33

How not to eliminate corruption
The elimination of corruption is always one of the biggest demands of the ordi­nary people and the loudest slogans of the opposition. But what hap­pens when the rulers do decide “to eliminate the corrupt officers?” How are the lists prepared? From where does the evidence come? What are the real objectives of the rulers? How do FIA and the Anti-Corruption Department do their job or are expected to do? And what is the result? Here are some eyewitness accounts of what happened behind the scenes during the rule of Ayub, Yahya, Bhutto and Zia.

It all started with Ayub Khan. The first major operation took place and some of the most outstanding civil servants of known in­tegrity were thrown out on charges of corruption. Most of the victims were said to be those who had somehow failed to please the generals. Dr Abdur Rahim, a well-known agriculture special­ist, told me about the trouble that Zafar-ul-Ahsan, Chair­man of the Thal Development Authority, had with Gen. Azam Khan, one of the closest associates of Ayub Khan. (Azam Khan was the first general to taste the powers of martial law during its imposition in Lahore city in 1953 at the peak of the agita­tion to get the Ahmadis declared as non-Muslims.)
The general wanted Zafar-ul-Ahsan to allot him 100 squares (2500 acres or 750 hectares) of land in the Thal area of the Punjab un­der the tubewell scheme. The scheme envisaged that land would be allotted to those who would install tubewells and financial grant for tubewells would be given to those who already owned land. One had to have one or the other and the general had neither land nor tubewells. Still he wanted the government land to be allotted to him and then fi­nancial grant against that for tu­bewells! When he was told that it will amount to fraud, he became furious. The axe fell on Zafar after the generals came into power.
Zafar-ul-Ahsan was a man of great vision. He initi­ated the creation of the national airlines, PIA, housing schemes of Gulberg and Samnabad in La­hore, the planning of Jauharabad and, of course, the recla­mation of the Thal desert. Zafar was held in such a high esteem that on his dismissal I saw, for the first time, tears in the eyes of my father-in-law, Mian Muhammad Shafi.

The firing of 303. In the martial law headquarters in Lahore during the Yahya Khan regime, Col. Qayyum dealt with the corruption cases against the civil servants. A list of allegedly corrupt officers was prepared, which was to ulti­mately include 303 officers. (“303” attracted the public fancy, as it was also the common name of the very popular .303 Enfield rifle, the deadliest weapon then.) SPs Sabah-ud-Din Jamy and Qamar-i-Alam, of the Anti-Cor­ruption Department (both to later become IGPs), were always in attendance and would rush to my room, terrified, whenever the Colonel gave them a se­vere tongue-lashing, or “a good bull­shit” as they often say in the army, for not meeting his de­mands. He wanted that all those who had been listed must be penalized. That required evidence and the Colonel demanded that evi­dence must be produced even if it was not there!
Haji Habib-ur-Rahman, SSP Lahore, was also in the list of the 303. One of the charges against him was that he took two truckloads of sand free of cost from a contractor. It was a ridiculous charge but the offi­cer had to be framed for “creating an impact on the bureaucracy and the people.”
I attended a high-level meeting in which Brig. Sherbaz also par­ticipated to discuss the 303 issue. Everybody was emphasizing that maximum evi­dence be collected.
“Was the list prepared without any evidence?” I asked.
“It was prepared on the basis of intelligence and corroborating evidence will be collected later on,” I was told.
“Then it should not have been announced before the evidence was avail­able,” I observed.
“These are the orders of the President and are not open to dis­cus­sion. The police officers have been asked to provide evi­dence or they will be dis­missed for inefficiency,” I was told.
“But that is unfair both to the police as well as to the 303 offi­cers,” I protested but in vain.
During the daily tea break, Brig. Sherbaz said that I had taken a wrong position. “The 303 officers must be dismissed and jailed whether there is evidence or not.”
“But why?” I asked.
“After the announcement of the list, the officers are like injured snakes. If you do not kill them, they will attack you. Take out their poisonous fangs now before they sting you,” he said with a loud laugh.
“It is extremely unfair,” I persisted. “Justice is supposed to be done without fear or favour.”
Brig. Sherbaz and Col. Qayyum, unable to refute my argu­ments, were extremely annoyed. “Sardar, you too should have been placed in that list.” I was frightened and stopped arguing.
I mentioned the incident to Sh. Izhar, my lawyer friend. “You are a fool,” he said. “Justice and martial law do not go together. Martial law is for impact, not justice. A bulldozer and the scale of justice are two entirely dif­ferent things.” He was not far from truth.

I found fear all round. All wisdom pales before authority and here was an absolute authority devoid of any reason. The bull­dozer was too heavy for the scale of justice. The 303 officers had to be reduced to pulp to make oth­ers the most obedient servants. “It is a dose of dis­cipline,” as Brig. B.M. Mustafa in the Martial Law Headquarters put it.
Most of the 303 officers were ultimately retired or dismissed from serv­ice. (I was glad that Haji Habib-ur-Rahman was cleared of the charge of re­ceiving free truck-loads of sand.)

Bhutto’s 1300. Not having learnt any lesson from the folly of the army junta, PPP leadership was to commit its own disastrous blunder. While traveling from Rawalpindi to Larkana with Bhutto in the presidential plane, I noticed that Rafi Raza and Khalid Hasan, two of his closest associates, were dictating a speech. It was to be delivered by Ghulam Mustafa Jatoi, a federal minister, to announc­e the dismissal of 1300 “corrupt officers.” (“Screening” was the term used.) Jatoi was also with him.
I knew that the public servants were very scared because of the official pronouncements against corruption. Yahya had taken ac­tion against 303 of them not long ago and shaken their confidence. So, once again I took upon myself to argue for sanity.
“Can’t you withhold this action and try to stabilize the institutions if you really want to put the pieces together?” I asked Khalid Hasan and Rafi Raza. After some ef­fort, I managed to bring them around. Rafi Raza talked to Bhutto, who almost agreed but said, “Let us discuss it with Khar also.” During a stopover in Lahore, the issue was discussed at the Governor House. Mustafa Khar said, “We have a commitment to the people. The action against the corrupt officers has to be taken.” They were going to dismiss these of­ficers and then try them under martial law. (Yes, martial law! It was still there and Bhutto was the country’s first and only civilian Chief Martial Law Administrator.)
After the discussion, they mercifully decided to retire the “corrupt” offi­cers and take action only against whom there was strong evidence. Waqar Ahmad, who became the Establishment Secretary, was one of those minds too small to understand that greater the insecurity, the stronger will be the temptation to misuse authority for ones per­sonal benefit and secure future.
The 1300 government servants were retired compulsorily and prema­turely. It was such a thorough job that the list included some who had al­ready retired and evens some who were dead! DIG Qazi Muhammad Azam, my former somewhat difficult boss but an honest police officer, was one of them. So was my close friend, Nasir Husain Shamsi, of Income Tax De­partment. BBC commented, “Ayub Khan turned out 100 officers, Yahya Khan threw out 300. Now Bhutto has expelled 1300. Corruption in Pakistan seems to have increased in the same ratio.”
Gen. Ishaq, Military Secretary to Bhutto, confided in me that the objec­tives were to create an impact, frighten the officers, get rid of anti-PPP public servants and make others do the bidding without demur in future. He had heard similar talk earlier also when he was the Military Secretary to the pre­vious President, Yahya Khan.

Zia gives a free hand. Gen. Zia formed the Federal Inspection Com­mis­sion for “the eradication of corruption in the public services.” Maj. Gen. Sagheer Husain Shah was its first chairman while Brig. Sabir, Brig. Naeem, Col. Sarwar and two police officers, Nawaz Swati and Khwaja Tufail, were the other members. I was nominated as a member in addition to my job in the Pakistan Narcotics Control Board. Gen. Zia addressed the first meeting and gave us complete authority of action against anybody at any level. “You are free to punish, put in jail and dismiss anybody you like,” he told us. “There is no need to main­tain any file or record. Your personal satisfaction is enough.”
I was shocked by the completely free hand being given us. I had seen how the cases of 303 were dealt with in the Yahya period and also the slip­shod method by which 1300 public servants were shunted out by Bhutto. There were very negative consequences on the morale and performance of public servants. In fact, corruption had increased instead of decreasing. I had seen many dramas for impact and the pre­sent one appeared to be the most bizarre, by giving us unlimited authority without any responsibility. The balance between authority and responsibility is a basic principle of good administration but here it was being thrown to the winds.
I was very worried about the thoughtless approach towards the public services while the other members were extremely happy on their powers. I expressed my initial fears to Nawaz Swati, a police of­ficer of the level of IGP, but he showed annoyance with my views. He said, rather patronizingly, “You are a strange person. You are being given powers and you think it is dangerous because these can be misused for personal motives. You should feel happy on being so important.”
As usual, I was staying in the Government Hostel in Islamabad. Khwaja Tufail also stayed there. We traveled back together from the Presidency in Rawalpindi. He was also not happy on my views.
“You are a philosopher and there is no philosophy that can help things,” he thought. “Only danda can eradicate corruption.”
“More thoughtless and powerful use of danda will mean more cor­rup­tion,” I said. “Absolute authority corrupts absolutely. The first thing you should do is to go and dismiss your IGP. Throw him out of his office and that will create real impact, to the loud applause of the people.” He did not get the point. I might well be talking Sinhalese to him.
Inam-ul-Haq and DIG Khalid Masood were also staying in the Hostel. They were shocked to know about the authority that Gen. Zia had given to the commission.
“The first thing I am going to do with that authority is to dismiss both of you immediately and create the desired impact,” I joked. They did not laugh. Instead, both became very nervous. I did not realize that even a joke from a man in real authority could unnerve even very close friends. “Come on, I was just joking,” I said sheepishly. If even a joke could unnerve close friends, I won­dered, what would be the condition of the poor souls who were not even known to the very powerful members of the commission?
I requested Inam and Khalid to help me draw up a charter of du­ties for the commission, with clear legal and jurisdictional extent and limitations. The main points that emerged were that the commission must confine itself to, among other things, the matters pertaining to (a) the federation, not prov­inces, (b) executive authority, not judicial, and (c) issues that are not already pending in courts.

“It’ll have great impact.” The next day I asked Gen. Sagheer whether we could take immediate action against the ordnance and supplies wings of the army where the corruption was said to be quite rampant.
“No!” he shouted.
“But why not? We civilians may not but you as a general may take ac­tion. Otherwise, it would look discriminatory.” I left him thinking and con­fused.
The same day an Income-Tax Com­missioner visited him with evidence of tax evasion against six federal secretaries. The general called me. He was beaming when I entered his office.
“Be ready. We have a real good case. We will take action to­day and the whole country will be shaken up. It will have a real great impact.”
Hearing his words, I became nervous myself. The general was sipping coffee. I requested him to order some coffee for me also as I wanted to think during that time. He rang the bell.
“May I know the names of the secretaries if that was not a se­cret?” I asked him very casually. Among others, he named Aftab Ahmad Khan, the Secretary for Economic Affairs, F.K. Bandial, Sec­retary Labour, and Aslam Abdulla, his immediate predecessor.
“What are the amounts evaded by the defaulters if we have the figures?” I inquired, trying to be helpful. He checked up with Brig. Sabir on the inter­com. The figures ranged from a few thousands to, in case of Aftab Ahmad Khan, only Rs 27.
That gave me a point. Aftab Ahmad Khan was in Paris that very day, negotiating a package deal with the Aid-to-Pakistan Consortium of the World Bank. Telling the general about this, I asked him, “Sir, are you going to make Pakistan a laughing stock in the international com­munity by dismiss­ing Aftab Ahmad for Rs 27 only? I don’t believe what that mad income tax man brought to you.”
I spoke very emphatically. Gen. Sagheer was so moved that he got up from his chair and hugged me most warmly.
“Thank you very much, Sardar,” he spoke with feelings. “It would have been most embarrassing. Most of them are my friends. I would have demol­ished the government of Gen. Zia-ul-Haq. You saved us all. Thank you so much.” He asked Brig. Sabir to pend all action on that matter.
Then he called Janjua, his Personal Assistant, and asked him to check all of his own income tax returns. Turning to me, he spoke again, “Sardar, do you know I have never read my tax returns. I sign what­ever is put up to me by my PA. That must be true of those senior offi­cers also, who are busy in national affairs. I am really sorry. I was going to make a serious blunder.”
“All is well that ends well, sir,” I said, with satisfaction.
The moment I came out of the general’s office, I walked into a den of howling wolves. All other members, military as well civilian, cursed me for spoiling such a good shikar. They will not even let me speak. Col. Sarwar even called my “an agent of bureaucracy.” I re­acted strongly and asserted, “I am not an agent of anybody. I am a bu­reaucrat of standing myself and I am proud of that.” Then I walked out.
I was really pained when a senior man like Nawaz Swati, otherwise an honest person, later ac­cused me of “subverting the whole scheme” of Gen. Zia. He might show his own efficiency by making out a subversion case against me. Everything was possible where checks and balances did not exist and unlimited authority was concentrated in a few hands. I was just trying to create a balance and said to him, “Sir, fair deal is the best deal. We owe this to our people and also to our colleagues.” He did not appear much im­pressed.
Inam-ul-Haq, Khalid Masood any myself drew up a nine-page charter of duties for the Federal Inspection Commission. I submitted it to Gen. Sagheer Husain. He liked it, approved it and sent it to Gen. K.M. Arif, with a D.O. letter for getting the approval of the CMLA Headquarters. The same draft, with minor amendments, was adopted and promulgated as a martial law regulation, making the FIC a rec­ommendatory body. After inspection and collection of evidence, it could only recommend further action by the compe­tent authority.

Axe on police officers. During the Zia regime, a heavy axe fell on the Punjab Police. For showing a soft corner to the self-immolating PPP protest­ers, Haji Habib-ur-Rahman was replaced by Qazi Mu­hammad Azam as IGP Punjab. One reason for preferring Qazi Azam was that he had a personal grudge against PPP as he had been screened out by Bhutto soon after assum­ing power. Qazi Azam worked with vengeance and selected 18 Punjab po­lice officers for compulsory retirement. The list included officers known for their professional excellence, like Mian Sultan Asghar, Zakauddin Shafi, Mushtaq Bukhari, Malik Waris and Ch. Zaman.
I asked Brig. Ata Muhammad, who was an adviser to Gen. Sawar Khan, the Martial Law Administrator for Pun­jab, the reasons for throwing out such good police officers.
“They were the most corrupt,” he said.
“No, sir, you have your information all wrong,” I told him. “They are among the best and the most honest. I belong to that department and know them all.”
“We wanted to create an impact and they were all very cocky,” he said without any feelings. “It will frighten the others.”
“Why do you play all these games, sir?” I asked an­grily, recalling similar actions by Ayub, Yahya and Bhutto that promoted in­security and injustice rather than eliminating or even reducing corruption. “They have their families and children. The oth­ers in service, feeling inse­cure, will start accumulating money for the rainy days, which are becoming far too fre­quent.”
He was annoyed by my critical approach and said, “I don’t under­stand what you are saying.”
“Of course, you cannot understand.” Then recalling his visit to my of­fice in December 1971, when he was looking forward to becom­ing in a few days the Military Governor of East Punjab, I retorted, “I still miss being SP Amritsar, sir.” He left in a huff.

Corruption case against Bhuttos. Some time in the middle of 1980, when I was Director, FIA, Rawalpindi, the Deputy Attorney General of Pakistan came to my office. He told me that the Govern­ment had decided to file civil suits against the Bhutto family for inappropriate and illegitimate ex­penditure of government funds on improvements in the family houses, 70 Clifton, Karachi, and Al-Mur­taza, Larkana, after having them declared as official residences of the Prime Minister. The evidence was to be provided by the FIA Rawal­pindi as my predecessor, Ch. Badar-ud-Din, had investi­gated the matter. The criminal proceedings were not possible as the accused (Bhutto) was now dead.
I went through the files and found that some expenditure from govern­ment funds had been incurred on raising the height of boundary walls, sentry posts and airconditioning, etc., as security measures. I recalled my visit with Gen. Ishaq, the Military Secretary to President, to the two places in early 1972 for their security survey and had pro­posed these very steps. Bhutto was averse to the changes because he did not want any disturbance to the symmetry of the buildings that, he proudly mentioned, had been designed by a famous Italian architect. He also told Gen. Ishaq to drop all that because he had no money and would have to sell some land to meet the expenses, which he did not want to do.
When I studied the files now, I found that the approval for ex­penditure had not been given by Bhutto or even by any of his staff. When those im­provements were undertaken much later, the relevant public works officer had sent only a copy of his letter for the information of the Military Secre­tary. I could see that some overzealous officer had shown his initiative, something not unusual with obsequious bu­reaucrats.
I suggested to the Deputy Attorney General, “Why don’t you rec­om­mend to the Government that it should remove the improvements, particularly airconditioning equipment, instead of filing civil suits that might be dis­missed?” The Prime Ministers all over the world enter­tain diplomats and state guests at their estates and funds have to be spent for their se­curity. The case of Bhutto was not unusual. But the government was bent on finding out and using whatever it could against the Bhutto family.
“The evidence is not sufficient for the cases,” I finally said.
“Then collect more evidence,” the Deputy Attorney General de­manded. He was less concerned with the merits of the case and more with the wishes of the rulers.
“There is none more and I have no intention of manufacturing any,” I replied. The civil suits never saw the light of the day although they went on pestering me for more evidence.

In the same vein, Syed Nasir Rizvi, the minister in charge of the Capital Development Authority, and Kazmi, Chairman of C.D.A., were arraigned on charges of misuse of transport, etc., for election purposes in 1977 elections. I studied the files and found the evidence scanty and sketchy. To me the whole exercise looked as mere harass­ment. I did not know whether Nasir Rizvi and Kazmi were honest or not but there was little to prove anything and I decided not to proceed any further with the cases. Nobody reminded me either.
Similar was the case of Shehzad Sadiq, the oil and gas expert fresh from America and full of zeal and energy to strike oil and gas in his homeland. He had ignored the sacrosanct but obstructionist rules, that were designed more to stifle initiative and dynamism than to achieve any noble and higher ob­jectives. There were four cases regis­tered against him as Chairman of Oil and Gas Development Corpora­tion. All were of frivolous nature, one in­volv­ing a misuse of Rs 65! Some vested interests wanted to harass him and he had already left the country, frustrated and in fear of prosecution.
I closed many such cases of doubtful nature registered against important personalities although none of them ever met me or I ever wished them to know.

The birds of Canary Isles. Towards the end of 1980, I received a file from the FIA head office for inquiry, under personal orders of Gen. Zia. The papers disclosed that 12 Pakistan army officers were placed for an under-cover operation, involving huge dealings in arms and money, in the Canary Islands, famous Spanish tourist resort in northwest of Africa. Five of the of­ficers found it more lucrative to work for similar operations in connection with Iran-Iraq war, instead of the operations in Afghanistan. They had de­serted and were not traceable. I studied the file again and again but there was nothing that I could do about the matter. The officers were not in the country and the inquiry would only make public a secret and sensitive operation. The serious con­cern of Gen. Zia over indiscipline and corruption of the army of­ficers was understandable but FIA was not the right channel for action. The army itself was better placed to look into such things. In an angry state of mind, he had simply overestimated the capability and reach of the FIA. I took back the file personally to my Director General, gave him my views and left it with him. I don’t know what happened after­wards to that file and the officers though I heard later that many other ambitious and adventurous souls fol­lowed the footsteps of the birds of Canary Islands.

The inquiry into the case of Mr Justice Safdar Shah of the Su­preme Court had already taken place before I took over as Director, FIA, Rawal­pindi. He had dissented with the majority view and fa­voured the acquittal of Bhutto in the murder case. The file indicated that he had acquired an LL.B. degree from an In­dian University in the name of another Safdar without at­tending the classes. The original Safdar was sup­posed to be in Karachi while the university was across the border. The judge secretly crossed over to Kabul and then went to Lon­don to die there in misery. I don’t know what would have been the re­sult of the case if put to judicial scrutiny but perhaps the fear of martial law had the better of the judge.

Blinded honesty. Ch. Muham­mad Khan, Deputy Director, Federal In­vestigation Agency, Multan, a competent and honest officer, con­ducted a raid on an income tax officer, Shaukat, for taking bribe for show­ing favour in a wealth tax case. The tainted currency notes were re­covered lying in an envelope on the office table of the officer. The case attracted great publicity and was widely appreciated. The martial law authorities approved it for trial in a special military court. I also took it to be a solid case.
After a few days, Iftikhar Bajwa, Commissioner, Income Tax, told me that the young officer was an honest person and might have been trapped by someone out of spite. “But my Deputy Director is also a very honest man,” I told him. Later my friend, Arshad Chaudhri, who be­longs to Multan, also spoke to me as the father of the accused had met him and expressed suspicion that one of his estranged distant relatives might have set up the trap.
I went to Multan and looked into the matter in great detail. Ch. Mu­hammad Khan was convinced of the veracity of the case. It was a red-handed capture but, significantly, the bribe money had not been recovered from the officer’s “exclusive personal possession,” to use the official jargon for a pocket. (Some­body could have placed the envelope on the table without the officer noticing it.) I checked the record and found that there was no case of wealth tax pending with the accused officer. Even a no­tice for such tax had not been issued to the concerned party. On fur­ther probe, the petitioner turned out to be a person without any trade or profession and thus there was no question of his being liable to any wealth tax. Now even Ch. Muhammad Khan started having second thoughts.
Ultimately, it transpired that the distant relative, already suspected by the father of the accused officer, had conspired with the petitioner. The relative was jeal­ous of the young man having joined a superior service and was de­termined to destroy his career. He paid the petitioner Rs 500 to set up a trap for the officer and the FIA.
Then a problem arose with the martial law authorities. They would not release the officer even on bail though we had found him not guilty. They suspected that the FIA was being “soft to a corrupt officer, who had been captured red-handed.” A very shrewd senior officer advised me, “Prosecute the accused even if he is innocent. Otherwise, the martial law authorities are likely to form an adverse view about you too. Forget about his innocence and be­ing victimized. Better save yourself.”
Despite his elderly advice, based on his experience, I was determined to do justice without fear or favour. I went to the Deputy Martial Law Admin­is­trator (D.M.L.A.), Multan, and informed him about my findings. He was convinced and released the officer on bail.
The case did not end there. Now the tables were turned on the prosecu­tion. The D.M.L.A., in his wisdom, wanted that action should be taken against the magistrate and the FIA staff who conducted the raid. I explained to him at length the difficulties of the FIA as the pe­titioners could be very clever and slick in creating fake but convincing situations. The staff had raided in good faith. The real culprits were the petitioner and the jealous relative and I promised necessary action against them. Only then the D.M.L.A. let the matter rest. I canceled the case and filed prosecution pro­ceedings against the petitioner. The petitioner, in turn, moved as many as 23 applications with totally baseless allegations against me to the CMLA/President for taking off the hook a “corrupt” income tax offi­cer. I was in serious trouble and had to explain my position many times. At one stage my resolve to stick to truth was badly shaken but, thank God, I did not stumble.
The dispensation of justice is an onerous and difficult duty and needs vision, openness, courage and a total commitment to truth in the face of all odds and risks of misunderstandings. In spite of the honest FIA officer, Mu­hammad Khan, the poor income tax officer suffered due to conspiracy of cir­cumstances and machinations of a wicked relative. People can go to any length to hurt others.

The near fatal carelessness. The carelessness or routine handling of a case can cause a disaster. Some refugees occupied some agricultural evacuee land in a village near Gujranwala in 1947. In 1973, the government gave proprietary rights to the occupants of such lands all over the country. The occupants in this case, like others, became owners after paying the dues at the rate of Rs 100 per unit. The government later canceled the scheme but those who had already deposited the dues were not affected. When a road bypassing the city was constructed, the land became very valuable.
Somebody jealous of the land owners moved an application to the mar­tial law authorities that land worth Rs 80 million had been misap­propriated by them in collusion with Shahid, the officer incharge of the scheme in that area. The case was dealt with superficially at the investigation level and the accused officer was never asked for his explanation. The one-sided view prevailed at all levels and the case was recommended for trial under martial law regulations. The file went to the Ministry of Interior for the sanc­tion of prosecution. Shahid’s own wife, as the Section Officer in­charge, dealt with the file in routine and signed the sanction orders!
The couple got the shock of their life when the FIA officers went to ar­rest Shahid. Zia-ul-Hasan, Joint Secretary, Ministry of Interior, asked me to look into the case again after hearing the officer. He told me on phone, “Mrs Shahid is sitting in front of me, with tears in her eyes. She had not taken due care in processing the case of her own husband.”
I looked into the case carefully and there was not even an iota of evi­dence against the poor man. He had taken charge of that area eight years af­ter everything had been done and completed. The allottees had oc­cupied the land in 1947 when Shahid was not even born! The basic flaw in the proceed­ings was that the point of view of the officer had not been asked for, as re­quired under the rules, at any level and stage of the inquiry and investigation. The case, therefore, had to be canceled.

Afzal Agha became the Chief Secretary of the Punjab in the last days of Ayub Khan and continued in that position until 1974 when Hanif Ramay re­placed Mustafa Khar as the Chief Minister of the province. Agha was dubbed as Khar’s man and was transferred. As if it was not enough, the FIA was asked to register a case against him for having a financial share in a wine vendor’s business. On inquiry, it was found that the license of the vendor had been issued in 1947 and it was im­possible to accuse Afzal Agha of pro­viding patronage at that time un­less the last two digits were reversed and the year 1947 was read as 1974! I had served with Afzal Agha. He was a very efficient, deci­sive, fair and honest administrator of great charm and moral integrity. Bhutto treated him shabbily by getting such a baseless case regis­tered against him. Seven painful years had passed before I saw the file. I canceled the case.

The genesis of anti-corruption bodies. I felt extremely relieved when the Chief Minister posted me as Director, Anti-Corruption, Punjab, in Sep­tember 1989 as it was a job with much less tension. After a hectic tenure of more than three years as Additional IGP, Special Branch, I did deserve some rest. Just for doing my duty honestly, I had been all the time in the crossfire between IJI and PPP. I had been persuading and encouraging all concerned to keep the country on the political course. There were many among the gen­erals and the Muslim League leaders, who did not have the heart even to face elec­tions to the local bodies, not to talk of general elections.
After encouraging democracy, it was now my job to discourage corrup­tion. I was not to deal with a new phenomenon, however. After the adminis­trative reforms of Lord Cornwallis, the corruption in public services had be­come rare. The officers were well-paid while there was little inflation till late 1920s. They were well super­vised, but had security and stability of service also. The system of administration and services was equitable, with stream­lined rules and regulations and well-defined areas of authority and responsi­bili­ties. The concentration of authority was mini­mum. Wherever it ex­isted in certain high offices, the open public check and ac­countability had also been provided.
During the Second World War, the pressures of resource mobili­zation in India led to complaints of corruption on a large scale in the supplies wing of the army. The virus spread and required the creation of anti-corruption bodies like the Spe­cial Police Establishment (later replaced by Federal In­vestigation Agency, FIA) at the center and Anti-Corruption Depart­ments in the provinces. Lord Wavel, the second last Viceroy in India, recorded in his diaries with concern that the Anti-Corruption Depart­ment was being used more to frighten and blackmail the honest offi­cers than dealing with the cor­rupt ones.

Irresistible temptations. After Independence came the problems of in­security and uncertainty. The temptations of evacuee properties were too much for many weak characters. The insecurity about future, the advantage of social anonymity and the temptation of becoming rich overnight caused corrupt practices in the allotments and occupation of the evacuee properties. However, the religious and moral fervour and the zeal to make an honest be­ginning in the new country saved most of the people and public servants from falling prey to the temptations. They had respect for law and a determination to build their country on moral foundations. The dedicated officers like Qud­ratulla Shahab, G. Ahmad, Mian Anwar Ali, Qurban Ali Khan and Agha Shahi were shining examples of unimpeachable integrity and devotion.
The floodgates of corruption were opened after the constitution and the laws of the land were trampled upon by the generals, destroy­ing the very ba­sis of the system of checks and balances. The highest court in the country legitimized the abrogation of the constitution un­der “the doctrine of neces­sity.” Might was, thus, given the right to call itself the right. The authority was concentrated in a few hands and those with absolute authority became absolutely corrupt, without fear of any public accountability. The law and moral values of the society were openly flouted. The students, labourers, teachers, cultivators, maulvis, shopkeepers and all others started using their collective might to justify whatever they wished. The moral crisis was on.
The successive governments since the 1960s practiced and promoted unchecked and uninterrupted corruption. They destroyed the system by con­cen­trating authority in a few hands and, at the same time, made public ser­vants feel in­secure by screening out honest and talented officers out of per­sonal jealousies and vindictiveness. They used the Anti-Corruption Depart­ment to catch the honest and self-respecting public servants on techni­cal grounds and allowed the real dishonest ones to have their day, of course, to mutual advan­tage.

Creating a terror. With an awareness of the historical back­ground of the department that I was now heading, I wanted to improve things as far as I could. As had always been my practice, I opened my doors to anybody, who wanted to see me to explain his point of view. My long experience as a pub­lic servant had taught me that open-door policy was the only way to minimize the tyranny of petty officials.
I was horrified to find case files pending as far back as 20 years ago! Some of the oldest and honest hands in the office, like Ch. Allah Bakhsh and Sheikh Khalil, believed that the delay created the required terror of the Anti-Corruption Department. “But that is not the spirit of justice,” I told them. “If a man was innocent and honest, how will he feel and react to delays?” That had never occurred to them. I told them, “I shall initiate some inquiries against you people and then keep them pending.” I was, of course, not going to do that but they really got worried. Such a threat might, however, make them realize the evil consequences of their stupid practice. It really did.

Hearing the other side. I went through the pending files and called the public servants against whom the complaints had been filed. The question uppermost in my mind was why they did not pursue their cases. Because of the fear and terror of the department, I was invari­ably told. Even in cases without any solid evidence, they had no faith that they would get any justice. They thought it better to let the sleep­ing dogs lie. To ensure their slumber, they would bribe some of the lower officials.
Many so-called serious cases of corruption were actually the re­sult of departmental intrigues and jealousies to block the promotions of rivals. The honest and the innocent were the worst hit. Their clever and resourceful ri­vals would not only get complaints moved against them but also arrange their projection through the newspapers.
Some of the victims of intrigues had become nervous wrecks and suf­fered from neurosis, after having been defamed among their friends and family members. They even refused to believe that I genuinely wanted to do justice. Whenever they did confide in me, I was horrified to hear what they had been suffering and for what.
A highly qualified engineer, with foreign training, was charged with the misappropriation of a tea set. The inquiry had been pending for the last seven years. Many a time he wished to run away from the country but had to change his mind because his widowed mother could not go with him. Some­times, in sheer desperation, he even wished her to die! The case had sapped all his creative energies. It was a cruel maneuver by some of his colleagues to keep him out of the line of promotion. I finally ended his agony by cancel­ing the case.

Putting on the track. While I was engaged in the study and analysis of pending cases, I was lucky that Azhar Hasan Nadeem was posted as my Additional Director. I knew him as a sensitive soul, a poet of merit and an intellectual of deep understanding. At the same time, he was as bold as a po­lice officer should be. At the start of his career as an ASP, he had received a bullet in his chest while trying to maintain peace at Kalabagh, in Mianwali district. As SSP Gujranwala during martial law, he refused a very attractive temptation from a smuggling magnate. He earned great public respect by his service wherever he was posted.
Azhar Nadeem took over my headaches and concerns. Along with Rana Wasey, Sheikh Khalil and Ch. Allah Bakhsh, he finalized the old cases on merit. I was happy that the officers came out of the spell of their warped thinking that keeping human beings under mental torture for an undefined period was in any way helpful. It was not easy to make them unlearn the perverse values inculcated by the successive wicked governments. But once they were back on the rails, I had a smooth sailing.