Sometimes it is better to remain lost in the folds of slumber than be wide awake to experience harsh realities
Waking up from sleep is not a phenomenon. We all wake up without making it obvious. Others do not take notice of our return to the conscious state of mind. But, it was not so when Ghafil woke up from his sleep. Within no time it was rumoured in the neighbourhood that Ghafil had waken up. Most of the male folk brushed aside the rumour, and they headed for their office. But, the bewildered few abstained from going outdoors for work.
Curious men, women, and children headed for the abode of Ghafil, an elderly person in his early 80s. After raising slogans “Lekay rahaingay Pakistan” (“We will achieve Pakistan”), he had gone into sleep on the night of August 14, 1947. His colleagues believed he had receded into coma. The pessimists inferred that without gaining consciousness he would transmigrate into eternity. It was after 58 years that Ghafil had waken up from his sleep on August 14, 2005.
The maternal and paternal nephews of Ghafil were seen standing worried and dumbfounded in front of the house. “Is it true he has waken up?” One of the visitors asked.
“Yes, it’s true.” A nephew replied, “But he doesn’t recognize any one of us, not even his wife, our aunt.”
Once an extremely beautiful girl before time took its toll and left her wrinkled, Faiza, Ghafil’s wife was a firebrand orator and a worker in the women’s wing of All India Muslim League. Many senior and junior stalwarts in the All India Muslim League vied for her. However, it was Ghafil who won her heart. He, at that time, was a fiery activist in the youth wing of All India Muslim League.
“Has he lost his memory?” a bald visitor asked.
“Seemingly yes.”
“Have you sent for a doctor?”
“We have sent for his old friend, Chacha Zaman.”
Zaman was the bosom friend of Ghafil. Both had abandoned studies, and had joined the Youth Wing of Pakistan Muslim League at the peak of Pakistan movement. It did not take them long to identify sycophants, parasites and the fortune hunters within the League who exercised immense influence on the top leadership. Gifted with indomitable will and courage, Ghafil and Zaman had endured trials and tribulations together. Zaman arrived. Although in his 80s, he appeared alert, athletic and jovial. Had he dyed his hair and moustache, he would have looked a romantic person in his 50s. He looked at the Ghafil’s relatives and the neighbours, and remarked, “So he doesn’t recognize anyone among you!”
“Yes uncle.” A nephew replied, “He remembers nothing, not even chachi Faiza. After all she is his wife.”
“He had always been like that.” Zaman remarked, “An idiot.” Zaman entered the abode followed by the kith and kin of Ghafil. He was sitting cross-legged on his cot with a vacant look on his face. Zaman smilingly approached him, and asked, “What is the purpose of your waking up after 58 years when you remember nothing?”
“I remember Faiza. I remember my great friend, Zaman. He had the strength of a bull.” Ghafil looked at Zaman, and asked, “But, who are you old man?”
Zaman went a step closer to him, and said, “I am Zaman, the bull.”
He immediately retorted, “An old haggard can’t be my friend Zaman.”
Zaman escorted Faiza, and said, “She is Faiza, your wife.”
Ghafil looked shocked out of his wits. He said, “A wrinkled old woman can’t be Faiza.”
Bewildered Faiza stepped aback.
“So you remember nothing,” Zaman remarked.
“I remember everything.” The eyes of Ghafil sparkled. He said, “I remember a rat like leader shout at me a little while ago. I distinctly remember he asked me to stop raising slogan. He said we have achieved Pakistan. Now we are free to do anything that pleases us.”
“I was standing by your side then.” Zaman said, “You were dead tired. Thereafter you went into slumber and slept like a log.”
“So you were with me last evening, old haggard.” A mercurial smile flashed across his face, and he asked, “How long have I been sleeping?”
Zaman showed him a calendar, and said, “You have been sleeping for the last 58 years.”
“It is not possible.”
“You have made it possible.”
Bewildered, he asked, “How is Quaid-e-Azam?”
Zaman said, “They hastened his death in a junky ambulance.”
“Oh!” Ghafil recovered from the shock, and asked, “How is Liaqat Ali Khan doing?”
Zaman said, “They put a bullet in his heart.”
He felt confused, and asked, “Have we left behind the other nation we separated from?”
“Of course!” Zaman said, “We have left them far behind in education, science, technology, trade, commerce, industries, communication, tourism, fine arts, performing arts, and cinematography. You name a field, you won’t find them anywhere close to us.” “What about democracy?” Ghafil asked.
“We are the sole manufacturers of different breeds of democracies in the world.” Zaman replied.
“Allahamdulilah.” Ghafil sighed, closed his eyes, and receded in slumber.
