BUNDA HIT HO GAYA HY

Dr Agha Inamullah Khan
19th Nov 2017

My legs were sore, and feet felt heavy as if elephant paws thumping and denting the muddy drenched soil, as I walked pass different bogies to reach my air-conditioned compartment. I often avail that luxury when I am on a long journey, or when it’s too crowded to find a seat in non-ac bogie. Otherwise I like to communicate with people who could afford to travel on economy class only. Because this is the real social capital of Pakistan, that needs to be taken care of. I was rather drifting, as if when a convict is pushed to gallows, with heavy metal shackles around ankles cross chained to metal shackles around wrists, and I tried to divert my attention, thinking of my wife’s gold bangles mortgaged in bank for taking a loan that we used to add in amount to buy a house in Karachi’s comfort zone. And I recalled my granny’s silver heavy anklets, more than a century old, lying abandoned which I often look at to sail back in history and fascinate myself while cleaning an old ancestral wardrobe in village. She was gifted by her mother on her wedding from Shujaabad in Multan. But again it was hard to swap my mind off the horrific glimpse of that poor soul I went to see, thwarting stroll on irregular rocks and pebbles which you often see along railway track, spread on either side of metal track and in the middle of wooden slippers, lying parallel shouldering the metal track. The train stopped abruptly; at an other than usual regular scheduled Stop; about two Kilometers before Martial halt where mostly labor gets down or hop on board often seen with spades resting on shoulders with feet half soaked till shins in mud, coming back from the nearby factories. I got up from seat to walk to door, to breathe fresh air and explore what had actually happened as I noticed police bit panicking, and whistling, until one of them roared, “Bunda hit ho gaya hy”- "Someone had been hit with the train, we were on". Pushing my heavy monstrous  fleshy bag glued to now aging bones that often stiff in the mornings, it felt like a curse after seeing that life less thin lean dead body of a poor man, malnourished, tormented, dejected by society probably, that had accidentally hit our train.

Some passengers whispered,"suicide". A policeman shouted, why the hell that bastard had to do it here and waste our time. Many ran to see what had actually happened out of curiosity. I had to cross a 50 feet long bridge, on a mere track resting on wooden plaques placed on three cemented walls spaced at equal distance, an outlet for hill torrents.  It was covered with old rusty brittle metal sheets. Apparently it seemed very unsafe to walk on it. Ensuring that I do not accidentally miscalculate my steps and trip through the gap and fall 30 feet down, for them to be burdened to have another casualty for Edhi ambulance, or qualify for Policemen shouting, “another bastard is down"; I was being careful but I still wanted to go, as if it was an obligation. Patting my anxiety, I tried not to think about steep fall down; visible through my skidding gaze as it sped to keep the pace with my rhythmic left and right steps taken alternately hopping on plaques. At one moment I felt dizzy as I was not wearing my sight glasses, and my vision skied the track and intervening plaques like mallet wiggles Xylophone but unlike those sweet tunes, this was more like a sorry anticipated funeral march to cemetery or nervous   future walk on “pul e Sirat” mentioned in Qoran to qualify for Heaven or slip in Hell of my own load of deeds. Indeed, we are answerable for our booties and who has them and who had not!! Finally I reached the spot about only 30 feet away. He was actually on the other side of train and people began to duck down their way to walk through space traversing between wheels. First I thought I would do the same, but then I got an idea to hop on the train again on a nearest bogie and step down through other side door to reach that end. But what was the adventure really!! Why was I doing that? Curiosity. Typical Pakistani curiosity. The moment my eyes caressed his lifeless body from head to toes, my world drifted apart. I took his picture, avoiding the part of his head that was squashed. He had thick beard, very thin body, tan complexion, wore black track suit bottoms with white running strips on sides and an old dirty pale white but dusty baggy shirt, too big for his size, probably donated by someone. I could not judge here even though I know I have seen such looks before, on drug addicts or patients at Sir C J institute of Psychiatry, or roaming psychotic patients at Shrines. But I was sure that it was not a suicide. Although I have often condemned the misuse of our cell phones or how we are more curious on taking pictures of most horrific crimes in action than to intrude rather and stop it from happening; but today I was determined to do the same. Why!!!  I had bleak hope, what if he is still alive and I being a doctor might be of any help. But I had half anticipated already that it was not possible, and I was only enduring to see another addition to victims of this wide societal gap, which you often come across reading in morning papers or watching on tele, sipping from a mug of hot coffee, under your warm satin sheets, and do not consider it to be the NEWS.

Dr Rozina Karmlani’s voice echoed in my ears from her yesterday’s presentation at Aga Khan University on domestic violence in a conference on “The Sustainable Development Goals, Pakistan’s Maternal, Child Health and Nutrition Challenges”. One reason she mentioned behind such reported violence and indeed a strong one was poverty. Poverty I must say has been one of the main determinants of our behaviors, consequent of deep seeded corruption, bad governance, religious extremism, political instability, looting, nepotism and all such evils and now we are reaping despair and led our children in to this sorry state, where even God is embarrassed in its heavenly house of commons for delivering defective pieces of art by default in Pakistan.

I began to wobble my mind pondering, imagining, to feel that moment of extreme flatness when you could not anticipate even the roaring, honking train coming head on. What was bothering him to be deaf! What exactly was he thinking! that pluged his ears, and fogged his vision! Or what was so fascinating nearby, or a happiest recall of mesmerizing moment of his life, beautiful intoxicating memories of his first crush may be! What was so tormenting that compelled to stir himself out of that agony, and he dared overstepping threshold of death barrier.

May be bewildered with loss of family!

Joblessness!!!

Or may be tormenting memories of his childhood sexual abuse!

Silent spectator to domestic violence!

Poverty and starvation!!

May be no shelter!

What exactly!

Many queries haunted me, like  Zombies, ready to swallow me as I traversed among all curious people, half raised from their seats, like anxious squirrels gazing on berries but suddenly get distracted stretching necks full length in anxiety, crowded in narrow walkways, inquiring me what had actually happened! Why had train stopped!! until finally I reached my seat in second last bogie, exhausted as I if I had traveled miles across bone chilling glaciers around K2, and flung my load into seat-tilting the whole weight on right shoulder as when someone sinks in vasovagal shock, slowly sinking in numbness from stroke, gasping. I began to sweat and was breathless, until I recollected myself, and my gaze began to focus at moving site scene through glass window across, on wind power fans whirling. I realized we were near Jhempir.

God at Jhempir has only two shades, unlike the light and dark hues of other variety in rest of the world. A typical Muslim shade and a Hindu shade. As a child I used to ponder what God (He/She) actually looked like. Then eventually I learnt, it has no gender, but is traditionally quoted as He, because it’s us men who have dominated the globe since ages, and attributed that gender to it. And even painted it with variety of other colors, but assigning masculine gender to claim His power on our side, and treated women as mere slaves and objects of our infidelity.A light and dark Hindu shade, a light and dark Muslim shade, a Christian shade with crusader trend, Jewish shade, separated with ripples of atheism as well.

The light and dark shades here are for an explanation sake analogous to moderate/liberal,fundamental/extremist versions respectively.

There is a short mountain range about couple of miles long that you get to see as you move out of Jhempir, one peak that reminds me of Giza Pyramid, and Illuminati's icon with an eye of the Dajal planted at its peak. So it’s not just God alone here but we have its counterpart trying to snatch its authority, and we have done pretty well in that tug of war. While religion has become poor’s favorite pass time, we have traded on our resources to contribute to one world system, where sustainability slogan will no more be sustainable and you and I will be happy to get rid of the weak and illiterates. Fittest to survive. Where you will not need any speeches on poverty alleviation or conferences on sustainable goals

The hope to change things here is long gone. It’s time to become Lucifer, and get rid of old rot. The Agendas to make you follow our proposed Agendas are the very agendas to eliminate you. You lost it folks. Your time is up. Have no feel. Get over it. Life goes on. We are zombies, we have got to eat each other to get through, and the God you knew once does not exist anymore.