Karachiites really are a wonderful people. While living in such violence-ridden times they have been able to save their souls, alive to the higher values of life and responding with the enthusiasm and the aesthetic feelings available to them. Such a festival held in Karachi is itself a befitting reply to the dehumanising forces active in the city.

Writers, artists and scholars coming from different parts of Pakistan and abroad engaged in discussing literature, the arts and humanities in general, three to four sessions taking place simultaneously. In each session the house appeared full and when a particular book or author was under discussion listeners rushed at the end of the talk to bookstalls on the veranda to purchase the book. The next moment they were seen getting the book signed by the author and having a photograph taken with him or her. What a galaxy of writers was present — of Urdu, Sindhi, Punjabi and English. Each one, while under siege from his or her admirers, engaged in signing books under the glaring eye of the camera.

Was not all this a wonderful spectacle, a fitting reply to those prophets of doom who keep telling us that the book, more particularly the literary work, is no longer in demand and that writers are now isolated and estranged from their readers? But now, amidst this throng of excited readers, the prophets of doom stand exposed.

With equal enthusiasm this newly emerged literary crowd welcomed and listened to the guests from abroad. They appeared excited and curious to meet the chief guest from India, Dr Rajmohan Gandhi, the esteemed grandson of Gandhiji, the great Indian leader held in high esteem, enjoying the status of a mahatama. His keynote address at the inaugural session of the festival was listened to with rapt attention and respect.

Gandhiji was an enigmatic personality and often his behaviour appeared puzzling even to his admirers and devotees. Here, too, the listeners appeared to be curious about this great personality and asked a number of questions. One such question asked was about Gandhiji’s relationship with his devotee, Meera. Dr Rajmohan explained this relationship in a convincing manner, calling it platonic.

The way Dr Rajmohan talked was indicative of his grandfather’s influence. Howsoever provocative the question, Gandhiji listened to the questioner calmly and then spoke softly, explaining his point of view in a convincing way. Dr Rajmohan, too, behaved the same way, listening to each question attentively and then speaking softly, explaining the situation.

Leaving aside the discussions in the sessions I was able to attend, I would like to point out a strange phenomenon I observed during the session of dastaangoi. I should trace this strange phenomenon from the recent years when two English translations of the age-old Dastaan-i-Amir Hamza, one following the other, were published in the West, and attracted the attention of Western readers of fiction. Here in Urdu, the whole tradition of dastaangoi stood rejected from the times of Sir Syed’s reformative movement. But now an interest in this tradition seems to have revived. Meanwhile, two young men from Delhi, Mahmood Farooqui and Danish Hussain, staged their entry on the literary scene as dastaangos and captured the attention of the modern audience. They also made an appearance at the Karachi Literature Festival (for the second time in two years). Clad in the traditional dress of the dastaangos, along with their mannerism, they started reciting a dastaan picked out from Tilism-i-Hoshruba and instantly captured the attention of the modern audience. For them, it was a new experience to listen to an age-old story told in age-old Urdu. And how captivating they found it.