Over the past few years, participating in the ceremony on Remembrance Day to honour those who lie buried in the Karachi War Cemetery has taken on a deeply heartfelt meaning for me. The plea on many a gravestone,

Will some kind hand
In a foreign land
Place a flower
On my son’s grave

transports me to another time, and I say a prayer for all the brave young sons buried far away from their loved ones in our midst. Kemal Ataturk’s words from 1934 also come to mind: “You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace.”

Remembrance Day, also known as Poppy Day, will be commemorated today in Pakistan. Throughout Commonwealth

The 100th anniversary of WWI, three years ago, led to a host of personal discoveries that had long lain buried amongst dust and rust. For this I must thank the British Deputy High Commission (BDHC) in Karachi, which invited family members of veterans to share any memorabilia of both WWI and WWII. Odd letters, postcards, citations, medals and photographs surfaced, and soon a patchwork of experiences came to the fore. Many links remain missing, as that generation did not like to talk about events that brought about painful memories.

My grandfather, Risaldar Ghulam Jilani Khan, served with the British forces in the Afghan War, the China Expedition and WWI. Later, my grandparents sent two sons to WWII. Though my uncle, Sultan Sikander Khan, did not return, my father, Mohammed Yusif Ghaznavi, did. This uncle, Daffadar Sultan Sikander Khan served in the Central India Horse cavalry regiment in North Africa and how he met his fate was never known. He died before I was born but I recall overhearing of his being killed in either enemy bombardment or friendly fire, on land or at sea.

A chance meeting with Richard Hills, Director Commonwealth Graves Commission at the BDHC, a year ago, led to the knowledge that all war casualties are documented. Those who are not in graves found honourable mention on stone columns. My uncle’s name is on one such column in Alamein Memorial, in Egypt. As promised, Richard Hills emailed photographs of where my uncle has lain, forlorn for over 70 years, unbeknownst to his family. His parents, siblings and one son (born after his death), Col. Khalid Sikander, died without ever experiencing closure; that however painful would have provided much needed solace, or have even led to a visit to the cemetery, to place a flower. The discovery brought his one surviving daughter, nephews and nieces both painful yet peaceful closures.

My father, Lt. Col M.Y. Ghaznavi, graduate of King Edward Medical University, Lahore, joined the Indian Army Medical Corps of the British Forces and served as a captain with the 4th Indian Division in North Africa, Greece and Italy. He was Resident Medical Officer with a regiment at the battle of Monte Cassino. While watching actual documentaries of war, I realise now why it was not easy for my father to talk about his experiences. It must have been all the more painful for him, being a doctor, to be in the midst of bloodshed, trying desperately to save the lives of soldiers, only so they could go back to the field to shed more blood.

When I heard of Brig Mahmud Jan, who too had seen action in the famed Monte Cassino campaign and had been wounded by multiple gunshots, and suffered shrapnel injury to the eye, my sister and I went to meet this oldest living veteran. There was no direct connection and yet a bond existed. He was in the same place at the same time that my father was; even if their paths never crossed in the multitudes.

His gracious daughter, Dr Simin Jan, arranged for us to meet her endearingly warm, witty and winsome father. For someone aged 95, he spoke most coherently, and related anecdotes gladly, eyes twinkling. I feel most fortunate to have met this gentleman before he passed away just a few months later, in October 2016, leaving behind a rich legacy of honourable service.

When next I stand to pay my respects at the Karachi War Cemetery I will earnestly hope that Remembrance Day shall one day soon be a celebration of peace rather than mourning the dead. Only then will these fallen heroes be truly commemorated and finally rest in peace. Their sacrifices must not be in vain. Honouring them must never be misunderstood for honouring war, but to find an everlasting peace; one that they strived and died for.

To you from failing hands we throw
the torch; be yours to hold it high.
—In Flanders Field by John McCrae

Till this dream becomes a reality,

Keep fresh the grass upon his grave,
O Rotha, with thy living wave!
Sing him thy best! for few or none
Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.

— Memorial Verses: April 1850 by Matthew Arnoldg

The writer is a grandmother, an educationist and a constant learner

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 12th, 2017