A starving child does not belong to a country; he belongs to death
The gradual induction of wild sounds and noises distracted the participants in the acoustically treated Conference Hall. It was an unusual phenomenon. It had never happened before during any of the innumerous meetings, conferences and seminars held in the Conference Hall. The proceedings were disrupted. The participants, mostly businessmen, civil and non-civil bureaucrats looked at each other in disbelief. What actually perturbed everyone was that the wild sounds and muffled noises seemed to surround the Conference Hall from outside. Some of the participants felt frightened.
The Conference Hall is situated on the 12th floor of Zabardast Plaza on Sharae Faisal, the main thoroughfare of Karachi. It leads you straight to the airport, for taking you away to any part of the world for the treatment of your visible and invisible ulcers. It is only after developing ulcers that you travel abroad frequently. If you are attending a conference in Copenhagen on ‘Economic Development in South-Asian Countries’ then you must realize you have either external or internal ulcers, or both, somewhere on your independent existence.
Most of the participants in the Conference Hall had ulcers for they had undertaken tours abroad more than the entire population of Pakistan put together. As participants in the conference, they were taking stock of the wonderful developments in socio-economic, education, science and technology sectors in Pakistan. They were highly appreciative of the Government’s untiring endeavours to put Pakistan at par with the neighbouring countries.
My job in the Conference Hall was to handle the AV equipment, and facilitate the participants in their presentations. They had come well prepared with paraphernalia to impress each other. The induction of wild sounds and muffled voices obviously upset them. One of the participants, a stout gentleman in his uniform apparently shouted at me, and said, “What nonsense in going on around us? Who is trying to disrupt the proceedings of this conference?”
I turned off the machines, and went to the adjacent room. I removed the blinds and peeped through the window overlooking Sharae Faisal. What I beheld below stunned me. I saw a massive procession of different kind of insects, cockroaches, ants, flies, mosquitoes, fiends, wasps and hornets. Their tearing wild buzzing was frightening. I shivered and instinctively drew the blinds, and gasped. I hastened to the Conference Hall to inform the participants about what I had seen. Before I could enter the Conference Hall, I was restrained by an afterthought. I thought it prudent to be absolutely sure about what I had seen on Sharae Faisal that looked like an unidentifiable mass of insects. I slowly walked back to the adjacent room, and approached the window. I took some time to muster up courage, and then slowly removed the blinds from the window. I placed my elbows on the windowsill, and carefully looked at the moving mass of insects below on Sharae Faisal. Good heavens!
I held back my breath. What I saw earlier was not a mass of insects. Hundreds of thousands of naked children were running like a massive mass together. They appeared hungry and sick. As they ran they constantly gazed at the cloudless sky, and chanted slogans that I couldn’t comprehend. Entire scenario was baffling.
I returned to the Conference Hall and apprised the elite participants about what I had seen on the Sharae Faisal. Most of the participants retorted, and said, “Impossible. We do not have starving, sick and naked children in Pakistan.”
“I have seen them moving like a mass of insects.” I said, “They were chanting slogans.”
“This Government has brought about qualitative change in the life of the children.” A big participant appeared annoyed. He said, “I think they are children from an enemy country with intent to tarnish the image of Pakistan.”
A non-civilian participant said, “Go, and find out who they are.”
It did not take me more than a minute to reach the ground-floor. I rushed out of Zabardast Plaza, and plunged into the massive swamp of naked, hungry and sick children. They were chanting, “Bhojan hai, roti hai-roti hai, bhojan hai.”
An old man was standing close to me. I asked him, “What is bhojan?”
“Its food in Hindi.”
“Don’t tell me they are Indian children!”
The old man smiled mysteriously, and said, “Some of them are Indian, and some of them are Pakistani children. They are asking for food.”
I asked, “Why are they running?”
The mysterious man said, “They are running after the missiles.”
Puzzled, I asked, “What missiles?”
“The ones recently launched by Pakistani and Indian scientist.” The mysterious man said, “The starving children of India and Pakistan believe the missiles carry food, clothes, books and shelter for them.”
Surprised, I exclaimed, “Then this is a joint procession of the starving children of India and Pakistan!”
“A starving child doesn’t belong to a country,” the mysterious old man said. “A starving child belongs to death.”
