Dada Dervish, one of the few surviving stalwarts of the Pakistan Movement, occasionally goes berserk. In his frenzy, he tears apart his clothes, dumps garbage on his shaven head, and heads towards Quaid-i-Azam’s mausoleum
I SPENT the thrilling New Year night with my friends in an unusually elaborate bungalow situated in the heart of Phase V of Defence Housing Authority, Karachi. It was after innumerable years that we celebrated the arrival of a New Year with crazy fanfare without harassment from repugnant elements. The New Year night converged into an unforgettable gleeful night of mirth and merriment that we friends, male and female, spent together till early in the maiden morning of the year, 2004 AD.
I do not remember who dropped me at my apartment in Defenceless Housing Society. Tired and sapped out, I woke up late in the afternoon. The hangover of the events of the last night almost broke me down. I played a CD of soothing piano recital by Topaz Gurgo of Mexico, and sprawled on the bed. Suddenly, the constant ringing of the phone teased me. I picked up the receiver, yawned and said, “I am not at home.”
“Listen to me Gapu.” It was a call from Sodai, a jewel among my friends. He said, “My great grandfather has gone berserk. This morning, he tore his clothes and dumped garbage on his shaven head, and left the house.”
“You ought to have stopped him, Sodai.” I rebuked him, and said, “What kind of an incorrigible great grandson are you?”
“Weren’t we together last night?” Sodai sounded sarcastic. I realized Sodai was with me during the unforgettable night of mirth and merriment. Sodai said, “Let us find Dada before he reaches Quaid’s mausoleum.”
I reluctantly got into my ancient mini Morris, cursed the old man, and headed for Quaid-i-Azam’s mausoleum. While coming from Ramaswami, I was caught in a traffic jam near Jubilee Cinema. In sheer desperation, I looked at the heavens, sighed and suddenly felt sorry for the old man.
Dada Dervish, Sodai’s great grandfather, is around 90 years of age. He shuns converses, and prefers to remain silent. He is one of the few surviving stalwarts of the Pakistan Movement. If you happen to see him and talk to him, you won’t believe Dada occasionally goes berserk. But he does. In his frenzy, he tears apart his clothes, dumps garbage on his shaven head, and departs for Quaid-i-Azam’s mausoleum.
Dada’s family first experienced his fury when General Ayub Khan terminated democracy when Pakistan was in its infancy, and imposed martial law. Dada tore his clothes, dumped garbage on his head, and vanished from his house. The family members went in searched for him in Saddar, Clifton, Keamari, Khalikdina Hall and the Theosophical Society Library, but in vain. Later, in the evening, Dada surfaced at the Quaid’s mausoleum, and created panic among the public when he indulged in a monologue with the Quaid-i-Azam. He said, “This is to inform you, Father of the Nation, that within 10 years of your passing away, a man who had contributed nothing towards the creation of Pakistan has chosen to be our ruler.” Dada was caught and tried, and was declared insane by the court.
He spent six months in a mental asylum. His kith and kin brought him back, and rehabilitated him. Thereafter, most of the time he was seen sitting alone in the foyer. At times, he walked for hours at the seashore. Nothing untoward happened till General Ayub Khan consolidated his rule, and assumed the rank of Field Marshal. He then abandoned his uniform and got himself elected as the democratic, civilian President of Pakistan through his engineered assemblies.
Dada tore clothes, dumped garbage on head, and disappeared from the house. He reappeared at the Quaid’s mausoleum and talked to the departed leader, and said, “Do you see what a mockery he has made of your country?”
Before we could restrain him, he was apprehended and was tried, and declared insane. He spent more than a year in the Giddu mental asylum. When Pakistan disintegrated in 1971, Dada neither tore his clothes nor dumped garbage on his head. After six years, when General Ziaul Haq took over Pakistan, Dada remained unconcerned. His indifferent attitude surprised us. But, when General Ziaul Haq took off his uniform, and got himself elected democratic-civilian President of Pakistan through handpicked assemblies, Dada tore clothes, dumped garbage on his head, and spoke to Quaid-i-Azam, and said, “If we were not suited to democracy, then why did you strive for Pakistan?”
Dada was apprehended, tried, and was incarcerated in the Giddu mental asylum for a longer period of time. After many years, when he was allowed to go back home, we found him speechless. He hardly talked. Like a caged lion, he constantly paced between the walls of his room.
While stranded in the traffic jam, I failed to fathom a plausible reason for Dada’s recent frenzy, and that, too, on the first day of the New Year.
It took me some time to reach the mausoleum. I saw Sodai sitting on the pavement. He looked at me, and said, “They have taken Dada away.”
“Have the graduate members of the Assemblies legalized back-door entry to power through their vote?” I asked.
A tired Sodai said, “I don’t know.”
“What did Dada say to Quaid-i-Azam?” I asked.
Sodai reproduced the last dialogue of his great grandfather, “No amount of legal, political and constitutional manoeuvring would redeem the Ayub Khans at the altar of history. They would go down in history as dictators, and their rule, martial law.”
