The way it was: Aay watan pyaray watan
Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
I believed in cantonments because I am a great believer in tradition and
national heritage, even if aspects of it may threaten to lead to our undoing
Successively and relentlessly most speakers were trying the patience of an
obliging gathering. Yelling in the microphone does not necessarily help ignite
feelings. Striving for repeated crescendos merely makes the voice crack. The
speakers rave and rant while the listeners often remain cold even in hot
weather.
Crammed on a rickety chair on an unsteady stage I observed a girl of not more
than six or may be seven, with a sizeable child astride on her jutting right
hip. She was far too lost in the unruly spectacle of noise and commotion to feel
her burden, but I noticed she had her small bare feet firmly planted, feeling
the dirt where she stood with her hardened small toes.
Visibly everyone was roused with emotions. There was much slogan mongering.
Ill-timed political chanting constantly interrupted the speeches. Steadily the
fragile little thing with the overbearing load trudged to the very edge of the
stage for a better view. Before long when the noise died down, she was noticed
and roughly shooed away by a ruffian. She withdrew without protest. She did not
expect to be treated better.
But I could see a dark shadow cross her sallow complexion and the glitter die
down in her wide black eyes. Suddenly she seemed tired. It was past midnight.
She and her baby brother should have been in bed hours ago. She vanished in the
crowd and in spite of incessant efforts I could not spot her again. I prayed her
mother would not beat her for straying away from their wretched home.
There was another child of about the same age, a precocious boy of somewhat
awkward bearing. He also managed to wend his way to the stage and stood peering
at us with an ingratiating toothy smile. I felt an urge to present him with a
pair of rose garlands, which I did. They lay in a heap on a low table. It was
beyond belief what the boy did next.
He just took off like a missile up and down the narrow aisle thumping his feet
in merriment and would have continued doing so if another lout had not brushed
him aside, as if he was an unseemly insect. I still vividly remember the boy in
a dirty grey shirt, thumping and prancing in jubilation. A mere gift of stray
garlands had pleased him so much that he would not cease dancing like a monkey.
An expensive toy often fails to excite a rich brat, but here was a lad of
another kind, who got excited about so little. Lord forgive us for we know! Nor
it seems we need to know.
It is heart wrenching how thrifty our citizens have become in asking for
favours. In the past they asked for employment, streetlights, sewerage and other
such very basic immunities necessary for their poor existence. Recently I was
startled by a local speaker. They are good because they talk straight from the
heart, without art. Addressing a political corner meeting he declared, “We
don’t want to ask for anything because we know we will not get it. If you can
please just get us a graveyard – a place to die and bury our dead.” This is
verbatim what the old man said.
Adjacent to the constituency NA-97, where I was contesting elections, is the
Lahore cantonment. I remember when I proceeded to London and later Cambridge in
the early sixties for what they call ‘higher studies’, I was baffled at not
finding one there. Frankly, I considered it quite odd for the English not to
have even one cantonment, as I discovered during my travels across England,
Scotland and Wales. In spite of my best efforts I could never manage a trip to
Ireland.
Not being able to locate a cantonment in Great Britain remained an enigma for
me. Like most readers having benefited from cantonments I took it for granted
that cantonments were essential for all respectable cities. I believed in
cantonments because I am a great believer in tradition and national heritage,
even if aspects of it may threaten to lead to our undoing. But who cares? I say,
‘Take it or leave it’, because we are patriotic Pakistani citizens. Should
we then not uphold in high esteem the cantonments?
Recently an old friend, who knew about my commitment to cantonments, sent me a
write up on cantonments explaining what they were all about. According to him,
“The meaning of a ‘cantonment’” according to the Oxford English
Dictionary, 10th Edition, published in 2002 is, “a military camp, especially a
permanent military station in British India.”
When the writer analysed the definition, I am told, in its historic perspective,
it triggered his quest for knowing more. He learnt that cantonments were a
legacy of colonial rule on the British Indian subcontinent. He was surprised
that remnants of these not only continue to exist but are also growing larger.
Apparently there is no concept of such an area in Great Britain itself or
anywhere else in the world – no wonder I did not find one in London or
Cambridge.
The story of cantonments in Pakistan my friend revealed is altogether a
different one. Cantonments in Pakistan consist of palatial residences of serving
and retired generals and senior military officials. Besides there are expensive
clubs, golf courses, all-weather swimming pools, expensive shopping malls, and
restaurants and well-maintained parks.
My friend also points out that in the past cantonments used to have cantonment
boards. Fifty per cent odd seats were reserved for civilians living in the
cantonments for which elections were held regularly. But since the army
considered that they had a right to control the entire country, they also
thought it best to appropriate sole control of the cantonments. In simple words
to quote President Bush, they have introduced, ‘sustainable democracy’, as
opposed to its ‘dysfunctional’ form that had existed before.
“Besides”, the narrative proceeds, “Cantonment Boards of every Cantonment
in Pakistan own vast tracts of land. There is no parallel of such land holdings
anywhere else in the world.” The third page ends with an interrogation, “Has
it (the army) nothing better to do otherwise (than) making big money?”
The treatment meted out to the tenants of the Okara Military Farms is cited as
an example of the army’s callous indifference. The poor tenants have been
cultivating military lands in Okara for over a century. Whereas other tillers of
lands owned by the state have been given ownership rights, the unfortunate
tenants in Okara are not only denied these rights but are living in a state of
constant fear of killings and beatings (and) arrests. They are under ‘total
siege’ since ‘over a year’.
A sad state of affairs! No wonder “people at large frown upon all this and
describe it as... privileged class in uniforms acquiring the undertone of
‘State within State’.”
One would need Goebbles to deny that the Cantonments far from serving any remote
military function have become commercial enterprises. Logically if they have no
military purpose should they not be returned to the city municipal corporations?
And if they have a military dimension why build expensive housing colonies,
which extend literally to nine miles short of the Indian Border? A novel
strategy for defending Lahore.
But getting back to the ‘dysfunctional’ form of democracy where people can
at least demand graveyards. Adjacent to Green Town, which is the brawniest place
on earth, the Army owns endless acres of empty land. It has served no military
purpose in the living memory of the people who live in the vicinity. Before the
land is carved into expensive plots it would be kind if a few acres were
earmarked for a spacious graveyard. There may be grave need for it in the bright
days promised ahead. In case the defence authorities find parting with the
required land too dear a proposition then could they perhaps consider investing
in incinerators?
Prof Ijaz-ul-Hassan is a painter, author and a political activist