It has been more than half a century since the shipcaptained by Mohammad Ali Jinnah set sail for the promised land. But it’s not been a smooth sailing, for mostly the ship has moved against the tide

AS the sun of 2004 sinks behind the line where our vision fails us, I sail along languidly on the now rather tranquil sea in the direction where my sailors expect to find the promised land some day. It has been another 365 days of groping in this wild ocean of the world. Another year when by and large we remained clueless about our direction, although my sailors keep claiming we are out of troubled waters.

People that I carry look weather-beaten and haggard. They have been travelling in my belly for decades and have experienced several storms. Their condition has not improved, especially those poor souls that I like to call the ‘denominator’, because they dwell at the bottom and get ruined by their sheer number despite the glorified statistics that are churned out by the captain and his merry men to satisfy the restless passengers. Many a time they have thought I would fail them and will sink. Yet, somehow, I have remained buoyant, staying afloat. But only just. The truth is that it is the travellers and sailors themselves who have failed me.

If people from a passing ship would cast a serious enough eye on me, they would find it hard to miss the scars that I have because of the rough seas. My bow and stern are in a dilapidated condition. They will pause in amazement for they would not have confronted such regions in the ocean where the tide is so cruel and the ships are tossed ruthlessly. It is the ‘ingenuity’ of my commanders and captains, both past and present, who led me in those vortices of angry storms through their wrong decisions. Their misadventures have cost me and the people I carry very dearly. They have been blind to the spectre of the storm ahead and kept propelling us in the direction where they thought was our destiny. They were shortsighted and could not foresee the wrath of elements in the front. This has been repeated over and over again. The world knows us as a ‘ship of fools’.

The passing vessels would not be in a position to see the damage from inside. The hull’s bottom is a patchwork struggling to keep out the water. The place has become rotten with rats roaming the decks and residential quarters from whom people have little protection, and wooden masts (which should have been changed to iron masts long ago) are no longer strong to keep the square sails in place. It is a ghost ship that may not even interest prowlers and pirates. Its sea-worthiness is questionable.

It is only appropriate that I introduce myself properly. I am an old-fashioned ship of the post-galleon and pre-clipper era, a part warship, part people’s carrier. The oarsmen in uniform take charge whenever the wind ceases to blow. But they are few and not skilful, hence it is predominantly the wind that carries us. I have square sails supported by wooden masts to catch the wind for propelling it forward. Though a bit unusual, I also have three decks. The poor dwell in the lowest part in windowless, dingy compartments. The rich reside on the floor over them in luxury cabins with windows, access to deck with pools, and with private boats to see the world (and escape in time if I cannot remain afloat). The top section is inhabited by the commanders. A separate deck houses a large nuclear gun whose presence has kept pirates and enemies away — a rare achievement of my commanders.

Let me tell you a bit about the history of our voyage. Carved out skillfully after much opposition, Mohammad Ali Jinnah boarded me along with his fellow sailors and a multitude of Muslims. I set sail on that fateful night of August 1947 when streams of blood irrigated the subcontinent. The people who did make it had the opportunity of breathing an air which was not in somebody else’s lien. There was prefect harmony between these Muslims and the discipline of science. They were like oxygen molecules inherently the same, bonded together out of their own free will and moved about their ship like electrons orbiting nucleus with complete abandon. Quantum mechanics was finally visible through the naked eye in the shape of the passengers on the ship. Another small ship containing Muslim brethren also embarked on the journey along with a mammoth Hindu ship on the same day. The smaller ship was supposed to be an extension of myself. It was sailing on the other side of the giant Hindu vessel, yet our small boats continued to visit the small ship to let the prying eyes know that it was not alone.

The ship of promise now stands scuttled. The commanders who followed Mohammad Ali Jinnah stalled our progress due to their greed and incompetence. The small boat chartered its own course when they rightly realized that our commanders were no longer keen to see it stay afloat. Mutinies have been common throughout history and any number of William Blighs were sent to far away shores.

Let me take you to the present. In 2004 we had several explosion inside the ship. Gun powder was harnessed to kill our own passengers. There are demagogues who have managed to divide the people and have instilled strong hatred in various sects against each other. Each explosion damages the ship internally. Instead of sailing forward, my people end up plugging the leaks round the year. We have travelled in many directions, yet we keep coming back to find ourselves in the same waters from where we started.

The world says we carry stowaways hidden inside the ship who are criminals. In order to flush them out, my commanders lit fires in the darkest nooks to search for them. The flames at times were difficult to control and burnt some of our own people. Fire like jealousy cannot tolerate others in her path and spares nothing. The search for stowaways is being done at the risk of burning the entire ship. My commanders should know the stakes in the games. The sooner they stop using fire to hunt these stowaways the better.

The year saw a change of captain midway. Captain ZJ, the physically stout yet directionless sailor, was shown the door and was replaced by a seaman who has managed trade and small merchant ships in the past. Captain ZJ was too good a listener for his own good. He wanted to please all sailors by letting them know that their suggestion regarding the course of the ship was being given great consideration. As a result the ship did not go anywhere and became rudderless. I will prefer a Captain Ahab anytime over such a consensus builder.

The commander-in-chief changed captain ZJ on the pretext that he was too simple to understand the tricks of the sea. His navigation skills rightly came under question. Along came captain SA with all his knowledge of trade and commerce. He has seen the world, knows how to strike commerce deals, but does not have a stomach to explore his own ship. He wants to speed up the boat without seeing first hand the problems preventing the ship from making progress. He needs to take the trip to the bottom portion where the state of the poor is making the hull weak. Deckchair reformists might see ominous icebergs but are usually the last ones to know that the hole in the ship has invited the sea for a mouth-watering feast.

2004 saw the greatest remission of the decade when an old prisoner was allowed to come out of imprisonment. His wife has had the privilege of being my skipper. Those were heady days when people, especially the poor majority, believed they would be able to visit the deck if only to have a look at the grandeur of the sea. But when people at the helm get drunk with power, they forget that hopes of millions rest on them. Soon, mutiny struck and she managed to escape through a lifeboat; but the hubby was arrested for his presumed notoriety. Her party, it seems, has made peace with the commanders and the commanders ever too keen to throw the captain in the seas may well send her a small boat to escort her back.

The distant shores of the most powerful country had the same leader re-elected the year before whose piracy has ruined ship after ship. The large Iraqi vessel was attacked by his men the year before, and it is surprising it has not sunk to the bottom of the sea after what WB the pirate did to it.

A reversed Muslim sailor who fought hard to win his ship back from Israeli pirates died in his quest. In the world that we live a ship once taken over is seldom handed back. In folklore and fairy tales, this man would have won his ship back; but in reality, his life was always going to be short for this gigantic task. The fact that he kept fighting till his last is an achievement in itself. His gift of hope has found permanent residence in his people’s hearts.

The exchange of gunfire between me and the neighbouring ship was not heard in 2004. The cannons have not run out of ammunition; but people on both sides have realized that every cannon fire thrust their respective ships backward. The bigger ship also has a merchant in charge. The treasure chest named ‘Kashmir’ that was stolen from me several years back is safely tucked in his ship. I know at least one thing. Guns will not win it back for me. I have to find other means. The enemy ship is also tired of enmity. If we can become friends, the cannons can be thrown into the water. We both will become lighter and swifter in our sail.

When I began my journey, I had a dream of upgrading myself with time so that my voyage to my destination becomes shorter. Mohammad Ali Jinnah, I am sure, would have brought in steam engines and turbines and screw propellers to substitute sails and masts. Vagaries of wind would then not have been a factor in determining our destiny as we would have chartered our own course. Like that Muslim ship called ‘Malaysia’ did it successfully. Ten years younger than me, it found its promised land and is safely anchored now. It improved its engine power, discarded the sails very early and built cabins for all floors regardless of the poor or the rich. But we have no shore in sight. I drift along with as much uncertainty as there was at the time I embarked on my journey. My sails will continue to catch the wind till we are able to shift to better propellers. We need to harness our people and their strengths and not to shut them at the bottom and let them die of suffocation. Strengthening them will strengthen me internally. Till then, depending on the mercy of the wind, we stay afloat.

Calmer waters lie ahead and there is some hope. Yet my past makes me jittery. But to my credit, I am one resilient boat that has refused to sink after so much tumult. This should alone be a reason for hope. Our anti-clockwise journey needs to be reversed before we reach the eventual horizon.