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There are pot-shots being taken in some of our newspapers at Dr Riffat Hassan, currently professor of humanities at the University of Tennessee, and soon to be head of a new institute of Islamic learning in Lahore. And what has she done to earn the ire of our super-Islamists? She read a paper at the New York women’s conference (yes, the same conference) addressed by President Pervez Musharraf, in which she said that according to the Quran, neither was Eve fashioned out of Adam’s rib nor was Adam expelled from the Garden of Eden because of her. She said the origin of these assumptions is Genesis, the first book of the Hebrew Bible. The Quran does not support these stories. Not only is there no rib story in the Quran, there is no mention of Eve by name either. The word “Adam” is Hebrew, borrowed by Arabic, and does not mean a male person but an earth creature, which means it includes both man and woman. Hassan told the meeting that in the Quran, there are 30 passages relating to human creation and in none of them is there any hint that man was created before woman or that she was created from his rib. Nor is there this idea that woman was responsible for Man’s Fall.

Writing in the Daily Times , Khaled Ahmed regretted that clerics had joined journalists in protesting Dr Hassan’s observations. He wrote: “There is a lack of scholarship all around, so this comes as no surprise. The truth is that our guys should not have taken on Dr Riffat Hassan whose observations were firmly grounded in fact.” Both the journalists and the clerics who have attacked Dr Hassan should have realised that she has spent 33 years of her life studying and teaching Islamic thought and theology abroad. She earned her PhD from a British university for her work on Iqbal’s philosophy of selfhood and it was from Iqbal, she says, that she learnt about the ethical framework of the Quran. It would do her critics a world of good, both here and in the hereafter, to take a few lessons on Islam from Dr Riffat Hassan because, unlike them, her entire life has been spent on its study.

Dr Hassan’s principal contribution to the Muslim women’s cause is her meticulously researched conclusion that the inequality found in Islamic societies between men and women is not ordained by God through the Quranic revelation: it is manmade. What is advertised as divinely ordained is not so ordained. According to her, all five major religions have developed in the context of patriarchic cultures that were male-centred and male-dominated. Religious tradition was interpreted exclusively by men who appropriated the right to define the status of women. She says that when she began her study of Islam in 1974, she was the only woman in Pakistan engaged in such work. She became aware early on of the discrepancy that exists between Quranic Ideals and teachings regarding women and what is actually happening to women in Muslim societies. One of her first works, Women in the Quran , showed that the Quran does not discriminate against women and is in fact extremely protective of their rights; it even gives them special rights. She spent two years in Pakistan during Zia’s dark rule and saw his “Islamisation” at work, including legislation whose primary targets were women. Dr Hassan makes the sobering observation that “since the 1970s, there is not a single instance when any law imposed in the name of Islam in any Muslim country has been reversed.”

The women who rose up against these laws came from the secular, Westernised elite because they were the only ones who could organise any kind of a protest in a country under martial law, Dr Hassan points out. She came to the conclusion that “Islam could be challenged not on secular grounds but only from within Islam. According to her, “it is regarded as self-evident in Muslim culture that women are inferior to men – the men believe this, the women believe this, so there is no serious difficulty about promulgating laws that affect women adversely.” She argues that the Quran “undoubtedly, unambiguously and repeatedly” states that men and women are created equal. Inequality of the kind practised in Muslim societies is, thus, not the will of God. Islam condemns the tribal, feudal and patriarchal values in whose name crimes such as “honour” killings are committed.

Five years before Mukhtaran Mai and Shazia Khalid, Dr Hassan, troubled by the “indifferent and complacent” attitudes of Pakistani men whom she found in a state of denial regarding women’s problems, formed the International Network for the Rights of Female Victims in Pakistan. She maintains that there is a discrepancy between the ideals of Islam and Muslim practice. What is legitimised in the name of Islam is contrary to its normative teachings and if the two are separated, “Islam can become a most powerful means of women’s empowerment.” Dr Hassan was at the UN Population Conference at Cairo in 1994 where she made nine presentations related to women and Islam, challenging the age-old definitions of womanhood imposed on them by patriarchic cultures. She felt that the time had come for Muslim women to “speak of themselves as full and autonomous human beings who have not only a body but also a mind and a spirit.”

However, at the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing, the largest ever held, Dr Hassan recalls that, “what caught the onlooker’s eye was the massive presence of Muslim women dressed mostly in black, covered from head to foot, wearing, again mostly black, head and neck-coverings or hijab . These women made themselves highly visible not only by means of their physical appearance but also by the way in which they moved together in groups. There was also a significant number of bearded Muslim men who were supporting these women, mainly by distributing publications and religious materials including a large-size poster of a woman wearing a head and neck covering, saying that Islam was her religion and hijab was her dress. The message being given was that a woman who claims to be a Muslim must wear the hijab . In other words, the wearing of the hijab is to be regarded not only as an indication of a Muslim woman’s faith but virtually as the criterion of her Muslim identity.” These people had come “to dominate, not dialogue” and they denounced women who were not like them as “unIslamic.” As the Beijing conference drew to a close, so did the hope of a “paradigm shift from reactive to proactive thinking which had come to birth at Cairo.” These women denied that Muslim women had any serious problems that needed to be addressed. They not only defended but glorified whatever goes on under the name of religion in traditional Muslim societies.

Dr Hassan rejects those who act like custodians of Islam, which they define in purely literalistic and legalistic terms. She also rejects those who consider themselves guardians of “human rights,” which they see as being incompatible with religion, particularly Islam. Both take untenable positions. She differentiates between secularist and anti-religious persons and finds the latter just as “absolutist, close-minded and intolerant as religious extremists.” Extremists in Pakistan, she believes, may be vocal but they are a tiny minority, most Pakistanis being moderate and middle of the road. “They want both deen and dunya , a position supported by Quranic teaching and the Prophetic example which describe Islam as a religion of balance and moderation, stressing the complementarity of various spheres of life.”

I will go no further. Dr Riffat Hassan will soon be in Lahore, equipped and ready to fight all extremists, no matter what side of the divide they come from.

The Hotel Roosevelt on Manhattan’s 45th and Madison is a much quieter place since Gen Musharraf and his entourage of 71, lady wives of the privileged and the usual suspects included, vacated Floor 16. The ones who were lower down in the pecking order were housed on lower floors. The number of the floor tallied with the occupant’s nearness to the seat of power and its current occupant, who, it should be said to his credit, does not colour code his temples, a deft touch that makes him look quite distinguished.

By the time this correspondent left New York, he had President Musharraf coming out of his ears, having much earlier lost the count of reports he had filed to this newspaper about what the General had done where, when and, in some cases, why. The Indians call him media savvy and that indeed he is, sometimes more than is necessary. He loves to go on and on — and then some more. He rattles off statistics such as how many tubewells Chak No 15 in Faisalabad has. He also loves question-answer sessions that follow his speeches. When after their summit, the blue-turbaned Manmohan Singh (will someone please buy him a turban in another colour!) and the General walked out at the stroke of midnight — normally the witching hour — the reptiles who had been cooped up in a room for their big story had to settle for a four-paragraph joint statement that hid more than it revealed. It was also obvious that while the Indian prime minister was keen to get his well-earned night’s rest, Gen Musharraf was awake, alert and raring to go. That, alas, was not to be. However, he did get to read the four paragraphs.

The “media team” accompanying the President was lodged at two different places. The ones with more clout were at Hotel Roosevelt — lower floors though — while what a thoughtful official called the “riff raff” was cooped up in Madison Hotel, among whom please include this correspondent, who was also paying for his room. Every morning, one walked the 18 blocks that separated the grand-sounding but most modest Madison Hotel to the Roosevelt where the action was. At some point, Gen Musharraf was asked what he knew of New York’s restaurants. He replied that all he knew of New York was Hotel Roosevelt. The place, which many call a dump despite its renovation, was bristling with secret service and police officers. If you got into the lift and pressed No 16, that was the one floor where it did not stop. Surrounded by New York’s finest, I always remembered what a Vienna policeman had once advised. “When approaching a policeman, keep your hands out of your pockets where he can see them. Anyone walking with his hands in his pockets triggers an alert.”

Those who plan the President’s engagements, it is obvious, consider him to be a robot who neither tires, nor needs any sleep or requires down-time. That alone explains why every minute of Gen Musharraf’s stay in New York was taken up with meetings, interviews, public addresses, “bilaterals” at the United Nations and sit-down meals. The question is when does the man sleep? When does he shake off his jetlag? During one of his speeches, when he was brought a glass of water, he said he had been long enough in the military not to get thirsty. Ah! those long road marches.

And now a word about that “rape for Canadian visa” remark that led to some very unpleasant moments at the women’s conference that was written, produced and directed by the redoubtable Ms Nilofar Bakhtiar. The General was irritated that something he insisted he had not said, merely reported, was being ascribed to him. Be that as it may, but did he not know that repetition of libel is libel? If he had indeed heard that tasteless remark in Islamabad — someone please find the author — he should not have repeated it in New York. He also erred when he claimed that he had been misquoted. The next day, Washington Post printed his exact words, which did not make him look very good. Long after his New York visit is forgotten, the rape remark will be remembered. Were I the General’s adviser, I would have told him to say just two words and be done with it, “I apologise.” The lady who asked him to do just that was aggressive in her manner, it is true, but by then, Gen Musharraf had had enough of it and he blew his top, which at least shows that he is human — and fallible. This will be disputed by the sycophantic lady who in her warm-up speech had said that Gen Musharraf had been sent down by the Almighty Himself to take up the cause of women.

But I would like to end by recording my first sighting in flesh and blood of Maj Gen Shaukat Sultan, who speaks not only for the Army but the Chief himself. Up till now, I had only seen him on TV and, hence, was taken aback when instead of the six-footer I had imagined him to be, he turned out to be only a few inches taller than the esteemed Justice Dr Naseem Hasan Shah. That he tried to keep “local” Pakistani correspondents, including this one, out of the General’s departing pow-wow with the press, is something I will hold against him for the next one week at least, which is long enough for any hard feelings to be retained.

Khalid Hasan is Daily Times’ US-based correspondent

It has been a year now since Ishfaque Ahmed died and thus it is time to remember him. I start with a confession: I always spelt his name with an ‘A’ not with an ‘I,’ a mistake I have corrected after reading Mushtaq Ahmed Yusufi’s tribute, one among the hundred or so that make up the 600-page memorial issue of Adab-e-Lateef , published and edited by Siddiqa Begum, who in so doing has put us in her debt.

When Ishfaque and Bano Qudsia, his wonderful wife and companion, came to Washington some years ago, at a small gathering where some of us had had them over, Ishfaque said: “I have always wanted to know the unusual and what lies hidden behind surfaces and people’s faces. That is why I have sought men who have an inner life. I call them babay .” And true to what he said, all his life, he sought these unusual men and found them in the most unlikely places. He recalled that one of his first babas was Sir Alexander Fleming, the inventor of penicillin, who had come to speak at the university in Rome where Ishfaque taught Urdu from 1953 to 1954. After Fleming had finished speaking, the young Ishfaque walked up to him, took his hand in his and kissed it reverentially.

Ishfaque found his babas in the strangest of places. One of his babas sold chestnuts from a barrow in the old city of Lahore. He was a young man who was utterly contented with life because he said he was friends with God. All one had to do was to keep the door of one’s heart open and He would walk in, he told Ishfaque. Akmal Aleemi recalls that it was he who first took Ishfaque to one Baba Noor Walay in a Lahore suburb. On one of his visits, when Ishfaque rose to leave, the old man said: “Not before you have eaten.” Then he laid out some simple food before him – there was always food at his dera – and while Ishfaque ate, he kept shooing the flies away with a hand-held fan so that Ishfaque could eat in peace. He was still eating when the azan for Maghrib prayers sounded and all those present formed a small congregation, but not Noor Walay. Ishfaque said, “Please do not make me earn the wrath of God. You are getting late for prayers.” Noor Walay replied, “Son, that is permitted; what is not permitted is to fail to serve. So eat in peace.”

Once Ishfaque went to a baba in Lahore and told him that he wanted to become a Sufi. “And why?” asked the baba . “Because I like that.” “That is a tough call, so be quite sure,” the baba observed, to which Ishfaque said: “It is not so difficult now. I have already passed my primary and middle.” Then he listed a number of contemplative exercises that he had become adept at. “I want to proceed but I do not know how. I need guidance.” The baba laughed. “So you want to gain spiritual powers; you do not want to become a Sufi.” Ishfaque asked what the difference between the two was. The baba replied, “The only object behind the desire to gain spiritual power is to perform miracles. That one can attain after going through a number of disciplines and exercises. But mysticism is something else.” When Ishfaque asked what it was, the baba answered, “The object of mysticism is to serve God’s creatures and to work for their welfare. To stay away from the creatures of God is to become a monk. Religion and spiritual purity consist of living among God’s creatures.” Another baba told him not to try to do big but small things, tiny acts of mercy and compassion.

One of the most moving pieces of writing is a prayer Ishfaque wrote in Punjabi. What follows is my inadequate English translation that must lack the intensity and passion of the original, but here it is any way: “After having honourably retired from service at the age of sixty-five, my morning prayer to God has become a little longer. My submission, dear merciful God, is that as You know, I have become old and I no longer have the same control over myself that I used to have. But it is my ardent desire that at my age, I should not talk more than I should or become the sort of old man who tells everyone where to go and what to do. It is my prayer that it should never occur to me that I have become wise or that I know how to deal with every problem or how to hold forth on all branches of knowledge. I do not want to stick my nose in everything. I do not want to be one who tells people what is right and I do not want to indulge in small talk at all times of the day. I want to be free of that sort of thing and I do not want to be seen as one straining at the leash to tell the world how it should be run.

“As old age overtakes me, my weaknesses and my ailments multiply. When I want to stand, I have to place my hands on my knees; and I take my time to sit down. It is my prayer that I should not hold forth before others about my ailments, my weaknesses and my helplessness, nor should I tell people tales about my old age. Dear God, it is only You to whom I want to speak of my pain, my ailments, my helplessness, because I do not want to cause any anguish to others. Please have an end put to this urge that rises from my heart every now and then to complain from morning until night about my advancing years. Please put such a lock on my lips that never ever should a word of complaint leave them.

“I beg of You to show me another mercy because Your bounty is limitless. Let me be found among those who believe. Let what Your chosen ones, Your prophets, Your messengers have brought down become part of my being through what years I am left with. I am human and it is human to make mistakes. Many mistakes I have made, and many I will make, which is why at this point in my life, I need to be among the believers. Please accept my prayer and let me be counted among those who believe. Sweet God, a man learns from experience and what he has gone through helps him proceed forward. I can only spend the rest of my life on the basis of what I have learnt and gone through. But dear God, in order to get across, I would need my friends, companions and loved ones. Please let them stay by my side, close to me, happy and laughing. I need faces that I know and recognise. It is like this. You board a train and as it begins to move, you take a last look at the platform where your friends have come to say goodbye. It makes your journey easier. You look at their faces and the handkerchiefs in their hands waving in farewell, and the traveller’s burden is lightened. I am a traveller and I seek peace and calm for myself, and for those close to me, and for my friends. Dear God, I pray for the peace and happiness of everyone. Amen.”

The US-Indian nuclear juggernaut got derailed the other day, not at a wayside station but in the middle of the main terminal, the US House of Representatives’ International Relations Committee. Suddenly, the deal that had been greeted with such euphoria in New Delhi, and that had had this capital’s Indophiles such as the chronic Pakistan basher, the aptly named Blackwill, jumping with joy, did not look all that viable.

The calm seas that the deal’s backers in the Bush administration had expected were found to have not only huge swells and angry waves but plenty of hungry sharks and barracudas waiting for their feed.

It is always good in the end to land with a thud on solid ground instead of floating high over the earth’s humbler denizens as the Indians have been doing ever since Prime Minister Manmohan Singh left Washington with a deal that made nonsense of nonproliferation, gravely undermined the Nonproliferation Treaty and seriously undercut America’s own laws.

As if one has not had the fact that Pakistan is not a democracy thrown into one’s face every time one gets into a conversation with an Indian or an Indian-American friend, to that was added, after the N-deal was signed, snide observations such as, “You see, Pakistan is simply not in the same league with us. Whereas India is a responsible nuclear power, Pakistan has been running a nuclear bargain basement.”

India, one was told, had been recognised by the American president as a virtual member of the nuclear club, while Pakistan would need to stay out in the cold and prove to the world that it was not about to hand over the nuclear crackers it holds to the first bearded emissary sent by Bin Laden.

If you pointed out that had India not taken the nuclear road in 1974 through its “peaceful” nuclear explosion, Pakistan would not have followed the same course, you were told that it was time Pakistan stopped comparing itself with India. “Brother, you simply cannot fight in our weight. It is like a featherweight taking on Mohammad Ali in his prime,” one was told.

It now turns out that the agreement announced with such fanfare in July by President George Bush and Prime Minister Singh has long ways to go and the route is perilous. The first minefield has already exploded. The Congressional hearing on September 9 was full of drama.

Rep Tom Lantos, the highest-ranking Democrat on the Committee, ridiculed Indian External Affairs Minister Natwar Singh, calling him “dense” (this for a man who never smiles) for his statement backing Iran in the present nuclear standoff with Washington. Lantos said if India does not change its policy towards Iran in line with that of Washington, the relationship would “go down the tubes”. He spoke of his “concern” over the “insensitive thinking that I see coming out of New Delhi”.

With obvious sarcasm Lantos said, “It was incomprehensible to me that people as sophisticated and knowledgeable as our Indian counterparts should not be aware of how significant their position, vis-à-vis Iran is to this Congress, and, I hope this hearing will make them aware at least tangentially that this may be destroying far more significant relationships than they are having with Tehran unless they become sensitive to our view on that subject.”

The congressman reminded New Delhi that Iran is the single most dangerous international threat faced by America and the Iranian government is proceeding arrogantly with the development of nuclear weapons. Then he pushed the boot in, “Only an imbecile would believe that they are developing a nuclear programme for peaceful purposes and it is an insult to the intelligence of Congress that they keep repeating this.” For “imbecile” please read “Natwar Singh.”

He warned India that “nothing will fly in this body” unless India becomes as sensitive to US concerns as the US is to India’s. He said he had found Natwar Singh’s Tehran statement “literally sickening.” He called it “this Stalinist rhetoric which we don’t accept from the Indian foreign minister.”

Singh had said that India opposes referring the Iranian case to the UN Security Council. Lantos added that India’s relations with Iran are not “predicated on positions and views attributed to some governments”. For “some governments” read “the United States”. Other members of the Committee were equally scathing in their remarks and made no effort to hide their anger at Natwar Singh’s assurances of support to Tehran.

George Perkovich, one of the top experts in this area in Washington, summed up the growing mood in this capital when he said, “The US gave everything India wanted and got little in return. They framed the deal as necessary to cement a strategic partnership with India, and then this partner turns around and sides with Iran. That’s not very strategic.”

A “responsible” country Pakistan may not be, but our foreign minister not only dresses better but is smarter than “Prince” Natwar, although I wish he had not shown the world his entire dental work when shaking hands with his Israeli counterpart in Istanbul.

Khalid Hasan is Daily Times’ US-based correspondent

We forget easily and begin to take for granted what was unthinkable only yesterday, as if it had always been at our disposal. Who could have imagined there would be something called the internet and email and satellite television and cordless phones? The miracle of email has made the following possible.

A couple of months ago, I published a column in this space based on the autobiography of Maj Gen Indar Jit Rikhye, formerly of the Indian army and later of the United Nations. I called Gen Rikhye a “son of the soil” because his family had deep roots in our part of the Punjab. A day after the publication of the column, I received an email from MJ Asa’d in Karachi. “Enjoyed reading ‘Not all old soldiers fade away’ in TFT . If Gen Rikhye married the daughter of Mr Erry in March 1947 in Lyallpur, then I attended his wedding. My late father and Mr Erry were then posted there as executive engineers in the Irrigation Department. Talking of the elite 6 Lancers, it was commanded by my brother in the late sixties. During his tenure, the then Begum Salima Aga Khan came on a special visit to the regiment for her father served with it too.”

I promptly passed on Mr Asa’d’s email to Gen Rikhye, who is 85 and lives in West Virginia. He wrote back to Mr Asa’d: “It is my good fortune that Khalid Hasan has reopened a world for which I have a longing. How wonderful to hear from you, a voice from my roots. Indeed I remember my happy visits to Lyallpur, since known as Faisalabad, and the comfortable Canal bungalows. Heavily weighted most of the time by a wedding crown and my nerves shot, I have little memory of the occasion. I wonder if you are Mr Hakim’s son. Forgive me if I have the name wrong as it has been so long. The neighbour bred dogs and was handsome.

“I am even more excited to know that your brother commanded the 6 Lancers. Do tell me when he joined and took command. The regiment was not open to Sandhurst or Dehra Dun trained officers. My father was in the IMS in WWI and he served with the then 13 Lancers in Mesopotamia. In the post-war reorganisation the regiment became 6 Lancers. When at the outbreak of the war (Field Marshal Sir Claude) Auchinleck opened all doors to the services, I chose the 6th and my father wrote to the commandant who was a lieutenant with him in the First War. Although several KCIO and IMA graduates were posted, but I was chosen to remain overseas, making me the first to serve in the war with the PM squadron.

“As partition and independence approached, the British started to leave, except for Ingle who became the first commandant of Kakul. I became acting commandant of the regiment and was in command when the Union Jack came down and the flag of Pakistan was raised. My offer to remain was refused and I left by the last train from Kohat. . . On a visit to (Gen) Zia-ul-Haq in 1985 he mentioned that the Aga Khan was not doing much for the regiment.”

Mr Asa’d’s reply to Gen Rikhye was prompt: “No I am not Mr Hakim’s son. He was also an irrigation executive engineer posted at Lyallpur then. My late father’s name was Sharif. Mr Hakim’s son, Geoffery, was a very good friend of ours (my brother and I and some of our cousins), particularly of my late brother. Geoffery joined the Air Force – and so did I – but sadly he was killed in an air accident during his training. Mr Hakim was known in Lyallpur as kuttaian wala saab ( I am also very fond of dogs. I usually keep Dachshunds). Our bungalow was opposite the Chenab Club. I flew with the Air Force for about six years and left in ’53 to join Burmah-Shell, where I remained for 36 years, retiring as Deputy General Manager in ’89.

“Your history of 6 Lancers is fascinating. The fact that you offered to remain behind in ’47 shows your admirable personality, free of communal contamination, which must have come to the fore during your years with the UN . . . My late brother, who despite being a brilliant armoured corps officer, for various reasons, mostly unconnected with professional ability, had to call it a day after commanding a brigade . . . My brother’s first posting was 5 (Probyn’s) Horse. I came to know one (or the only) brother of your wife who came over from Doon School and joined Government College, Lyallpur, where I also spent a bit of time before moving to the MacLagan Engineering College in Moghalpura, Lahore. Receiving mail from you has not only been a singular delight, but indeed a privilege. Would you remember the Koacher family of Lahore? Sudarshan Kumar was a very good friend of mine at the Engineering College. That reminds me that I haven’t mentioned another commonality – I also went to the Central Model School and Government College.”

Gen Rikhye wrote back to Mr Asa’d saying he remembered his father and that his last visit to Lyallpur was during the Christmas of 1946-47, where his first son Ravi was born. He drove from Kohat in his car. He wrote: “Perhaps you knew another of my friends – Brig Sadiq Nawaz Khan. He was Scinde Horse and then I believe was 13th Lancers. On my joining UNEF 1, in Gaza I met Sadiq, the only Pakistani officer on the staff. We became instant friends to the surprise of all the foreigners. Within six months I became Chief of Staff and my first order was to post Sadiq as Liaison Officer in Beirut. He brought his wife and they were a hit. She turned out to be the daughter of Col Malik, the old IMS.”

I also sent a copy of Gen Rikhye’s message to Roy Joshua, a retired Cavalry officer who lives in Toronto. Gen Rikhye wrote to Roy: “Dear Roy, I am being reconnected with my past. I first met 13th in Iraq in early 1942. The 6th were with 8th Division at Mosul and the 13th were near Kirkuk with 31 Armoured (armoured division). Umrao Singh of my term was adjutant. After independence your Silki Wilki was our Dir AC. Ejaz Azim was UN Congo G2 Ops and joined my staff in New York as Ops. He returned as Pak Amb to the US and we saw a lot more of each other. Jehangir Karamat and I have met. Incidentally, I was a term senior to (Sahibzada) Yaqub, who has always been a friend. But my special surprise for you is that Tony Lumb and I met in Ottawa at the home of his nephew Lionel Lumb and his wife Shirley. Her sister Noreen is married to my youngest brother Hemi.”

Roy Joshua was quick to write back to Gen Rikhye: “Let me say ‘It’s a small world.’ I’m a very junior officer – I joined the army in 1953 and have served in 15L, 20L and 19L (King George V). I enjoyed my short career in the Armoured Corps (AC). The history of the AC and old Indian Army has been a passion of mine . . . Yes, you are right, Tony Lumb is the same person you refer to . . . He is now very keen to contact you but is going to write to you as he has chosen to remain away from the computer and prefers to use his faithful typewriter . . . We have a Brig Mervyn Cardoza 13L who is of ’42 vintage . . . I vividly remember Ejaz Azim as in 1955 he was posted to 15L as my Adjutant. He was originally from the Guides. He was an officer one could relate to and I kept up with him till his sad demise. Of course, Sahibzada Yaqub Khan is well known in the country and is a soldier’s soldier. You should also know Gul Hasan, Riaz ul Karim, Rodham etc. Brig Ingle had left the PMA when I joined but his motto left behind for the cadets has stayed with me, like I am sure all that pass through the PMA. It was: ‘It is not what happens to you that matters but how you behave while it is happening that matters.’”

And so it goes. It is indeed a small world and email has made it even smaller.

What is to become of Pakistanis living in America, I wonder every time I open one of the five or six Urdu newspapers that are published in New York and are yours to grab free of charge at any Pakistani grocery store or restaurant. Their economics must be in good nick because their owners and editors all appear to be doing rather well, thank you.

What gets my goat, when I open one of them, are the advertising they carry from such gents as Nagi BA, “Pakistan’s celebrated and renowned soothsayer, astrologer and astropalmist”. What an “astropalmist” is I have not the faintest idea unless he is someone who reads his clients’ hands by looking at the stars in the noonday sky. Nagi BA advertises in every Pakistani and Indian publication in America, but he lives in Blighty as his phone numbers indicate.

If he does not live there, he appears to be permanently on a tour of that country, which is understandable since it has more born-to-be-duped Pakistanis than any other spot in the world. Nagi BA even lists a website but when I clicked it some astrocyber satanic force landed me on one belonging to either a ready-to-wear outlet or a jiu-jitsu trainer.

Nagi BA has a helpline as well and invites those in need to call at all hours of the day or night. If there are any laws in England for the murder of the English language, I suggest the immediate incarceration of Nagi BA.

Here is the Perfect Master in his own words, “Do you some times feel that every thing is going wrong for you in life? Don’t Hesitate to Call Astro Palmist Amil Nagi B.A. An internationally renowned spiritual healer clairvoyant and adviser with more than a century of family history of helping and solving peoples problems all over the world. I can help you in bringing back your loved one (rootha huwa mehboob), I can help you study well in exams, success in business, infertility, court cases, breaking all sort of black magic, ie back luck [bad back?], sexual difficulties, Infidelity in relationship, domestic family problems. I can recall or Estranged wife or husband return of your loved ones marriage to someone you always loved (I want Elsa Martinelli as she was in 1964). I can help you with strong taviz and immigration problems (Homeland Security, kindly note), so don’t suffer in silence call today. Just a single call can change your life forever, all work is guaranteed and will start immediately.”

Nagi BA also claims to be in possession of 72 letters of Ism-i-Azam (the spell to lick all spells) with God Almighty, he adds, holding the 73rd. I suppose the Almighty appreciates the favour that Nagi BA has done Him by letting Him keep the 73rd letter which must be the clincher. However, Nagi BA has competition in the same newspaper, and on a quarter of the back page at that, from Sai Bukhari Sahib, who too has a British phone number in Brighton.

When I called it, the phone was picked up and in the background I could hear a child hollering, so I hung up because if Sai Bokhari Sahib cannot keep that brat from hollering, he is unlikely to make the Naqsh-i-Mohabbat (Love’s Calligraphy) that he advertises “drag back from across the seven seas the separated beloved, induce the ill-tempered wife to become a lifelong loving companion, and cure pain that is deemed incurable.” He can also deal with black magic, psychological diseases and evil spirits.

But wait, a powerful challenge comes from a most unexpected location. It is Mian Subhani Sahib (ad comes complete with the picture of a white bearded gent but no moustache) from Saudi Arabia. I had thought that the Saudis brooked no such mumbo-jumbo but you can’t keep a good spellbreaker down. Subhani Sahib gives his phone numbers and even a post box address in Al Khobar. I hope some Saudi snoop is reading this because if the Saudis hate anything more than Al Qaeda, it is Mian Subhani Sahib and his tribe of tricksters.

What knocks me out is that these characters are spending thousands of dollars every week by advertising in America and thousands of pounds for the same purpose in Britain. These are not public service ads so obviously they are raking it in. And who are their clients? Pakistanis in thousands.

Perhaps it is time for me to kiss journalism goodbye and get into the business of reuniting lovers separated by the cruel hand of fate which will earn me more a day than I make in a month.

Khalid Hasan is Daily Times’ US-based correspondent

The great Zaheer Abbas, “Khawaja” to all his teammates or “Z,” resembled Papa Hemingway in one respect only. Like the maestro, he was superstitious. While Papa always carried a rabbit’s foot in his pocket (not very lucky for the poor rabbit whose foot it was), Zaheer had his lucky shirts, his lucky cap and his lucky bat. Once in the middle of what looked like a marathon innings – few batsmen could slaughter spinners as he could – he realised after executing one of his deft strokes that a crack had appeared in his bat. With the utmost reluctance and a sense of foreboding, he raised it high over his head, waving it towards the pavilion. Within minutes the 12th man ran in carrying a couple of bats. Zaheer, by now looking crestfallen, selected one as if it were a slimy, slithering snake. He also whispered to the departing 12th man: “That’s the end. Bad omen.” He was right. He was out in the next over to a ball that even “Shortcut” Aziz could have lobbed into the crowd.

Is Z still superstitious? I wouldn’t know since I haven’t been within silly mid-on distance of him for years. One can assume he is and no harm in that either. How many people would not walk under a ladder if they could help it; or cross the path that a big black cat has just shot across; or not feel the approach of something untoward at the repeated twitching of the left eye; or expect money to be on its way when the right palm itches. Even those who are not superstitious try to play it safe and not invite the displeasure of the dark gods by crossing a black cat’s path. Card players and gamblers like sportsmen are superstitious. I knew someone who would begin losing while on a winning streak, the moment a fellow player asked him for a loan. “That is my end,” he would exclaim and I cannot remember an occasion when it wasn’t.

Indians and Pakistanis are by no means the world’s most superstitious people. In Scotland it is believed that it is unlucky while making a bed to leave the work before it is completed. An interruption will cause the occupant of the bed to pass a sleepless night or maybe something much worse. It was once believed in England that if a woman completes a patchwork quilt all by herself, she would never be married. Also, as long as there was an unfinished bedspread in the house, no one there would be married. May I suggest that the government make this a part of its family planning programme since nothing else has worked. On the subject of beds, there are many in Blighty who believe that if you change your bed sheets on a Friday, the devil takes control of your dreams for the rest of the week.

Next time you see a button lying on the road, pick it up, but only if it has four holes as anything less or more will not bring good luck. The itching of the eye as an indicator of something to come has been believed for more than 2,000 years. Theocritus in Idylls writes: “My right eye itches now, and shall I see my love?” In Shakespeare’s Othello we come across: “Mine eye doth itch, Doth that bode weeping?” To show how contradictory superstitious beliefs can be, at one time it was believed in parts of England that “when the right eye itches, the party affected will shortly cry; if the left, they would laugh.” And in some parts of the country it was and probably still is believed that “the right eye itching is a sign of coming laughter; the left eye, of tears.” So next time your left or right eye itches, pick the good superstition. I heard in my childhood that a girl who is fond of polishing off what sticks to the bottom of a handi will have rain on her wedding day. I am sure there are many who still believe that. And who knows, it might even be true, so ladies out there who plan to get hitched one day, do leave that handi alone if you want your wedding day to be sunny.

Take sneezing. The most common belief is that when you sneeze, it is because someone is thinking of you. The commonsense explanation that you may be catching a cold has few takers. You also hear people say when someone sneezes in their presence, “Bless you,” something dating back to antiquity because a sneeze was associated with a dread disease. In Wales it was believed that sneezing to the right is lucky, to the left unfortunate and right in front of you means that good news is on the way. Some believe that if you sneeze before breakfast, you will get a present that day. There are thousands of soothsayers, star gazers, palm readers, sorcerers, black magic breakers, divines, pirs , sadhus and sufis who operate with utter impunity in Pakistan, robbing the innocent and the credulous. So many of our people living abroad continue to be duped by them, going by advertisements that appear in community papers.

Robert Green Ingersoll, an American author, wrote a pamphlet in 1898 which remains one of the most rational treatments of the subject of superstition. This excerpt, for example: “Now no man in whose brain the torch of reason burns, no man who investigates, who really thinks, who is capable of weighing evidence, believes in signs, in lucky or unlucky days, in lucky or unlucky numbers. He knows that Fridays and Thursdays are alike; that thirteen is no more deadly than twelve. He knows that opals affect the wearer the same as rubies, diamonds or common glass. He knows that the matrimonial chances of a maiden are not increased or decreased by the number of leaves of a flower or seeds in an apple. He knows that a glance at the moon over the left shoulder is as healthful and lucky as one over the right. He does not care whether the first comer to a theatre is cross-eyed or hump-backed, bow-legged, or as well-proportioned as Apollo. He knows that a strange cat could be denied asylum without bringing any misfortune to the family. He knows that an owl does not hoot in the full of the moon because a distinguished man is about to die. He knows that comets and eclipses would come if all the folks were dead. He is not frightened by sun dogs, or the Morning of the North when the glittering lances pierce the shield of night. He knows that all these things occur without the slightest reference to the human race. He feels certain that floods would destroy and cyclones rend and earthquakes devour; that the stars would shine; that day and night would still pursue each other around the world; that flowers would give their perfume to the air, and light would paint the seven-hued arch upon the dusky bosom of the cloud if every human being was unconscious dust. A man of thought and sense does not believe in the existence of the Devil. He feels certain that imps, goblins, demons and evil spirits exist only in the imagination of the ignorant and frightened. He knows how these malevolent myths were made.”

But do still watch out for that black cat.

With the exception of the United Arab Emirates, no other Muslim country has had the decency to offer help to the victims of the devastating hurricane that is being described as the worst natural disaster in US history. I salute Sri Lanka, itself a victim of the deadly tsunami that laid waste a part of that troubled island state, for having announced a contribution. It is a modest sum but then it is not the size of the donation that is important: it is the thought behind it which counts.

President Pervez Musharraf and his prime minister are said by the embassy to have sent messages of sympathy. But what good are messages of sympathy! What the people of Louisiana, Mississippi and other affected areas need is money. I suggest that instead of going on pointless foreign junkets that embarrass the hosts and undermine the nation’s self-respect, the ‘twin leaders’ should donate the cost of their next planned junket to Katrina’s victims. America has always come to the rescue of those hit by natural disasters: it is time the courtesy was returned.

There were around 3,000 Pakistani-Americans living in the disaster area. A cryptic press release from the Pakistan embassy says they are all safe. How do they know? Dr Naseem Ashraf of the National Human Development Commission is in the States raising funds for his operations in Pakistan when he should be doing so for those who are in the greatest need today. But how can he when the national slogan is, “I can’t do anything for you. What can you do for me?”

The large Muslim community in the United States and Canada has still to be heard from. Barring an appeal by one Arab-dominated umbrella organisation, I have not seen much compassion at work among the faithful. All those Pakistani millionaires living in million dollar homes have yet to fork out even a red cent.

These people, when they give, if they give, do not do so in silence. The entire world has to be told. Not even one among the 15 major religious and humanitarian organisations raising funds and accepting donations for Katrina’s victims is Muslim.

A great deal of the crude refined in this country was refined in the areas that now lie ravaged. There is a serious gasoline and oil products shortage and it is going to get worse. Petrol is selling well over three dollars a gallon and it could go up to five dollars. President Bush has ordered some stocks released from the national reserve.

Only one OPEC member country has offered assistance including boats, aircraft, tents, generators, cash, and it is the non-Muslim Venezuela whose President Hugo Chavez is on the Neocon hit list. Where are our rich, fat Arab oil kings and princes and sheikhs?

And how do the American crazies view this disaster? According to Professor Stephen O’Leary, they have been priming the doomsday pump. Another analyst writes, “The thought of this region, or even the nation, being somehow punished for its sins, conjures twin feelings of excitement and dread among apocalyptic thinkers. On one hand, they seem delighted that a divine plan appears to be unfolding. With horrific events such as this, they believe, God (or Mother Nature) has shown them the world is so evil that it is closer than ever to the end of human history — which means they will spend eternity in a happier place. Yet they also believe God (or Mother Nature) is punishing Americans. That gives rise to their urgent need to stave off destruction through prayer, scolding, and trying to convert people to their way of thinking.”

Those who frequent chat groups are having a field day of it. One wrote, “Yeah, God brought the hurricane to punish America for its homophobia and for not burning Pat Robertson at the stake. By the way, how long can it be before the chimp in the cowboy hat starts using this episode of human misery to his advantage to claim that this is proof that America needs to drill Alaska and anywhere else that he can leave an oil slick (besides Wolfowitz’s hair)? And I like the way the Commander-in-Chimp flew over the Gulf coast to personally survey the extent of the damage. That’s just the kind of hands-on guys he is. Hell, he could have gotten a better feel just by putting on the Weather Channel and circling in front of the TV on his trike.”

Tom Degan from New York State looks at it differently. According to him, “Bad as it is, though, it’s a political gold strike for George W Bush. It has taken everyone’s mind (temporarily, at least) off Karl Rove, Iraq, the Downing Street memo, the economy, the national debt, John Roberts, his own stupidity, etc. Looking at the television pictures of the looters, I couldn’t help thinking that Dubya now has an insurgency to deal with — Cajun style. Count on it: As he did with September 11th, he’ll use this disaster as an excuse to do something really stupid. Pray.”

One scribe called Pepper writes, “If God truly punished those for doing bad immoral stuff, Georgie would have been voted out of office in a landslide, Pat Robertson would have been committed to a mental institution long ago, the hurricane would have wiped out any rich person who benefited from Georgie’s outrageous tax cuts and NOT the overwhelming average to poor citizen in New Orleans.”

One chat room cynic wrote, “Since Bush, Cheney et al are making billions from gasoline prices and war profiteering, I’d like to know how much they are contributing first, before I donate. Is anybody asking these questions? Is anybody asking the President of ‘Personal Responsibility’ why he insists that the globe is not warming even though the Gulf waters are hotter than ever and are directly linked to Katrina’s force? How much are these fat cats donating?”

Your turn Mr President.

Khalid Hasan is Daily Times’ US-based correspondent

In my book, two old Pakistan Times men, Murtaza Malik from Peshawar and Ghulam Tahir from Quetta, remain authorities on the region from which they have reported for so long. For instance, if the rest of Pakistan believes that a certain thing happened in the Frontier and Murtaza Mailk does not know about it, then you can take it that it never happened at all. The same holds true of Ghulam Tahir in Balochistan. I mention these two old campaigners, for whom I have a soft corner because of our Pakistan Times link, because as I sat down to write about Aslam Khattak, whose delightful autobiography I have just finished reading, I recalled Murtaza Malik saying that there was no one more astute in the ways of politics and the world than the old wizard who is now just three short of his century. I hope the chief umpire in the sky will permit him to get there, single by single, and let him keep his wicket till the cows come home.

Khattak’s book – A Pathan Odyssey – is what the account of a long and eventful life should be: full of great stories. He has had it edited by former American diplomat James Spain whom he met when he first came to Pakistan in the early years of independence as a young foreign service officer. Spain lives in Sri Lanka now, safe from both Tamils and Singhalese. Everyone has a bee in his bonnet and Aslam Khattak is no exception, the bee in his case being his great but, according to him, thwarted scheme of a confederation between Pakistan and Afghanistan. He claims that had it not been for Ayub Khan, who after taking over in 1958 threw a big bucket of cold water on the plan, the confederation would have come about. Having served long years in Afghanistan, going out as first secretary and ending up as ambassador, he was on the inside track with the ruling family. He says he had persuaded Sardar Daud, once the great patron of the Pakhtunistan movement, into joining his country with Pakistan in a confederation. Khattak blames Ayub for having turned back from a course to which the earlier government leadership was committed. If Ayub indeed did that, then he did the right thing. How can a confederation work when we have difficulty running a federation?

Khattak was one of the four Indian Muslim students who in 1932, while at university in England, issued the pamphlet entitled Now or Never , one of whose signatories was Chaudhri Rahmat Ali. The “Pakistan” demanded by these hot-headed young men had no place for the Muslims of Bengal. The pamphlet also attacked the Muslim delegation at the earlier Round Table Conference that included both Iqbal and Jinnah for having committed “an inexcusable and prodigious blunder” by accepting the “perpetual subjection of the ill-starred Muslim nation” in a Hindu-dominated India. Khattak and a friend of his went to call on the Quaid who was living and practising law in London. The Quaid told them that he had seen their pamphlet and was unhappy with it. The one good thing the British had done was to unite India. Muslims and Hindus had to learn to live together as friends and brothers, he told them. If there was one true nationalist in India, it was Jinnah. It was the Congress that brought religion into politics, though it is the Quaid who is always blamed for it.

Despite his London law degree, Khattak never practised law but joined the civil service on return, at one time even working as superintendent of the Mansehra jail. In 1947 he was the Frontier’s director of public instruction. Sent to Kabul, he stayed there for many years. Khattak has not hesitated to express his opinions. He is critical of the Quaid’s decision to dismiss the Dr Khan Sahib government which he calls “a dictatorial order neither desirable nor constitutionally correct.” It was a fateful decision because Dr Khan’s replacement, Abdul Qayyum Khan, initiated the practice of electoral manipulation that has been the bane of our politics. It was also Qayyum, Khattak affirms, who organised the tribal lashkars that were to seal the fate of Kashmir and provide India with an excuse to intervene and annex the State. Khattak has been an advocate of making the tribal areas part of the Frontier province and not letting them remain a “hotbed of conspiracies where we have to out-bribe the Afghans for peace with our own people.”

As Pakistan’s ambassador to Iraq, he became a great friend of Abdel Karim Kassim, whom everyone addressed as “The Leader.” Writes Khattak – words that should be framed and hung in front of the desk at which the buck stops – “It is immaterial from which strata of society a dictator comes. Once he is in the seat of power he is surrounded by flatterers and time-servers. Add to those the evergreen civil servants and it is not surprising that he often loses his sense of balance and begins to believe what these pygmies say to him.” One of the stories Khattak tells is about his friend the Nawab of Kalabagh who, when asked about the best fertiliser, replied: “The best fertiliser is the footprint of the landlord who looks after his farm and is not an absentee.”

Khattak became governor of his province under Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who once said to him that if an uneducated man like Ayub could rule for ten years, he should last for twenty. Khattak replied that he could, provided he did not make the same mistakes. When ZAB retorted that he had his finger on the people’s pulse, Khattak replied wearily that he had heard that one before. Khattak writes that after Bhutto’s appeal was at the Supreme Court, Gohar Ayub quoted a General to him as saying that if the Supreme Court acquitted Bhutto, he would shoot him personally. Khattak writes that his brother Gen Habibullah told him the date on which Bhutto would be executed, one week before it happened.

Khattak, long in tooth and claw, who has seen many come to power and leave it, is not pessimistic about the future of democracy in Pakistan. According to him, “It would not be possible for the army to rule the country for a long time without some political basis for their governance. Bayonets are not meant to cut cakes. More is needed.”

Maybe the old fox is right, but the cake in Pakistan continues to get bigger and bigger and the bayonets remain sharp enough to cut it at will, with the larger and creamier chunks going – you know where.

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