FOLLOWING is a chapter from the personal diary of my mystic friend, Jogi. I reproduce it with his permission:
Wonder boy Selani, the wanderer of Khuda-ki-Basti came along with the gang of his friends in tatters, and asked, “Uncle Jogi, what happened to Khuda?”
“Khuda, who?” It was a startling query. I asked, “Khuda Bukhsh, or Khuda Dino?”
The wonder boy looked at his friends, and then exclaimed, “Don’t tell us you know nothing about Khuda!”
“I know most of the Khuda Bukhshs and Khuda Dinos living in Khuda-ki-Basti.” I said, “But, I know nothing about their predicament.”
Selani leaned back against the window, and retorted, “You have gone nuts, Uncle Jogi.”
I did not contest Selani’s statement. I have begun believing I have gone nuts. Many people in Khuda-ki-Basti have often expressed concern over my mental health. They believe I belong to the coterie of 50 million partially or totally deranged persons in Pakistan. I have never contradicted the statement of the citizens of Khuda-ki-Basti, the massive slum around Mangho Pir hillocks in Karachi. Mainstream politicians have affectionately conferred the title of Mini Pakistan on Khuda-ki-Basti. You will come across every type of wretched persons of Pakistan living in the God-forsaken enormous slum of the country.
A young neurologist who believes is reincarnation of Doctor Kotnis, takes good care of me. A world-famous film on the life of Doctor Kotnis was produced in India a few years before the partition of the subcontinent. The reincarnated young doctor lives with us in the Khuda-ki-Basti. He had treated the grievous head injuries I had sustained in Burma during the greatest war of the millennium gone by, the 20th Century. He thinks I have not yet recovered from the trauma of the Second World War.
“Jogi, I am sorry to reveal there is something physiologically and psychologically wrong in your head.” Doctor Kotnis (reborn) repeatedly takes me in confidence, and asserts, “Unless you firmly believe you are an insane person, you will not be able to respond positively to my treatment.”
My only answer to Dr Kotnis has been, “Unless you show me one sane person in mini Pakistan I will not be able to respond to your pills.”
In such an awesome backdrop, Selani, the wandering wonder boy of Khuda-ki-Basti, came to me and asked, “What happened to Khuda?” After an altercation, it transpired Selani was actually wondering what happened to Khuda of ‘Khuda Hafiz’ the parting words that had echoed in Pakistani culture for more than 50 years! Pakistan Television Corporation and Pakistan Broadcasting Corporation, without making it clear to the viewers and listeners, swapped ‘Khuda’ with ‘Allah.’ Thus, at the end of the transmission the pretty announcers and anchorpersons instead of ‘Khuda Hafiz’ began announcing, ‘Allah Hafiz.’ The swapping of Khuda with Allah baffled wonder boy Selani and his tinny friends. Pakistanis, being highly electronic media afflicted people, took to refurbished parting salutation overnight.
“You have disappointed us, Uncle Jogi,” Selani announced. Before leaving he said, “We’ll find out why they replaced Khuda with Allah.”
“Just hold on, Selani.” I asked, “Tell me, in fact what is bothering you?”
Selani said, “All our life we have fought and sworn at each other in the name of Khuda, ‘Khuda ki qasam I’ll break every bone in your body;’ ‘Khuda ki qasam I’ll break your teeth.’ Swearing in the name of Allah doesn’t sound convincing, ‘Allah ki qasam I’ll break every bone in your body; ‘Allah ki qasam I’ll break your teeth,.”
“Khuda-ki-Basti has its own charm.” A small boy asked, “Would they give our slum a new name, Allah-ki-Basti?”
I thought of Iffat Villani, a dazzling nightingale of yesteryear in Karachi University. We were together in the department of Political Science. She was in love with Badar Ibrahim, a fiery-orator-turned-violent-student-activist against the Marshal Law regime of General Ziaul Haq. In the name of Khuda (Khuda ki qasam) they had affirmed, if separated they won’t forget each other. It so happened later on in a clash with Police that Badar Ibrahim was riddled with bullets, and he died on the spot. Since then Iffat Villani dearly remembers Badar. She has not married. I, being Badar’s bosom friend, Iffat occasionally talks to me on telephone in my office.
The boys withered. I felt compelled to talk to Iffat. I picked up the receiver, and dialled Iffat’s number. After a few moments of the ringing of the bell she responded. I said, “Iffat, you know they have swapped Khuda with Allah, and thereby have absolved people like you from the oath they had taken in the name of Khuda!”
Surprised, she said, “I don’t understand Jogi, what you are talking about!”
“You are no more under obligation in the name of Khuda to remember Badar Ibrahim.” I said, “Now you are at liberty to forget him.”
“Khuda or no Khuda, it is something else that keeps you perpetually in the state of oneness with someone seemingly separated from you.” Iffat Villani said, “It is the everlasting sense of belonging that keeps loved ones together without apparently being together.”
