta' really meant. While one is tempted to call a school satchel a 'basta', which it is also called, but in traditional buildings it refers to the wooden collapsible slotted shutters over a projected 'jhoraka', or 'bukharchis'.
Though such things no longer exist, but a 'Fil Khana' was an elephant stable. There is just one of them now left in the old Lahore, which is the platform next to the mosque of Zamani Begum just outside Alamgir Gate, The location of this 'fil khana' is understandable, though 'hatti darwaza' is on the opposite side of the fort. On the other hand a 'jilu khana' is an outer yard or foreyard where riders dismounted from horses and animal-drawn vehicles. Normally every house had hem.
Today even people inside the walled city do not know this word. Most old folk would, however, know the meaning of 'gopura', which is the central spire of a Hindu temple. We do not have 'Dharamsalas' any longer in Lahore, but they refer to a Hindu temple with residential accommodation. It is amazing that a lot of the younger people do not know what it means, just as very few know of the word 'hurmuchi', which is the red ochre paint applied to brick surfaces.
The word 'kattra' is used considerably even now inside the walled city, though people living outside do not have a clue as to what it stands for. It is the street where a group of houses are arranged around a cul-de-sac. A 'margholi' is a cusped arch that is peculiar to the Jehangiri ear, often also referred to as a 'Jehangiri mehrab'. These and other words one learns all the time by actually visiting the old walled city, which in itself is an excellent pastime on a Sunday.
Most people connect the word 'tibbi' with the red light area. Nothing could be further than the reality of a 'tibbi'. A 'tibbi', as in Tibbi Bazaar, means a mound. This word is used a lot as old Lahore is on several mounds. However, the word 'tharra' is much more widely known, meaning a wooden or masonry platform extending from the front of a shop or a building. The word 'tharra politics' refers to the political discourse people have on politics just outside their houses. Politics is a passionate pastime inside the old walled city, for they still remain a people very concerned about issues, not people.
In Lahore's old walled city, a 'sard khana' is the name given to the basements in old houses, or a room sheltered from all sides for use in summers. It normally was the room with the lowest temperature. This is an understandable term, for in the narrow lanes where even in summer light does not penetrate much, the 'sard khana' of a house is indeed an excellent place to pass the hot afternoons, not to speak of sorties on the hot roofs by younger people in search of 'kothay tapnis', a term now very well understood even outside the walled city.
For builders, the word 'qalbooti' refers to an arched structure which is centered. often domes are referred to as such. The masons of mosques invariably have a 'qalbooti ustad' as the lead mason. A 'Nakhas Mandi', which was once located outside the Lahore fort, where today we have Ali Park, is where horses were once traded, or a hours market. A 'tavela' refers to a horse stable. The famous Kocha Chabaksawaran has them by the dozen, some even today intact.
One important word that needs to be dealt with is the word 'Guzar', which means a passage. In the classical sense it means a Mughal-era administrative district within a city, a right of way. The main gates of the city were called 'guzars', and they were each administered separately. Old Lahore comprised of nine Guzars,all administered from the main gate in them. A 'koocha' on the other hand means a small neighbourhood, or the street of such a p lace. This is a well-known phrase.
There are other words which are slightly better known like a 'hauz' meaning a water tank, or a 'jhoraka' meaning a projected oriel or window supported by projected masonry. But then there is the word 'Ghulam gardish' meaning a continuous portico surrounding a courtyard, or a 'ghumti' which refers to a street which runs in a curve, like we have Ghumti Bazaar.
There are scores of 'ghumtis' inside the walled city. Like the 'ghumtis', the story of the words used in old Lahore also curve and tend to disappear before the street end of time is reached. But they definitely have a certain timeless romance to them, a romance born out of changing times.
Who is offended by Edhi's system?
Ramazan ends, Eidul Fitr is over, and as life returns to routine, Edhi booths in the Civil and Jinnah hospitals are attacked, set on fire. What does this mean? What is wrong with the Edhi system? Was it hurting, harming anyone? We know the answers. We know how much and how often this society desperately needs the Edhi network. Yet this targeting of a symbol of "humanity and sanity". Why this insanity, this periodic desire to destroy? Can one understand it at all? Will this grow? Many questions. We have the answers. And we maintain a silence.
Look at the larger picture that Ramazan presents, of this society, where hospitals and non-governmental organizations were more than ever before advertising lavishly through the media, their appeals for Zakat. That Zakat was a principal answer to the financial challenges that these institutions were facing in their welfare work. In their effort to provide sustained medical care to the poor in the country.
Indeed, government alone cannot provide medical cover to all the people. The challenge is huge, compounded by a rapidly growing population, and the answer is private initiative, individual or institutional. Edhi is one such institution. And a success story at that. So who are those who want to either cramp the style of the Edhi system, or dwarf it altogether. What is the problem? I talked to some colleagues and while we found no answers, we ended up being sad on a November evening.
Rather, it is an occasion to be angry, perhaps. That was the feeling one had as one read the story, "Edhi booth at CHK set on fire", on Friday morning. A voice within reminded that this was not the first time that the Edhi network of humanitarian services had been attacked in Karachi. Strangely, Karachiites top the list of beneficiaries of Edhi ambulances and other facilities, and yet it is in the city where the attacks occur. Why? Karachiites have not really spoken out in defence of Edhi, and this I find very unacceptable. The people of Karachi need to make their voice heard collectively in the spirit of pro bono publico.
It wasn't just the Edhi centre at the CHK that was attacked, it needs to be underlined. Even the centre at the Jinnah Hospital was attacked. Unidentified men beat up volunteer workers, kidnapped the in charge of the centre and held him hostage for two and a half hours, said a news report, adding: "subjected him (the in charge) to torture and then left him in the Defence Housing Authority with a message for Abdul Sattar Edhi to wind up his operations in Karachi or face the consequences of failure to do so."
I am reminded of another such incident, occurring previously, and the statements that Abdus Sattar Edhi gave, saying that he was contemplating leaving Pakistan. Keep in mind that his work has earned him and his system tremendous appreciation abroad. Why is he being intimidated? Does anyone know? Can this be stopped, concerned citizens wonder? But in silence.
The details of what happened on Thursday at the two major government hospitals in the city, is not only shocking but also deplorable. If it is everybody's metropolitan city, then everybody has to chip in to sustain the system. That alone is the remedy to our ills. Nothing else can endure, and deliver here.
Contemplate the scenario of want and deprivation, and the state of the dispossessed around us. Set aside the inhumanity and the insensitivity that we to have in our lives, and look at the Zakat appeals that have begun appearing every Ramazan. There is a great deal that is positive in this. To advertise is to follow current and best practices, for persuasion and motivation. But it also works the other way. It creates an awareness of the need for accountability of the operations of these well-advertised welfare concerns, said one citizen.
Which makes it natural to suggest the imperative, that if an organization or individual chooses to go public to collect funds, especially in the name of Zakat, then it is ethically bound to explain and make public its performance vis-a-vis accountability. How all that Zakat money was spent, in a society where audit is weak or low, or even non existent, and where the forms of corruption are varied, argued a Karachiite, somewhat confused by so much of print and electronic media advertising for Zakat.
Some of this massive Zakat advertising that we have seen in this Ramazan was from the Shaukat Khanum Cancer Hospital (Imran Khan), the Sindh Institute of Urology and Transplantation, Sahara for Life Trust (singer Abrarul Haq), Zindagi Foundation (Shahzad Roy, Jawad Ahmad), the Layton Rehmatullah Benevolent Trust, and The Cardiovascular Foundation. But this queue for Zakat was evident in other ways also, depending on the organizations seeking it. Even the students organizations, of hospitals, and political parties, were collecting zakat funds. Not to mention the individuals who were doing so. In passing, one may mention here the view expressed that the volume of advertising for Zakat was abnormal for this society. An imbalance as if.
But then this is a society teeming with imbalances, inequalities, and injustices. In a society where the poor are growing, the expansion in the public sector health facilities has been small in the last three decades. Therefore, it is understandable, for example, to see that the SIUT went in for newspaper advertisements appealing for Zakat, emphasizing that while it wanted to do much much more it was lacking in resources.
That it wanted at least Rs500 to dispense free its treatment procedures. That it has never turned away any patient ever, and that it did not have the "heart to turn away the ever growing number of patients in the future." The SIUT has ambitious expansion plans, for the people of Sindh, living in its rural as well as urban parts.
The National Institute of Cardiovascular Diseases (NICVD) did not advertise for zakat, but The Cardiovascular Foundation issued modest newspaper advertisements, as if to suggest that it did not want to lose out in the queue. The NICVD again, like some other hospitals serves very efficiently, not just the people of Karachi, but the province, and the country as a whole.
Now here comes a valid and inevitable question. Will this society eventually fail to protect, preserve, sustain these projects, these institutions, that seek to do good to it? Should vested interests be allowed to unsettle, undo, and eventually render dysfunctional the institutions that are desperately needed?
The public opinion appears willing to support these private sector ventures, but apparently there are vested interests that thrive on individual and collective misfortunes. Professional blood donors can be cited as a ready example. Silence of people over the attacks on Edhi services reflects in a way on the state of public conscience.
The conclusion is disturbing. That if the success of Edhi is hurting vested interests, is it likely that the success of other institutions, like those mentioned above, will hurt other vested interests in and around those environs. That one sad day we will hear (God forbid) attacks on the SIUT, the Shukat Khanum Cancer Hospital or the Sahara Trust Hospital. Not just sad, but that would be tragic. Like suicide? We would all lose in the end.
Pakistan: questions abroad
Six weeks in England and America on a recent private visit Permitted little time for matters of professional interest. However, even limited interaction with friends in Britain and America - Pakistani as well as local - and routine exposure to the print and electronic media helped one to gain perhaps a clearer view of perceptions abroad about our country.
Whereas in Britain the focus stays largely on Pakistan's limping democracy under a military ruler, in the US, we appear to figure as the hub of the world's largest known nuclear network alongside our role - as America's principal partner in the global war against terrorism. President General Musharraf's name alone appears in a relatively kindly light as the pillar of stability in Pakistan and much of the region, especially the turbulent north-west. In fact one hears so much of Dr. A.Q. Khan's nuclear network and Pakistan's proactive, 'offensively' oriented role against Al Qaeda terrorists that one may, at times, be left wondering about its very status as a sovereign country with its own national agenda.
A third element figuring in Pakistan-US ties remains the 0 - ? erratic calculus of the on-going peace process in the subcontinent. The US administration and the media, by the large, look up to Pakistan for a positive outcome. In other words, India, rather than Pakistan, would be viewed as the villain of the piece if the process ever came up against a stumbling block. Even now, the US media keep highlighting the continuing existence of (Mujahideen) training camps on the Pakistan side of the LoC to arm and train Kashmiri freedom fighters.
The limelight, however, stays on Dr. Khan's nuclear sin. Even if news and comments went down in frequency because of the spate of pre-election coverage, it is projected and attacked with fierce intensity. The very rationale of sustainable ties is at times questioned because Pakistan harbours the worlds' most will known nuclear trafficker.
How and why, it is asked, the official head of Pakistan's nuclear programme was allowed to master-mind and operate his vast network under the nose of a military government? Who is who in Pakistan's ruling group? Dr Khan have his own agents with worldwide links? Do the disclosures so far represent only the thin end of the wedge and are one or more of Dr Khan's agents still at large and linked with Al Qaeda operatives, helping them make a nuclear device, even a crude or a dirty 'radiological' one? The Mullah-Madressah-Taliban troika is seen as posing the 0 - ? greatest threat to the safety and security of Pakistan's nuclear assets. What if they ever seized power at the centre? Even without being able to do so, their potential for mischief is considered as a fact of life.
In the course of an informal talk with some scholars of the University of Virginia (UoV) at Charlottesville, Osama bin Laden was repeatedly mentioned as hiding somewhere on the Pakistan side of the Durand Line. What if Osama and his trained band of scientists and engineers ever succeed in laying their hands on Pakistan's nuclear assets?
Humbug! But it is there.
By far the most devastating piece, amongst a sheaf of such, appeared in The New York Times (25.09.2004) 'Twisting Dr Nuke's Arm' by Nicholas Kristof, one of its dedicated columnists, bitterly critical of President Bush searching 'vainly' for Osama while going 'slack' on Pakistan as the hub of nuclear proliferation. "The biggest challenge to civilization in recent years came not from Osama or Saddam Hussein, but from Abdul Qadeer Khan, the father of Pakistan's atomic bomb. Dr Khan definitely sold nuclear technology to Iran, North Korea and Libya, and, officials believe to several more nations as well. "But, amazingly, eight months after Dr Khan publicly confessed, we still don't know who the rest of the customers were. Mr Musharraf acknowledged as much in an interview." 0 - ? Pushing his perceptions almost to the lunatic fringe of paranoia, Kristof hypothesizes: "If a nuclear weapon destroys the US Capitol in coming years, it will probably be based on in part on Pakistani technology".
It is impossible to 'overstate' the risks if a country is like Saudi Arabia or Syria ever develops nuclear weapons because of Dr Khan's help. "Mr Bush portrays himself as Mr Security, defending America from terrorism, but the paramount security threat we face is a nuclear 9/11, which could kill half a million American in one explosion.... the White House simply can't be complacent about tracking down Dr Khan's other nuclear clients."
The point for us to ponder and debate, even if purely academically, is, first, how a clandestine network as wide as Dr Khan's could go undetected for ever so long? Second, could all that be possible at all without some measure of connivance on the part of some officials? Lastly and more importantly, we need to undertake a critical analysis of the role of nuclear power in a country with a disturbed political base and a less than robust economy.
The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan Army.