DR JAVAID Iqbal has written a long letter to Allama Iqbal. It was at the age of seven when he had, as he tells us, written his first letter to his father, who at the time was on a visit to London. He had requested him to bring a gramophone for him. Now, at the age of 78, he has felt the need to write again to his dear father, who now lives in the other world. The letter, however, is no less urgent than the one he had written, requesting for a gramophone. He has sought guidance from him in the thick of his doubts about his national identity and the concept of an Islamic state.

This letter is part of Javaid Iqbal’s autobiography, Apna Gariban Chak, published recently by Sang-i-Meel, Lahore. It may be read as the account of a journey from a gramophone to the problems of national identity and an Islamic state — from blissful innocence to a state of doubt and disillusionment. Javaid Iqbal, as he sadly confesses, is an unhappy soul. He has nurtured within himself a host of doubts, that appear to be leading him to a mental state resembling agnosticism. He frankly tells us that religion has no hold on him and he is very much in doubt if religion, in future, will be able to serve the noble purpose of reducing distances between men. In fact, he doubts his very descent as a human being. His guess is that his ancestors, and those of his fellow-beings, were some dumb animals. He wonders how these animals were transformed into speaking animals and began walking on two legs. It, he thinks, must be the will of God, Amr-i-Rabbi.

Coming down from the problems of the origin of Man and the future role of religion to the national scene, he finds himself surrounded by other types of doubts. He sees Pakistan suffering from many maladies — ethnic, linguistic, regional and sectarian. In consequence, a host of questions pursue him disturbingly. Is Pakistan an ideological state? But ideological states don’t last long. Didn’t you see the sad end of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia? Was Pakistani nationalism based on Islam? But Islam could not serve the purpose of national integration.

Such questions go on pursuing him and he becomes unhappy. He is unhappy with the Pakistani nation and also with the political party and its leadership he is associated with. He is unhappy with himself, and perhaps a bit with his father, too, whose ideas in respect of Muslim nationalism appear confusing to him. Perhaps it was under pressure of this unhappiness that he felt compelled to unburden himself of all which had been brewing within him. And that is what makes this autobiography a significant piece of writing. In fact, it is very different from the autobiographies written in Urdu so far. And it is for the first time in the history of Pakistan that a man has dared to raise questions that needed to be raised in the context of our national situation.

The courage shown here should be the outcome of some kind of soul-searching. If he was unhappy with himself, there must have been reasons for it. A few are very obvious. Javaid Iqbal, as we find him in this piece of writing, is a thorough liberal. He could hardly reconcile with the Shariat Bill, as conceived by Mian Nawaz Sharif. But what happened in the Muslim League committee meeting where this bill came under discussion? Khurshid Qasuri spoke against it and was told curtly to leave the party. Abida Husain and Fakhr Imam criticized it, and he tells us that they were labelled as ghaddars. But he remained mum. He says that he was invited to speak, but he deemed it fit not to.

One can only wonder at such compromises that, off and on, have marred his liberalism. But one should also admire him for speaking truthfully, without trying to hide such weaknesses on his part. This kind of truthfulness is something rare in our society.

We can conclude from this that a man good at heart cannot afford to make compromises for long. Any occasion may serve to force him to come out with his true being. It seems that the act of writing an autobiography has served for him such a purpose. In the process, he has developed an extraordinary courage to ask questions in respect of our national situation and our passion for Islam, which so many people among us will find hard to digest. But that is what Pakistan needs at this crucial stage of its history. In fact, it is now that Javaid Iqbal has come out with what Iqbal, in a poem addressed to him, had expected of him.

And how living is his portrayal of Iqbal. Apart from his image of Hakimul Ummat, we find here the realistic portrayal of the man that he was. How realistic and lovable is his submissive attitude in the face of the outbursts of his wife, Javaid’s mother, who like a true housewife complains of his indifference to domestic affairs and earnestly appeals to him to do some job so as to meet the demands of the house. And his immense love for pigeons. How he wished to have a host of pigeons cooing and fluttering around him. And in his last days, his imaginative dialogue with Ghalib and his instruction to Ali Bakhsh to call back Rumi who, according to him, had just left his room. The whole description is fascinating.