ANNEX

All in the family

Mian Muhammad Shafi was the finest human being I ever met in my life. He was in the Pro­vincial Civil Service (PCS) and had served as Deputy Com­missioner in Sar­godha and Lahore. In 1965, when he emerged as the focal point of my life, he was a Sec­retary to the West Pakistan Government.
He was an eminent scholar, an intellectual, a sportsman, a connoisseur of classical music and an ardent lover of literature and arts. He wrote 1857, a great book in Urdu on the war of independence (what the British called the Great Indian Mutiny) just before its 100th anniversary in 1957. He was a su­perb calligraphist and produced several masterpieces. He almost touched perfection in his conduct and achievements.
He had a very impressive and attractive personality. His greatest quality was his nobility and humility in temperament. He was kind and affection­ate to all, “full of the milk of human kindness,” as Justice Sajjad Ah­mad Jan, of the Lahore High Court, put it.
Mian Sahib was devoid of the usual bureaucratic haughtiness and was, as Maulana Maudoodi used to say about him, “an embodiment of humility and gentleness as pre­scribed by Islam.” But he also had great strength of character and would act boldly and firmly when nec­essary. He would never yield to any undesirable pressure, even from the so-called giants of his time, like Nawab Amir Muhammad Khan of Kalabagh, the legendary Governor of West Pakistan, and President Ayub Khan himself. He was described by Shorish Kashmiri, in his weekly magazine, Chatan, as a personification of Allama Iqbal’s con­cept of Mard-i-Momin (True Muslim).

Rehmat, an old ser­vant of Mian Shafi, had become like a member of his household. Mian Sahib had raised him since infancy after the early death of his parents. He was well-known to me also. He met me by chance during my visit to La­hore in May 1965 and suggested that I should marry Bilqis, the young wid­owed daughter of Mian Sahib.
I knew Mian Shafi and his family since 1950 when he was posted as the Sub Divisional Magistrate (SDM) at Toba Tek Singh. I would spend most of my time in his company to learn and absorb his lofty thoughts. I admired him and his family but it never occurred to me that I could marry in that family. It was also unimaginable in view of my family’s hum­ble posi­tion in life.
I knew Bilqis. I had seen her growing from childhood to a smashing beauty, with a very noble modesty inherited from her par­ents. She was only 23 when her husband died in 1963, leaving behind two daughters, Anjum, 2, and Saira, only a few months old.
When Rehmat gave me the proposal, Bilqis was 25. I felt ecstatic but extremely confused. I asked Rehmat, “This will be my extreme good luck but will Mian Sahib agree to it?”
“Mian Sahib has gone to Germany on an official visit and may consider the matter on his return,” he replied. Rehmat had made the proposal on his own and became nervous a little later.
“You should broach the subject with Begum Sahiba and not Mian Sa­hib,” I advised him, referring to Bilqis’ mother. “He may not like the idea and it may instead cause him unnecessary irritation.”
The proposal gave me happiness beyond imagination, not only because I liked Bilqis and her family but also that I would be following in the footsteps of the Holy Prophet.
Rehmat later told me that Begum Sahiba was agreeable and so was the maternal grandfather of Bilqis, Khan Bahadar Maulvi Abdul Aziz. On learning that, I broached the subject through a friend, Mian Ahmad Ali, who was very close to Mian Shafi.
Mian Shafi was back from Germany after a few days. Mian Ahmad Ali told me that he had agreed though initially he had some hesita­tion, for quite an unex­pected reason. “It will not be fair that Sardar should marry a widow even if she is my own daughter,” he was quoted as saying. “He deserves better pro­posals after joining a prestigious serv­ice like the Police Service of Pakistan.”
I was moved by his consideration for me. “I shall take it as a great fa­vour and honour if the proposal was accepted,” I told both Rehmat and Mian Ah­mad Ali. Ahmad Ali conveyed it to Mian Sahib. The initial news of ac­cep­tance in principle was brought to me by Mian Ahmad Ali.

I told my elder sister and her husband, Noor Muhammad, who lived in Krishan Nagar (now Islampura) of my intention. Both were quite pleased. My sister and Bilqis were close friends also.
Noor Muhammad had an interesting secret to disclose. Abdul Ali Khan, a shoe-maker who lived nearby and dabbled in as­trology, had told him, after the tragic death of her husband in 1963, that Bilqis and I were going to be mar­ried in about two years. Noor Mu­hammad had not taken him seriously until that day. Quite surprised, I went to see him the next day. Since then Khan Sahib has been my friend.
My sister cleared the proposal with our parents and, after their approval, approached Begum Muhammad Shafi formally. Once it became final, after the usual ifs and buts, I broke the news to two very close friends, Sardar Za­far Ali and Sher Mu­hammad Khan Lundkhawar. Both expressed great happiness, as they knew Mian Sa­hib and his family quite well. Leaving fur­ther arrangements to my sister, I returned to Abbottabad.
The news reached relatives and friends very quickly. Some did not like it and tried to dissuade me. Hameed Patwari, a friend and a relative, opposed the proposal on biradari (community or tribe) basis. (We are Gujjars while Mian Sahib’s family belongs to Arain biradri.) He had an alternative pro­posal from a Gujjar family, who were very rich and could boast of having a summer house right in Abbottabad. I was facing much pressure and persua­sion from many others. Some who had never even bothered to talk to us in earlier days, were now coming with very at­tractive proposals. However, I was unwavering. Money or material comforts had no special attraction for me. The prospect of getting a huge dowry also had little temptation for me be­cause I have always been against this great social evil, prevailing in some ar­eas due to Hindu influence. (In Balochistan and NWFP, it is the hus­band’s family that pays valvar, the equivalent of dowry, to the bride’s fam­ily.)

Rush to nikah and rukhsati. To avoid further pressures, I asked Mian Ahmad Ali to arrange for my nikah (marriage vows) at the earli­est. He said the fam­ily had to make many arrangements and the end of 1965 would be the earliest possible. I thought of consulting Abdul Ali Khan, the astrologer, and went to Lahore to see him. His cal­culations indicated that the marriage would be solemnized in the second week of June, i.e., the very next week. That was earlier than even I was pre­pared for!
Reinforced by Khan Sahib’s prediction, I took up the matter my­self with Maulvi Abdul Aziz, maternal grandfather of Bilqis and a venerable old man with very strong religious beliefs. I played upon his religiosity so tact­fully and cleverly that he prevailed upon others for almost immediate nikah. It took place on June 10, 1965, at 8-A, Club Road, GOR-I, Lahore, the offi­cial residence of Mian Shafi, with very close family members and friends present.

Now that nikah had taken place, I also wanted immediate rukh­sati (leaving of wife to live with her husband). I also wanted to avoid dowry and other wasteful expenditure. So, I consulted Sardar Zafar and we evolved a strategy. It surprised everybody.
The next day, as planned, I bought a large number of toys from the fa­mous Anarkali Bazaar for Anjum and Saira and went to see my in-laws. This created a very pleasant atmosphere in the house. I played with the little girls. My sisters-in-law, Aamina and Najma, were also a pleasant company, fre­quently cracking jokes.
I was keen to see Bilqis and talk to her but she was nowhere to be seen. Here luck and the grand old man, Maulvi Aziz, helped me. Saira started crying for some reason and would not stop despite best efforts by me and Maulvi Sahib. Her mother got perturbed and rushed to the drawing room, where we were sitting. The moment she noticed me, she shied off and turned to go back. The grandpa asked her to stay back. “There is no harm in being with your husband,” he ex­plained. “It is in accordance with the Sharia.”
Bilqis first consoled Saira and then sat with me. I was trans­ported to heavens. Maulvi Sahib got up, saying that he was going for prayers.
Now at last we had time for a heart-to-heart talk. She was pleas­antly communicative. We knew each other already but this was a new relation­ship. I was impressed by her cultivated manners and beauty but her truthful­ness was over­whelming. She expressed her extreme happiness on my mar­ry­ing her.
“You should not say that,” I said. “It is my good look to wed a beauty like you.”
“It is the other way round,” she said diffidently and shyly. “There have been few good proposals, almost none, and my family was ex­tremely wor­ried about my future. You have come like an angel.”
I did not expect such honest and candid talk from her. It was pleasing for my ego. My respect for her brimmed up and only tears could express my feelings. The same was the case with her. At that very moment we reached a complete under­standing that remained as a great asset throughout our mar­ried life. We differed intensely on many issues in later life but the mutual re­spect and understanding never left us.

I was allowed to take her out that very afternoon. I started per­suading her to accompany me to Abbottabad. She thought it would look unusual and out of place but I was not to be de­terred. The very next day, June 12, I pur­chased two airline tickets for Rawalpindi. I gave her the tick­ets and told her that I would come to pick her up for the flight next day. She was very hesi­tant and nerv­ous but I did not give her time to say anything and left for Samnabad where I was staying.
As I expected, Rehmat came to see me, followed soon after by Mian Ah­mad Ali. Both pointed out that the family needed time to ar­range for clothes, furniture and other usual household items. My sisters-in-law too were quite upset as they needed time for the usual arrangements. But I was not persuaded.
I accompanied them and was presented before Mian Shafi. I was quite nervous as it was difficult to face him. I was never in favour of dowry and other such traditions but it was impos­sible for me to argue with Mian Sahib out of extreme reverence and respect. Anyhow, I said we would collect the things later. Maulvi Sahib came to my help once again and used his veto in my favour. My total expenditure on marriage was Rs 364, including the ring, the only ornament I presented to Bilqis. As an officer of a prestigious serv­ice, I could (and some believed should) have a lavish function but I was de­termined to practice austerity.
After we got married, Bilqis told me that once I, as the Secretary of the Dramatics Club of the Government College, had invited her and her eldest brother, Ahmad, for the play, Julius Caesar. In the rush, I inadvertently stepped over her foot that hurt her badly. But, due to her shyness and mod­esty, she did not utter a word. I apologized for my clumsiness after so many years but it felt sweet.

First son. On February 26, 1966, I was blessed with a son. I came to La­hore where Bilqis was staying with her parents. My parents and sisters also came and we celebrated the arrival of the baby. Najma, my younger sister-in-law, selected Haroon as his first name and I gave him as surname, instead of my own, the name of Maulvi Abdul Aziz, his maternal great grandfather. It was an expression of my extreme gratefulness to Maulvi Sa­hib for so many of his kind gestures. He had no male issue and was very happy when he was told about my decision.

I brought Bilqis and the baby to Dadu. Anjum and Saira, except for oc­casional visits, would stay with their maternal grandmother as they could get good education only in La­hore.
The weather was very hot in Dadu. Mian Sahib sent an aircondi­tioner for the baby from Lahore but it would not work due to low volt­age. I asked Bilqis to engage a maid servant to look after the baby but she opposed the idea. She believed the maid servant would not clean the utensils properly and it could cause sickness to the baby. Moreover, she wanted the boy to be with the mother most of the time so that he did not learn bad habits from a servant. I was very pleased with her attitude and her arguments. She stuck to this ap­proach during her whole life.
I was blessed with another son, Irfan, on September 15, 1967. It was a Friday and my mother was home to attend to Bilqis. Soon the lady doctor also arrived. His birth coincided with azan for Friday prayers. He too was given the sur­name, like his elder brother, of the late Maulvi Abdul Aziz.
Saima, our last child, was born in the early hours of June 22, 1972, in Rawalpindi. Bilqis would have preferred another son but I was very happy because I had been wishing for a daughter. She has always brought good luck to me. She always has a smiling face. Surprisingly, she closely resem­bles my mother in so many ways. Her presence has always been of great comfort, almost of spiritual dimensions. Strangely enough, she has never even fallen sick. Bilqis and I would often wonder about the reason.

While in Lahore, Haroon was taken to school rather early and, as a re­sult, he developed a fear of school. I told Bilqis to wait for some time before trying again. Otherwise he would always remain afraid and might even de­velop hatred for studies. She was rather impatient but did listen to me.
There was a nursery school on the same street where we lived in Satel­lite Town, Rawalpindi, during my posting as SP, Special Branch. I would take both Haroon and Irfan for a walk in front of the school. Initially, we would go in the evenings only as Haroon would start running away after seeing the school children. Later I would take them around in the mornings also. Slowly they became familiar with the school. It took Haroon several months to overcome his trauma while Irfan, with no such unpleasant experi­ence, had no problem and was the first to join. Haroon followed his younger brother soon afterwards and both of them became good students. Except for this early effort to familiarize them with the school environment, I had no personal involvement in their later edu­cation. Bilqis relieved me not only of this but also of many other responsi­bilities and chores of household, allow­ing me to attend to my official work without any distraction.

After the death of Mian Shafi, described in the chapter, “From moun­tains to desert,” the family of my in-laws had to face several other deaths one after the other. My mother-in-law, Jamila Begum, showed great courage and strong faith in Allah. She undertook the education and upbringing of her three sons and two daughters, besides Anjum and Saira. While her hus­band was alive, she never had to deal with the outside world, in­cluding manage­ment of the property scattered at various places. I got the pen­sion and some other matters set­tled but there were many other prob­lems. Her second son, Abbas Shafi, though still an Intermediate (Second Year) stu­dent, became of great help to her and the whole family. The family would take many years before coming out of the grief and returning to normalcy.

“Make a solemn pledge.” Our eldest daughter, Anjum, was en­gaged in July 1984. It was going to be the first marriage in our family. Manzoor Bhatti and Abdul Khaliq Awan, my close friends, would join me in doing shopping for the marriage. Bilqis and my daughters would join us when their expert advice was needed.
In March 1985 we traveled to Abbottabad for shopping. With me were Bilqis, my mother-in-law, Saira and a host of my nephews and nieces. My mother-in-law suffered a severe heart attack at 10 p.m. I made an emergency call to Kamal Shah, DIG, Hazara, my colleague and friend, to arrange for a doctor. I wanted to rush myself to bring a doctor but my mother-in-law stopped me firmly. She said, “I know it is a heart attack. I am not going to survive it. I am worried about Anjum and Saira. Please make a solemn pledge to me that you will take the entire responsibility for their marriages so that I can leave this world in peace.”
“I shall take full responsibility,” I assured her. “But please don’t loose your will power. You will be all right, in sha’Allah.” I felt very sad. It is not easy to say good-bye forever to somebody so close and kind.
Bilqis, Saira, nephews and nieces all started crying. Saira, our second daughter, who had also been engaged only a few days ago, felt most dis­turbed. My mother-in-law was a very pious and religious woman. She di­rected all around her not to cry as she was going to meet her Creator shortly. She asked me to convey the same to her sons and other daughters. Then she re­cited kalima three times in a clear voice and became silent. Kamal Shah reached with the doctor but she had already passed away.
We postponed Anjum’s marriage from March to May 17, 1985. We all missed her grandmother most painfully at the wedding.

First grandchild. Anjum did her MBBS and so did her husband, Mu­hammad Amjad, but neither is in medical practice. They are doing a very successful business of property management. Amjad’s father, Ch. Ghulam Husain, now retired, was a celebrated and noble officer of the Provincial Civil Service and served as Deputy Commissioner, La­hore, for four years. (Anjum has the distinction that both her grandfa­ther and father-in-law served as Deputy Commissioners of Lahore.)
The day I took over as Additional IGP, Special Branch, Punjab, on June 14, 1986, Anjum and Amjad were blessed with a beautiful and charming daughter. Bilqis said she felt having grown old on becoming a grand­mother and I did not miss the opportunity to tease her, as if it was dif­ferent in my case! Ch. Ghulam Husain, the paternal grandfather, named the baby “Samar” (Fruit). She brought my elevation in office and also the family reun­ion by my posting once again to Lahore. We celebrated her birth as a good omen. Anjum and Amjad were blessed with a son on May 7, 1987. He was named Murtaza.
Bilqis and I were having tea in the morning of November 13, 1988, when I saw a crow sitting snugly on our boundary wall. “Some good news is coming,” I told Bilqis. “It is generally believed in our villages that the sight­ing of a crow in this position brings some happy news.” I had hardly spoken the words when the phone rang. Ch. Ghulam Husain was on the line. He broke the news that Anjum was blessed with a son, later named Mustafa. The crow flew away the next moment. I wondered if there was really some­thing to the popular be­lief. Samar, Murtaza and Mustafa are now growing into brilliant young students.

Saira, our second daughter, was married on Janu­ary 27, 1986 to Hu­mayun Sarwar, son of Mian Muhammad Sarwar and grandson of Mian Ah­mad Ali, who had played an important role in my marriage.
Saira did her MBA from the Punjab University while her husband, Hu­mayun Sarwar, graduated from the London School of Economics. Both are in the family business of garments in Manchester.
In 1987, while I was in Pittsburgh, USA, for my eye operation, I learnt that our second daughter, Saira, was blessed with a son in Man­chester on October 24. Bilqis, naturally very excited, rushed from La­hore while I joined her in Manchester from Pittsburgh. The baby was named Hasan Mustafa Sarwar.
About two months after the birth of Hasan Mustafa to Anjum, Allah Al­mighty gave us another grandson, born to Saira in Manchester on January 5, 1989. Saira and Humayun named him Qais. Both Hasan and Qais now go to school and are shaping into lovely young scholars. They visit us almost every year, as Mian Sarwar is very keen that they should nurture roots in the land of their great grandfather. In 1937, Ch. Shah Din migrated from his village Malri, in Jullundar district, to Manchester, England, in search of a better life. His sons, Mian Majeed and Mian Sarwar, worked hard along with him and subsequently built their own flourishing businesses.

Saima’s engagement and marriage. My friend, Nazir Ahmad Ghazi, Assistant Advocate General, had been pressing me for long to accept the pro­posal of Chaudhry and Begum Ab­dul Karim for the hand of my youngest daughter, Saima, for their eldest son, Naveed. But I had little time to attend to personal matters. Bilqis, on whom I could depend to handle it, was no longer there to help me. On one occasion, when he re­minded me about Chaudhry Sahib’s proposal, I had said, “I shall de­cide about it the moment I am transferred from the post of IGP.”
I was just putting off once again a difficult decision but Ghazi took my promise on face value and, like a good legal mind, made a careful note of it. So, the morning after I was transferred, Nazir Ghazi was at my house. I had to surrender before his unbeatable logic. I had always liked the match and finally accepted it. I knew that Ch. Abdul Karim was held in very high es­teem in the busi­ness circles for his honesty and integrity and his family was one of the finest, with great traditions of nobility and decency. Naveed, who looks after the family business along with his father, is a very fine young man, with good grooming.
The engagement was held in early June and the marriage took place on December 2, 1993. Both Saima and Naveed are gradu­ates from the Univer­sity of the Panjab. On October 19, 1994, they had their first child, a daugh­ter. She was named Iman. Mrs Karim loves Saima like a mother, taking all my worries and anxieties in the absence of Bilqis. Iman is growing into a bright and playful pet of her parents.

Haroon’s marriage. Haroon, my eldest son, followed my foot­steps and joined the Government College, Lahore. From there he went to the Uni­ver­sity of Engineering and Technology, Lahore. Then he completed his studies at Colgate University in the U.S.
Haroon had joined the Citibank, Lahore, during the lifetime of his mother. Bilqis was in search of a bride for him since then and had fi­nally set her eyes on Charmaine, daughter of Begum and Khwaja Sharif Ghafoor, with a very noble Kashmiri family background. Three days before her sud­den death, Bilqis had insisted that I accompany her to Ghafoor Sahib’s house to ask for the hand of Charmaine but I could not because of pressing official preoccupa­tions. Now that I was free, Bilqis was gone. I was very keen to fulfill her last wish soon but Ghafoor Sahib took a long time to decide.
Mian Muhammad Sarwar, Saira’s father-in-law, had come from Man­chester. On my request, he along with my cousin, Ch. Ghulam Sarwar, ap­proached Khwaja Sharif Ghafoor but he was not forthcom­ing. Mian Sarwar stayed back for almost six months at the cost of his business till Mr and Mrs Sharif Ghafoor consented to the match. I felt relieved, having fulfilled the last wish of Bilqis. Ch. Sarwar, my cousin but more than even a brother, took in hand all wedding ar­rangements. His younger brothers and my neph­ews were also very ac­tive in making the arrangements. Haroon and Char­maine were married on December 24, 1993. We had a very enjoyable even­ing after walima on the 25th, with the world famous singer, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, performing late into the night.

Chairmaine did her B.Sc. in biochemistry from the Kings College of London University in England. She has also drunk deep at the fountains of knowledge at the Oxford University. She is a well-groomed, sagacious and affectionate lady of charming manners. She has filled the great vacuum in the family, caused by the demise of Bilqis.
Charmaine has brought much happiness in our life. She takes good care of me and my old father and runs the house most meticu­lously. When I de­cided to write this book, she arranged the writing table with proper light. She also presented me with a very fine pen, made by Cross, a famous American company, with which I wrote the entire manu­script. I wrote almost daily from January 16, 1994, and finished on April 13, with my cups of tea being replenished silently by Charmaine.
On October 9, 1994, at 9:10 p.m., they had their first child, a son. He was named Asfandyar, which in Farsi means a gift of God. Asfandyar smiles in a very pleasant manner that gives me a strong feeling of the spiritual pres­ence of his great grandfather, Mian Muhammad Shafi.
Irfan’s studies. Irfan, my younger son, has been an outstanding student and secured high positions in his academic career. He did his Senior Cam­bridge from the Aitchison College, Lahore. He graduated in industrial engi­neering and economics, with honours, from the prestigious Columbia Uni­versity, New York. On his return, he started teaching at the prestigious La­hore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), the first private university in the country. In view of his outstanding academic record, he was offered scholarships by several American universities. He preferred his alma mater Columbia and is now studying there for an M.S. with the ulti­mate objective of doing a Ph.D. He has always been scholarly and fond of books.

The first memorable gift. In the last quarter of 1979, Bilqis be­came very ill and weak. She was in La­hore with the children while I was in Is­lamabad. My mother-in-law, Jamila Begum, took her for a medical check-up. The doctors advised the removal of her uterus by operation on which she became very nervous. I came to Lahore on leave and prepared her for the op­eration in a manner that she entered the operation theater with a smiling face. The operation, in spite of her diabetes, was successful. During the operation, blood transfusion was required. The blood group of my dear friend, Ch. Anwar Zahoor, matched her group and he donated happily and with enthusi­asm. My cousin, Ghulam Sarwar, and I shared the day-and-night vigil during her stay in the hospital. Although our children were quite grown up by that time, I found them very worried. My mother-in-law and sisters-in-law took care of them.
Bilqis was not fond of jewelry and I had never presented her any. Any­way, she was so beautiful physically as well as spiritually that she needed no jewelry. At the time of her operation, I felt like making a present but kept it a secret from her. On her recovery, I presented her 12 bangles of gold. She felt delighted and then, being her usual self, said that the money should have been saved for the children. Anyway, she wore the bangles, saying, “I shall keep them for Saima.” She al­ways wore those bangles and vowed never to take them off. It was a very painful moment when I saw the nurses take them off on her death. Anjum and Saima were in New York at that moment. Now Saima has that present from her loving and doting mother.
Devoted servants. Rahim Gul, a Pathan from Hangu, Kohat district, came to me in 1967 as an orderly after my posting as ASP, Qurban Lines, Lahore, and never left, even after his retirement as a head constable in 1986. All these years, he has been a very loyal, sincere, honest and devoted member of the family. His loving eyes saw my children grow from infancy to youth. He learnt driving and took the responsibility of taking the children to their schools and colleges and bringing them back, punctually and safely. His affection, however, did not keep him from being firm when necessary and the children obeyed him without demurring. (He could not help being frank, or blunt, even with adults when he felt justified.) Haroon, who was then only a little older than his son Asfandyar is now, started calling him “Gulla.” The other nicknames used by the children over the years were “Khan” and “Khan Baba” until they recognized his present status as an elderly family member by calling him “Baba Rahim Gul.”
His affection and devotion became obvious soon after his coming to me. In June 1967, Bilqis had to rush Haroon to Mayo Hospital in a state of very high tem­perature. Rahim Gul (along with driver Rab Nawaz) accompanied her. On the way, Haroon fainted and came to only after he was in the hands of doctors.
They were all home when I returned, unaware of the harrowing experience they had gone through. I was laughing and playing with Haroon while Rahim Gul was giving me the details. My nonchalant attitude disturbed him. “What kind of a person are you, Sahib?” he could not help protesting. “The child was almost gone. We have been through hell. And you are behaving so callously.” Tears were roll­ing down his cheeks.
Two years later, Irfan had a very high temperature, going up to 106 degrees Fahrenheit (41.11 Celsius). His body had to be placed on ice to bring down the temperature. There were so many other things to do. Rahim Gul did not have a wink of sleep, night after night, until Irfan’s temperature became normal.

Muhammad Sharif, from Chelianwala, Gujrat district, came to me in 1980. He is a good cook and excels especially when there are many guests. There is abso­lutely no doubt about his devotion. His extreme dutifulness in serving my parents has earned my lasting gratitude. His vigorous massage relaxed my muscles when­ever the physical tensions forced me to stop my newly started occupation of writ­ing.

Two painful deaths. The years 1991 and 1992 brought the most sor­row­ful events of my life.
I loved my kind and pious mother the most in this world. Mian Mu­hammad Bakhsh, my spiritual mentor, had ex­plained the supreme kindness of Allah with reference to the kindness of my mother. She had always re­mained my source of emotional strength. She had an unshak­able faith in Allah even in the most adverse circum­stances.
She led a very simple life even when we became comparatively better off. She had never put on any ornaments, even when everything was so good before migration from India. I had grown up from her lap into manhood, holding the senior most positions in the police, but I felt perfectly protected only when she would take me in her loving arms the moment I came home. It was so soothing that I would forget all my worries. She had developed ar­thritis in her old age but bore the pain with great courage. The doctors told me that she was in great pain but she controlled herself stoically. Whenever we asked her about it, she put up a very brave face for our consolation. She did not want me and my sisters to worry about her. She was kind and coura­geous in the ex­treme.
I got her admitted in the Services Hospital, Lahore, for treatment. I would visit her in the morning and again in the late evening. My wife, sis­ters, nieces and everybody else in the family would be with her. She had grown very weak and emaciated. She was in great pain and started remain­ing half-conscious.
On October 27, 1991, I had to go to Islamabad for a very impor­tant meeting. I went to see her and told her that I would go to Islamabad but re­turn in the evening. She prayed for me as usual, wished me safe journey and said, “Do not worry about me. I am abso­lutely all right. Go and do your duty properly.” I returned by the last flight from Rawalpindi late in the same evening and went straight to the hospital from the airport. She took me in her loving arms and said, “Why did you come? You must be tired, having trav­eled so far. You should have taken proper rest.” Even in that state of half-con­scious­ness and excruciating pain, she was worried about my health and com­fort. She was an extremely loving mother, with all cares and con­cerns about her son. It was going to be her last concern.
The next day, October 28, she breathed her last at 11 a.m., re­citing Ka­lima. Her face in death radiated a transcendent light. She appeared in per­fect peace. For me, she was so much and everything in life. While returning after her burial in the Faisal Town graveyard, I felt very weak, as if all my strength had been taken away, a gaping emotional vacuum. I felt concerned about my old father left alone but he felt more concerned about me.

Bilqis, my life companion of 27 years, died after a very brief ill­ness at 11:30 a.m. on July 20, 1992. She was in good health. She got loose motions on the 18th and took an overdose of Amodium, a banned medicine, on the advice of a half-baked lady doctor. That medi­cine, as the doctors explained to me later, immobilized and blocked her di­gestive system and bowel movement. She had considered it only a minor ailment. When her stomach pain did not subside, she asked a driver to take her to the Services Hospital on the 19th. The doctors realized the serious compli­cation and admitted her immediately in the hospital. I was not aware at all that she was there.
Najma, her younger sister, phoned me from the hospital. She said, “Bikki Apa is admitted in the hospital. She says call Sardar.” I was shocked. Then Najma said, “Apparently she is all right. Don’t worry though she is in low spirits and feels that she may not survive. That’s all.” I rushed to the hospital. I tried to console and com­fort her as she was in great pain. She was all the time asking for Saima, who was then in New York. “Please get Saima back. Call her near me.” I promised to get Saima back immediately. Saima had accompanied her eldest sister, Anjum, for the eye treatment of Mustafa, Anjum’s youngest son, to New York, where Dr Tanvir, the younger brother of my son-in-law, Amjad, was working.
The doctors worked hard and did their best for Bilqis. Ja’far Iqbal, Punjab Health Minister, and his wife, Ishrat, were all the time there in the hospital. Haroon, Najma and Humayun donated blood for her. Bilqis stabi­lized next morning and doctors thought she was out of danger. Najma, who had been awake the whole night, went home for a wash. My friend, Nazir Ghazi, advised me to have a cup of tea. I was happy that she was improving but it turned out to be transitory.
And suddenly heavens fell. Bilqis went into a coma, never to come out. Something went out of me. She was gone forever. “She is no more,” I heard the doctor saying as if from far away. I felt it was end of me and then I saw Haroon and Irfan. The moment I noticed them, I suppressed my emo­tions. I do not know why and how. But it was automatic and natural. I had to con­sole them. My parental concern overtook me. A nurse removed the golden bangles I had given her on her operation in 1979. She had never removed them herself in her life.

Bilqis was simple and sincere, absolutely undemanding. She took great pleasure serving me and the children. My parents were so happy with her as she nursed them with love and devotion. She was so much and everything for me. I suddenly felt enfeebled as if all charm of life had gone.
My father, who was in good health otherwise, went down sud­denly af­ter her sudden death. Anwar Zahoor one day asked him the reason. “Her death has ruined the personal life of my son. I worry about him all the time.”
The most difficult moment came when I had to inform Anjum and Saima in New York and Saira in Manchester. Nobody, Haroon, Irfan or Amjad, had the heart to break the sad news. I had to do the most painful duty. The girls could not believe that their loving mother was gone. They cried and wailed, so far away on the other side of the world. I don’t know how but they managed to travel alone in grief. The grave enclosing their mother awaited their mournful wailing. It was heart rending. Bilqis was buried in the evening of July 20, on the side of my beloved mother. There lay the two noble souls, side by side, in eternal peace in the graveyard of Faisal Town. My mother and my wife played the most important part in shaping me into what I am. I owe everything to them.