THE FALCON OF ZAMANABAD BY AREESHA MEHWISH-PAKISTAN
The Falcon of Zamanabad
The sky was adorned not with blue paint but the colors of victory. The aroma of triumph enlightened every heart and every soul in the stadium. The last wicket fell and so did the morale of the rivals, engraving a mark of contentment and disbelief among Pakistani spectators. March 25, 1992, a year that witnessed the rise of a leader among a crowd of sheep. In one hand he, drenched in sweat of struggle and success, held the trophy and in the other he held a microphone. He dedicated the trophy beyond the borders of his country. To whom? Neither a pal nor a relative but his spiritual mentor. The Almighty. It all started from a flicker of hope ignited from a minute victory that lead to the sketching of a resolute vision followed by timeless haters, manipulators and dangerous power conflicts. The crowd screamed and roared, filled with overwhelming happiness of victory but behind that scream there was something broken, bleak and shattered waiting to be led.
He was the kind of man who never crossed the threshold of aristocracy. He was admired and followed by many but touched by none. Living a life that was embellished with every iota of nobility, class and status, what else was required? He had honor, privileges and wishes fulfilled in the blink of an eye but, something was missing. Something that roared in his blood without making it obvious to people. It was devotion. Perhaps, Fate. Whatever it was, it was beginning of something beautiful. He was the one whom people dreamed of treading the same route as his but only some got the privilege to do so. He wore confidence and self-esteem like a second skin. His staunch belief in divine and his soul-trenching urge to fight, to create and to lead, carved a path of attainment for his desire to bring not only trophies in stadiums laced with spectators but, a hope, a vision, among people with goals, mocked at and dreams laughed at. He was a man of two legacies.
He was Saddam Wali Khan……
When the flashes of cameras faded in the background of silent screams of his country, that felt louder than the roars of any crowd in stadium, he was left with only one question…..Now What??
And then the real match begin.
April 25th, 1996.
The soft whispers of dawn illuminated the streets of Zamanabad, a chaotic and lively town of Islamabad. Every nook of the town was entangles in the hushes of dreams, unaware of a storm being surged beneath.
The day when he took the very first initiative to silence the desperate cries of people enduring injustice, oppression and cruelty since years of torment. He was immersed in knitting a speech, in his diary, for the inauguration of his party, when he heard a knock at his door. He was seated at his chair, a silent witness of his sleepless nights, veiled cries to Almighty and a friend offering shoulder when he found no one to rely on. A man, in his mid 30s, stepped in his living room and sat on the couch in front of him. He was not his relative but his childhood friend who had endured ups and downs with him and bore his secrets in the pit of his heart. He was Hashim Kamal. He puts his pen down when Hashim started to speak.
Hashim: You know it’s not going to be as easy as winning a trophy. Though that wasn’t easy as well, i suppose (he chuckled in between) but you …….
(He cut him off as if he had gone through this conversation million times.)
Saddam: If you think repeating the same phrase over and over will let my guard down then it is not going to happen now.
Hashim: I am not asking you to step back. I am only concerned about what will happen if you will not be successful. You know giving someone a flicker of hope and withdrawing from it is more painful than not fulfilling it from the start …..
Saddam: I am not giving them hope. I am giving them a reason to rise and change.
Hashim: But what if……
(He cut him off again)
Saddam: Those who try to look for shelter under the shadows of what ifs, they never get to reside under the light of what is. History isn’t made by those who doubt. It is made by those who Dare!!!
And he left silently, with the diary he was writing on.
As the clock on the wall stuck 5:00 in the evening, he got ready for the inauguration of his political party. He did not hurry to the opening rather he bowed down in front of the Almighty, his only spiritual mentor, and just prayed for one thing, “Ya Allah, Let my hands carve something that my name would never own.”
The struggle and efforts indulged in bringing his vision into limelight took months of efforts and now finally he was going to declare it openly. The thing that gave many, a chance to look down on him, mock him and undermine his vision was the absence of public. It was supposed to be a day where people would listen to him, his vision, and his aims but there were not many. Consequently, he was attacked by narrow mindedness and sharp sting of haters. As the banners waved and people that barely filled the park gathered, his party was launched with a motive not of hollow words or fake assurances but of radiant hope and well-guarded future. Embraced with the sole ambition to shed the barriers of corruption, he uttered not as a slogan but as a vow;
“This ….. This is the beginning of NAYA PAKISTAN.”
As the sun drowned, contrasting the dream that once shone bright like the suns’ first light, so did the hopes of many in his newly formed party. Those who were under the spell of his name, now were mocking him and his vision. At night, after the underwhelming inauguration, he was seated with Hashim Kamal when, one of his party member, Hamid Malik, a shallow and vein personae, stepped in the room and threw a sarcastic comment his way laced with implicit jealousy and envy.
Hamid Malik: Well, when you have got that face and a world-cup behind you, people just assume that you are good enough to run a country too…
(Before Hashim could defend him, he was interrupted by Saddam himself.)
Saddam: You see this is what distinguishes us Hamid. You want applause and I want change.
Hearing such bluntness made Hamid to re-evaluate of what he has just uttered. But, he left silently burning in the fire of hypocrisy and embarrassment.
The next day.
He was seated with effortless composure when the storm in his mind halted due to the phone ringing beside him on the table. It was one of his eager and youngest member of his party, Muraad Shah. He was an utterly devoted and sincere member, an ally he came across amidst the establishment of the party.
He used to call him Kaptaan. When he answered the phone, Muraad on the other hand was on cloud ninth. Thrilled beyond words, he burst out:
Murad Shah: Kaptaan! I got a call from a journalist who is currently serving in the biggest media industry. He exclaims, he desires to promote your vision far and wide. He wants to share it with the world.w
Saddam: Who is he?
Muraad Shah: Hasaam Wajdan. The one who …….
Saddam: I know him. (He cut him off abruptly) .He stands tall among other journalists who compromise their integrity for bare profits.
Muraad Shah: This could be the beginning Kaptaan.
Saddam: This is the beginning.
July 21st, 1996
The day, when he appeared on televisions across the globe, this time not as a cricketer but as a reformer, a revolutionary and a transformer.
The host’s tone was laced with witty, backhanded compliments. The audience laughed when the host asked;
Host: You have witnessed stadiums roaring your name wildly. Now, hardly a hundred or less clapped at the launch of your party. Should we call this a fall from the glory…??
But his response amazed everyone when he replied:
Saddam: The day recognition and applause become my drive, remind me to quit.
In 92s world-cup, when I said we are destined to bring the cup home, they all mocked me. I am used to endure such minute storms.
Host: What are your anticipations for the upcoming elections, sir?
Saddam: Bringing a change in a country like Pakistan is a hard nut to crack. If people do not vote, they won’t liberate from the shackles of oppression. I am not here to win but to bring change. I prefer losing hundreds of elections rather than aligning with the interests of criminals.
The spirits of audience choked up after encountering someone who poured his soul in his words. His utterances gained him a round of applause. The kind of cheering that is not echoed by request but respect. On his way back, he got a call from his house-worker that he is being anticipated by someone.
When his car reached the parking-lot, the sound of engine halting, rumbled. But the silent whispers of change were roaring. He stepped in his living room when he found a quite unexpected person seated already. He was Rizwan Zulfiqar, a pure diplomat and chairman of PLP party. He was not alone. He was accompanied by Hamid Khan which was quite odd. Saddam took a seat without greeting. He was well aware of the staunch vanity that carved his activities.
Rizwan: Pardon me for the unannounced visit Khan Sahib!! But I perceived having a conversation with tea in hands would replace hostility and make more room for peaceful negotiations.
Saddam: People with pure instincts do not look for calm behind closed doors.
Rizwan: Let’s stop this competition Khan Sahib. Join hands with us. We will bestow’ you with real power that won’t demand interviews of such lower caliber to give voice to your vision.
Saddam: The power which is given is the power that is controlled.
Rizwan was well aware of his vow to serve rather being served. He stood up from his seat and fixed his cuff links and said:
Rizwan: The ball is in your court now .It depends on you how you play the game.
Your next move will determine the fate of your people.
Saddam: The ball was never yours to begin with. I am not that man who blindly follow such doctrines that are based on debates behind closed doors. I engrave the rules on ground, where my people stand.
Rizwan: You won’t be able to run a country based on your ideals.
Saddam: That speaks for itself. You held the reigns of the state and pushed it into the mud of your own boots.
Rizwan: Then that’s final. You are bound to be alone.
Saddam: I will prefer being alone rather than being beside the wrong person.
Rizwan, after enduring such level of disgrace wrapped in the veil of negotiations, left. He had neither expected nor encountered such sort of bluntness form someone who had just stepped into the world of politics. He was burning in the fire of revenge after being a victim of sever attacks of self-esteem and sheer will. But one thing was vivid that something was about to change. Soon.
September 10th, 1996
The dusk was prevailing like Sun had to struggle its way to reach its destined horizon. The elections were at the wake of just four months now. His party leaders were seated. Amidst the negotiations of elections campaign, Muraad Shah, put forth an opinion of a procession to give a wakeup call to the mass. His stance was backed up by everyone yet opposed by one. By whom? Hamid Malik. But his opposition held no ground in front of solid arguments by party leaders. The main agenda was to ensure the commitment of members with their allotted tasks.
The first official procession of his party was going to be held in the massive area of Islamabad. His party members and his followers showcased an equally devoted participation required to hold the power show. Amidst the preparation of procession, when everyone was ensuring the security checks of area, he devoted his time to his spiritual guide. The Almighty. He believed that when you put your whole faith in Almighty, you stop chasing people and start chasing goals.
21st September, 1996.
The day of procession.
The sun dozed off among the clouds, once filled with sorrow and bleakness, but now depicting a contrasting picture, hovering above the modest crowd gathered in the park. People had gathered there. Some were dragged by curiosity. Many had come due to loyalty and most just stood, neither due to devotion nor any interest. Just waiting for proof.
Saddam Khan addressed the procession, unlike any other political leader. He was holding a mic that cracked every now and then. Neither a bulletproof glass nor a scripted speech. Just his words, suffice to tore apart the chains of slavery, that were tied to people souls. He spoke and his voice roared across the hustling roads of Islamabad. His stances, laced with unyielding drive to pull the trigger made everyone think outside the box. He said:
“They say politics is not like cricket. I won’t stand here. They are not aware that it was cricket that unveiled the knowledge of standing on my ground when I was being opposed by odd ones. I am not here to play a game but I am here to end one.”
A person in the crowd clapped. It was acmpanied by a massive round of applause. He smiled. He knew that though it was not the destination but it was the spark.
At night,
The party leaders were gathered in his living room debating over the recent procession. His social media campaign was fueling his tonight’s event with professional covering and highlighting his utterances under the light of truth and legacy. One of his party members, driven by a foreign influence tries to sow a seed of division among the members. It was Hamid Malik.
Hamid Malik: Khan Sahib! You gave a marvelous speech but people demand actions, not words. Don’t you think so?
Muraad Shah: He had given directions precisely and besides it was just the initiative, sir.
Hamid Khan: But what if people do not vote for you because a path carved through mere words leads to nowhere. Perhaps we should revise our captaincy.
(Before Hashim Shah could interfere due to his emotional attachment with Saddam, He gets interrupted by Saddam and stays silent.)
Saddam: I am not running after seats Hamid. I am here to serve. Those who merge politics with power can never comprehend the true meaning of purpose.
Hamid Khan: Well, not everyone desires to serve. Some possess the urge of seats. They shouldn’t be here then??
Saddam: I am not afraid of losing people who shield their real faces by wearing the masks of doubts and criticism. I am afraid of keeping them with me in my journey.
Hamid Khan was silenced the third time by him since he had joined his party. His party had been facing ups and downs every now and then, but the members were eager to surpass any barrier for the sake of Saddam and his pure motive, and that undid him in words can’t express.
The elections countdown had begun.
The preparations were on peak and the temptations from the rival parties rose with each passing day. After nights of prolonged debates, the party’s slogan and motto was formally introduced while reflecting on the core vision and message of party. The symbol of the party was Falcon. On the surface, it was merely a mark of identification but at its core, it carried the glimpses of zeal and unwavering ambition of Khan. The slogan of party was chose not formally but abruptly. When? Amidst the very first procession of the party, Saddam Khan uttered randomly: We do not yoke for victory, we yoke for Change.
The election campaign.
Under the scorching rays of Sun, reflecting not only the dryness of the day but also the unyielding spirit of local mass. Hashim Kamal, Muraad Shah and other members of party lead the way. On the roof of a barely loaded truck with, sleeves rolled, mic in hand, drenched in the sweat of faith and belief, stood the hope and future of people. Saddam Khan. The faces of people were knitted with the implicit tale of someone, who had finally found the destiny after years of wandering, aimlessly. People joined, raised the slogans and carved a historical moment under the light of time itself.
Anyone who saw, witnessed and embarked on the same journey could tell that;
This was not just the beginning but also the ending of the dark night of oppression, cruelty and corruption.
At night,
Saddam Khan took a bird’s eye view of the papers scattered before him like dreams of mass, of very time. The papers were vomiting, inks of optimism and change.
He seemed vulnerable. Not by the merciless statements that were thrown in his direction bluntly, but due to the weight of the hopes that were being carried by him as a part of his own body. He did what he always did best. He, concealed with the veil of purity, prostrated before his lord. He neither prayed for him nor his party’s fluctuating dominance but for his people. He lifted his hands in air. The sterile walls of sheer strength and courage, broke down and so did he.
He prayed;
“Ya Allah!! You brought me from a stadium and carved my place in the hearts of people. Bless me with strength and your spiritual guidance to knit a path of an enlightened future for my people. Grant me with resolute faith and do not let me drift from my path. If I ever stumble by the barriers set by destiny, let your sacred threshold be the one where I fall.
Even if they break me, jail me or separate me from my own people, don’t let me forget that Musa (A.S) stood, as a sole force in front of a tyrant too, with only the weapon of belief in his hands.”
The competition was at the verge now. Major political parties were standing against his party. TI, being headed by Saddam Khan. PMP, being led by staunch diplomat, Rizwan Zulfiqar. QAP, being escorted by Asif Ali Nawaz. These three parties were gaining and losing candidates at an equal ratio.
Saddam Khan was aware of the rigging that could be a part of the upcoming elections. He took some bold and massive initiative that were condemned by some his party members but he was aware of the alarming situation that could shatter their vision in the blink of an eye. He addressed 2 processions in one day that made 14 till the end of week. His rivals after catching the glimpses of his hard effort, tried to marginalize his party by firing sarcasms laced with implicit threat accompanied by hypocrisy and envy.
He did not let their bare threats shook the moral of his people. He addressed his people, with unwavering determination and sheer will, to keep their morale high amidst the storm of adversities. His words that took birth from the depth of his soul and heart, functioned as a catalyst in choking up the spirit of the mass. As election were at the breath of a day only, his people had developed a strong union with him. They trusted him not merely with their votes but their future. His utterances led a surge of deep sentiments filled with burning rage of liberation from years of unjust subjugation and oppression.
Feburary 12th, 1997.
The day of elections.
The day of transformation.
Leaders of his party took the reins of ensuring the security in their hands and rode the horse of loyalty and staunch motive in the streets of Islamabad. People who sided with Saddam khan, they had already gathered at their respective polling stations. To cast vote? No. To ensure the holding of free and fair elections.
The day was filled with chaos and confusion. His members effortlessly took hold of the situation and aided in taking appropriate measures to ensure fair polling.
However, at some polling stations, the conflict of unjust counting arouse and it disrupted the whole environment. They burnt the votes, ballet papers and ballet boxes. People, indulged in the practice of snatching and accusing, got injured as well. This incident proved to be a blessing in disguise for the opposition whose eyes were already hunting for an injured deer. They added fuel to fire by blaming the whole crisis on Saddam Khan’s party. The supporters fought and some even hurled stones at the party leaders who tried to ease the situation. Muraad Shah, the youngest of Khan’s party, got injured badly amidst resolving the conflict. The violent behavior of public lead to a verbal war between the leaders as well. There was still hope. Of surviving. Of enduring. Of winning.
As the Sun, blurred by the dusky hints of the weight of what the day held, elections came to an end.
The results were being announced. All eyes were on the votes that every now and then fluctuate by one or two votes. Despite all the efforts of the opposition carry out misconduct in most professional way. The fate of country had already been decided by the people of its own.
When the results were announced, the mouths of the rivals were sealed by the roar of victory of his party. His party leaders were on cloud ninth not only because they won, but due to the fact that something was finally going to be change.
At night,
Saddam was seated, with his members in the same living room, where he once laid the foundation of his party. The party leaders were expressing their sincere gratitude to their sole chairman, built with a heart of steel. There was an unwavering strength in his eyes.
The day came, when his relentless effort bore fruit in form of serving his own country and his people. He became the prime minister. The day he took oath, he promised himself to be the one who serves, not the one who is served. He designated significant authority to his members. Some of his party members left his party, when they were not satisfied with their designated positions.
Then he appeared in his first interview after being elected as the prime minister of Pakistan from winning from such a short margin. He was invited to honor the biggest talk show of the time with his presence. The show was being hosted by Waseem Riaz. He was known for his witty statements, he used to shot bluntly at his guests amidst his interviews. Saddam seated in front of his own people, this time as a reformer not a cricketer. Before the host even formally introduced him, he was surrounded by a massive round of applause, thrown at him uninvited. His smile resonated from the core of his heart. The host was stunned not due to the applause but due to the smiles that were laced on people faces amidst their shattered hopes and broken hearts.
Waseem Riaz: People whole heartedly voted for your aim of Naya Pakistan. Where is it? Behind a podium or buried in the ground?
Saddam: It never said it was an aim. It is a war. There is no war until there is blood.
Waseem Riaz: Impressive. War against whom? Your opposition or corruption?
Saddam: Against years of compromise with people innocent lives.
Waseem Riaz. You got some strong words Khan Sahib. A country can’t run on the fuel of words right?
Saddam: If toying with people’s sentiments and trust is what running a country looks like, then you have knocked on the wrong door.
Waseem: That’s strong and I appreciate it.
This was the first time when someone cut straight through his stinging words. It was him. Saddam Khan.
March 15th, 1998.
One year of his government passed in the blink of an eye. He devoted his heart and soul, in healing the deeply engraved wounds in public’s skin, by concealing them with his own blood and flesh, in the form of developmental initiatives and campaigns that he started for them. He never let his party’s internal conflicts to snatch his soul trenching urge to do something for his own people. Despite his struggle, the rivals always did what they did best. Their endless processions and speeches, laced with blunt mocks and bare threats, shaped a storm of frustration and hindrance in his own followers. His people were did not consider him a leader but as a father. His own processions were laced with massive audience that took the whole power show to peak. Amidst this conflict and chaos situation, he remained steadfast and resolute in breaking the barriers of misconduct. In his second year of government, he took charge of financial misconduct going on in the country. The records have been misplaced, deliberately. Some were worn out under the weight of years of embezzlement and corruption. The tension of the lost records carved a mild chaos among government. Those records include crucial and critical information including illegal assets devoured by politicians of the era.
When the clock stuck 5:00, his phone rang. Once. Twice and then, on the third ring, he answered the phone. It was no one he has expected. It was Alam Faraz. An on song journalist of the time. He was the one who became a mouth piece of downtrodden for lower and middle class. During this chaos, a call from journalist was nothing less than, an uninvited storm.
Saddam answered the phone.
Alam: It’s me khan Sahib.
Saddam: At this hour, I believe you got something big.
Alam: I got what you have been looking for.
Saddam: When?
Alam: I heard you are leaving for an official visit tomorrow. After that.
Saddam: I will let you know once I come back.
And the other side hung up. But there was something lingering deep inside his heart now. A discomfort. Then, he was suddenly interrupted by his party member, Hamid Malik. Out of nowhere, he had appeared. He sat for a brief moment and then left. Saddam noticed glimpses of unsettling mocks on his face. He never let anything despise him but this time, it was fated to be.
After his formal tour to China for initiatives on China Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC). He came back to Pakistan.
April 11th,1998.
The night when he met Alam Faraz. He was sitting in his usual chair with the effortless calm he carried with him. Alam Faraz, a man in his mid-30s, an implicit yet staunch patriot. He had a resolute faith in the stance that it is the blood of a country that runs in our veins and it discriminates our identity from others. The one who sheds blood for one’s country is the one who comprehended the true spirit of liberation and honor. Due to his assertive stances, laced with sheer patriotism, he had become the talk of the town.
He entered and greeted him with the kind of composure only he could bear to carry. He took a seat right next to Saddam’s seat. Their discussion held the key to solve the chaotic riddle of the lost records.
Saddam: Though you are here but, the maddening fire can also swallow you whole if you do not step back.
Alam: I am aware but when it comes to the sovereignty of my country, I will proudly embrace the fire like a flame that was born to be dimed after illuminating what was right after all.
Saddam: Then I would be glad to know the purpose for which you came here.
Alam: The lost records.
Saddam: If you are going to interview me about what I will do? What are my strategies? What were they about, just like other journalists, then you knocked at the wrong door.
Alam: I have them.
Saddam: Why you came to me? You could have gone to them as well.
Alam: Because I know you are at right. I know that they will burn them with their hideous tactics.
Saddam: I won’t invade your space to get my answers. Where are they?
Alam: They are safe with me.
Saddam: Why didn’t you bring them with you then?
Alam: I will. Soon.
………..
It was the night of brining the secrets buried in the pit of hell to light again.
Saddam was seated on his usual chair, anticipating Alam, anxiously.
The sound of new now fading behind the surging flood of unexplainable discomfort in his mind.
Saddam and Alam had already talked on the phone. Alam was on his way to Saddam with the lost records. It was 5:03 when they exchanged formalities on the phone last time. The time was passing like a storm, mirroring the hurricane in his own mind.
Time flew like a wounded pigeon.
It was 8:00 at night, when Saddam called him again but no response.
His concern grew now. He tried Alam’s number again and again.
Until,
His ear, heard distant sound of the journalist speaking on the Television.
The journalist in his calm and professional way threw a bolt of lightning on Saddam’s shoulders.
The journalist said:
“The body of late Alam Khan had been found by police just 1 hour ago near F-9 park of Islamabad. Three bullets had been found up till now……..”
The rest of the sentence left unheard by his ears.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment and cried to his lord in his heart.
One of his tear slipped throw his eye and fell straight on the floor. It was not for the fact that he was deprived of seeking the truth now. It was for losing a loyal, innocent man who was seeking truth despite being a media personnel himself. His heart ached due to the sheer weight of not being able to protect the kind of man who were born from the soil of country.
He closed his eyes again. This time not due to the pain but due to the surge of strong emotions rising, laced with maddening urge of avenge. The last sentence he heard by Alam rang in his ears.
“I would proudly embrace the fire, like a flame born to be dimmed after enlightening what was right.”
The very next day,
He went to Alam’s home. He shared his deepest condolences and heard the cries of his 2 year old daughter.
Despite being the leader of whole nation, he broke when he saw the mourning of Alam’s family. He vowed to avenge his death. He knew it was a murder. He could not care less about what media was barking because their mouths were sealed with the lock of bribery.
His relentless grief over being deprived of a man carved with loyalty and integrity, halted slowly. He started speaking to his people over social platforms. He started carving the other side of picture for his people so the blind curtain of lies and fraud could be lifted.
He started collecting evidence through his hidden sources. He tried to prove that there is a staunch connection between the lost records and murder of Alam faraz. It led a wave of panic and relentless storm in the opposition.
He sat with his party members and everyone gave him solid solutions to cope up with the current crisis. The only one who remained silent amidst it was Hamid Malik. He was silent and that was odd. His party developed a plot to uncover the hidden agenda of opposition. According to Saddam, it was opposition whose hands were involved in murdering Alam Faraz.
As their meeting ended, Saddam asked his closest member, Muraad Shah, to keep a vigilant check on Hamid Khan. Saddam was suspicious of him since the start.
As the nights passed and Muraad remained vigilant. He couldn’t believe his own eyes and ears because he watched the clips and heard Hamid Malik, passing the confidential details of their party related to Alam’s murder to Rizwan Zulfiqar.
Muraad told this to his Kaptaan with evidences and clips that showed Hamid’s vein audacity to still stand in front of him, after betraying them confidently. Saddam did not waste a second more and banned him from his party. However, he did not drag this issue because what accompanied next was even more soul trenching. This time Saddam was prepared to be stuck by any sword because he knew, he had stepped in the test phase by him Almighty and he vowed to be patient.
August 12th,1998.
Saddam was seated on his usual chair but this time he was accompanied by his friend, Hashim Kamal. The news that Hashim gave him was something he had always been prepared for. War.
Hashim: Khan Sahib! Are you even aware of what has been going on behind your back?
Saddam: I am aware of those silent murmurs that ring in my ear every time I want to give up but their mocks and sarcasm bring me back.
Hashim: The assembly will pass the bill Khan Sahib.
Saddam: (He smirked) Are you afraid, Hashim? There’s no need when the one who is capable of knitting our fates is already watching, hearing and knowing.
Hahsim: They will put you behind bars Khan Sahib. My heart doesn’t yield infront of it.
Saddam: Let them do what they want.
Hashim: You won’t regret losing your government if the No Confidence motion succeeds?
Saddam: What do you think?
Hashim: You should be. You had put your heart and soul in bringing life to this party. I cannot even imagine…
Saddam cuts him off again and says:
Saddam: I know it will succeed but I will never regret. I came for waking my nation up and I already got what I wanted. Ruling had never been my motive. I came to clean this corrupt system and my people stood by me and I did it.
This time Hashim nodded not forcibly but purposefully. Saddam stood up and left.
…………..
Months passed.
The protests from Saddam’s people continued amidst his government because of the movement rising against him. His supporters were burning with storm of fire and hate directed at every person who stood between them and their leader.
No motivation could halt what was bound to come.
November 20th, 1998.
A day carved in the history as a black day.
People were gathered outside Parliament. Their hearts awaiting their leader. Their eyes were locked on the closed doors, mirroring their futures that would either lit up or would be concealed in a grave like darkness. Their eyes, welling with unshed tears of hope and optimism.
Behind closed doors, another story was being knitted.
Of future.
Of ending or beginning.
Of Hopes that would either be shattered or carved from a new end.
The voting was initiated under the supervision of speaker of assembly, Attarullah Niazi. The expressions on Saddam’s face lit up with every vote against him. The eyes of his party members welled up with every passing moment now.
When the voting came to end, so did the esteemed governance of Saddam Khan. The faces of opposition were laced with boastfulness with sarcasms and wittiness was dripping from them.
The moment the news reached the ears of his supporters, laced with sheer love and unending loyalty to him, they broke down. Some of them even tried to break through the closed doors and surround their leader. There was a chaos in the country, the minute the news hit the television screens.
People cried as one does for someone of their own. Because to them, he was never a leader. He was a father. A man who finally listened to their dead language that was taking its final breaths in the pit of their chained hearts. However, Saddam khan left the PM house, with the same diary he had once stepped inside. There was no regret on his face but juts an unwavering calm that one gets to experience after satisfying their conscience.
He gave only one statement while leaving:
“I stepped inside without anything but belief. Power was never my destination. It was only the resource to unveil the vanity that was crushing my people since years. It is not the end. It will end only when we will be able to reside freely in our NAYA PAKISTAN.
Pakistan Paaindabad!”
Saddam khan’s government ended just after 2 years approximately but the impression he engraved on people’s hearts lasted forever. He continued his struggle. The members of his party, left him except for three or more.
Januray 1st, 1999.
After demolishing Khan’s government, a care taker prime minister was selected to carry on the activities till general elections. The country was facing economic crisis as well as political instability.
Saddam Khan understood the need of the hour and led out a massive protest against the existing government. He gave a call to his supporters. His social media activists worked efficiently in extending his call for TEHREEK-E-SACH. His supporters stood by him as he led a massive rally. However, their peaceful protest was disrupted when the officials opened fire on them. His party workers surrounded their Kaptaan. There was a chaos as the officials threw chemical mist towards their own netizens. The people threw them back, they endured the violence while safeguarding their leader. Some of officials got injured and some died as well.
As the night of terror came to an end, so did the liberation of people.
The case of killing government officials had already entered the threshold of Supreme Court. Saddam Khan, led with a massive flood of his supporters, entered the court, the petition was filed against him. They had claimed, officials were killed as a result of orders that were instructed by Khan himself. The judges were crushed under the sheer weight of orders from higher ups.
Standing in front of court and comprehending the situation of the judges, he stated just one remark:
“When the courts of a country close the doors of justice on their people, not even a miracle can save that country from drowning in sea of disgrace and humiliation”.
However, the court’s verdict came against him. His expressions did not change. They remained firm. He looked up to the sky and stated:
“I rest my case to you, my lord!”
He came out of the court, his either sides were surrounded by officials. His hands did not hold a diary this time rather they were laced with hand cuffs. His supporters tried to free him from the chains but he stopped them, himself.
How could they see someone being caged when he was the only one who taught them the true meaning of liberation, freedom and life.
Before leaving for his journey, not as a liberator but as a prisoner this time, he stated:
“They can lock me up, cage me or kill me, but I will not bow before anyone except my lord.”
While looking at the tear streaked faces of his people, he chuckled and says:
“Do not be overwhelmed. One sixer does not mean the other side won the match. The real accomplishment resides in staying forever. Ball after ball and Storm after storm.”
Before sitting in the prison van, he called out again and his voice roared in the broken hearts of his people.
They perceived I came to win the match _ I came to wake a nation.
Today, I realized I did not just wake a nation. I made one.
Then he sat in the van. As their routes parted, the echoes of his words still remained engraved in the hearts of people.
He had not walked away with defeat. He had walked away after igniting a spark of revolution that could never be undone by any prison or any silence.
AUTHOR:
AREESHA MEHWISH-PAKISTAN
Areesha Mehwish is a BS English student at the University of Chenab, Gujrat, who writes with purpose and quiet conviction. Her debut novella, The Falcon of Zamanabad, delves into themes of resistance, truth, and moral struggle. Through grounded and reflective storytelling, she aims not merely to narrate tales, but to inspire thought, courage, and meaningful change.
Comments