Prime Minister Gillani: poetry and politics

once asked Abdulla Malik who the last Pakistani prime minister with a taste for poetry was. “You are making me go back, go way back,” he replied, then added ruefully, “nobody since Chaudhry Muhammad Ali.” Some months ago, Yousuf Raza Gilani was asked during an interview how he passed time in jail during the five years he was imprisoned. Gardening and poetry was his answer; Faiz Ahmed Faiz especially. Asked to recite his favourite Faiz verse, he obliged, but I could not fail to notice that what he had recited did not scan – or as we say in Urdu, “it was outside its weight,” or vazan se bahar . Dismissing the lapse as “one of those things,” I gave the man who was destined to become prime minister the benefit of the doubt, as umpires do with LBW appeals when they are not 100 per cent sure if the ball would have hit the stumps had it not been obstructed by the batsman’s pad or body.

I am not so sure now, certainly not since I finished reading Gilani’s autobiography Chah-e-Yusus se Sadda that a friend lent me on a visit to Vienna, of all places. Much of what he quotes by way of poetry does not scan. But then, what are a few dropped or misplaced words between friends – although I must confess I have never met him? His uncle, Hamid Raza Gilani, however, was a friend of mine, to which let me add a footnote. I once asked Madam Nur Jehan to name the man she found most attractive. Hamid Raza Gilani was the one she named from among the locals, and Charlton Heston from among those living beyond the seas. Since all three are now cavorting in heaven, Madam can finally make up her mind.

But let me return to Gilani’s book. First the title, which is derived from a verse by Maulana Altaf Hussain Hali. The prophet Yusuf, the most handsome of men, was thrown into a well by his brothers because they were jealous of him. Yousuf Raza Gilani’s five-year confinement came at the hands of a gentleman with whom, he has recently said, he has no difficulty working. I do not think the prophet Yusuf ever spoke to his treacherous brothers again. However, since Yousuf Raza Gilani is going to remain prime minister for the next five years, as Asif Zardari has assured us, it would be instructive for people to read his book. He wrote it while in custody when he had little hope of getting out, much less of becoming prime minister. Indeed God is great. He confers favours on those who least expect them.

The autobiography tells the reader a good deal about the author. First, it shows him as an adept infighter when it comes to local politics. He comes from Multan, which is known for its men of God and its wily politicians. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto once said to Nawab Sadiq Hussain Qureshi, “Sadiq, don’t play your Multani politics with me.” Bhutto should have known: he had dealt with all brands of politics and politicians. He was particularly wary of Shikarpuri politics from his own land of Sindh; but that should be left for another occasion. Gilani, whose family has been in politics for three generations, is immersed in this most fascinating of all games and professions. Dog may not eat dog, but politicians love to feast on fellow politicians. It has been said, “Do not hit a man when he is down.” No politician who plans to go places will miss the opportunity to hit an opponent when he is down as there can be no better occasion for getting even and settling scores, both real and imagined. All politicians have long memories, not necessarily for good turns done to them but for injuries, even slights, suffered.

Gilani’s book tells us first that the prime minister is not a pushover. In the event that, for some reason, or on account of changes in circumstances that we cannot foresee today, he is asked to move over and make way for he whose name encompasses the entire English alphabet, he will remain tethered to his place, which he no doubt believes is his because of a long political career crowned by five years in jail. Gilani was innocent of the ridiculous and frivolous charges brought against him; and yet during his time in prison he sought neither concessions nor special treatment, nor did he go down on his knees to his persecutors. He was in prison at the death of his mother, then his older sister, to both of whom he was deeply attached. He includes in his book a very moving note scribbled by his sister Nighat to him a day before she died. It says (and I translate): Lovelier than the moon/saint of saints/Yousuf Gilani/my father’s memento/Far am I from you/Prevented from meeting you/Tired am I of begging/Enough of this life I’ve had.

In politics there are always surprises. One surprise came the other day when Gilani said that it was the Pakistan Army’s duty to defend the physical and ideological frontiers of Pakistan. Every time I hear the words “ideological frontiers,” I want to reach for my gun (that I have never had). Asghar Khan was the first man to use this phrase in 1968, and ever since then it has been flung at us, mostly by those who have failed to defend either frontier. I was surprised that Gilani should employ these hackneyed words. This is out of character if his book is any guide to the sort of man he is. As Speaker of the House, he defied Benazir Bhutto more than once when he summoned jailed MNAs of the opposition under his powers as Speaker to attend a crucial session. He writes that the day he was elected Speaker, Benazir asked him to come for a party meeting in the evening. He declined, saying he was now the Speaker and no longer a party man. He did not go to the meeting, only joining his former colleagues at dinner later. The prime minister was not amused. But in the process, I am sure, she came to respect him more.

Gilani concludes his book by observing that the great tragedy of Pakistan is that despite the wishes of the founder of the nation, democracy has not been allowed to flourish. Dissent, he writes, is the life-blood of democracy and if you strangle that you bring about democracy’s death.

There are many, in Pakistan and abroad, who are hoping that he will remember those words.