CORONA CURFEW- 30th Day Since Lock down

Thatta Diary

Dr. Agha Inamullah Khan

Back to lock down lured boredom

Rhythmic sound of pebbles squashed beneath my soles as I thumped and crept snail speed walking over God knows how many dumped bellies and breasts of artists, soldiers, craftsmen and women  from various related professions of ancient daily life routine. Flattened to ground by now; many graves have soiled ashes of men & women  fertilizing  randomly grown wild bushes in what appears to be deserted and ignored archaeological magnificent hill site at Makli, in Thatta. Makli is believed to  hold in its belly, an estimated over one million dead.
The nation that does not respect and value its history; soon is erased from history books itself. It is indeed an archaeological criminal negligence but a probable sub-consciously motivated behavior that in fact depicts hatred for Sindh by none other than Sindhis themselves. May be because most of them are invaders. God is also eliminating them from history even despite their cultural merge to be Sindhi. After all someone has to pay for the crimes of their ancestors.

What is left now is fewer but fascinating centuries’ old master pieces which stand the sun, the carbon emissions, the storms, the eroding winds admixed with sea breeze of Kharo Chaan, Thatta's coastal belt,  and in addition sinking weight of monuments from water logging due to agricultural land of tribal chiefs, politicians and Sardars (Chief). The chair that holds the ministry of the department even has the signatory as Sardar with an additional title  Syed. Syeds in Sindh apparently seem to  hold the copy rights since ages to loot, plunder, rape, and sell Sindh for their lust when they please and get away with it. And unlike these Syed who claim to be from lineage of Prophet s.a.w, Sindh at one time was ruled by most patriotic, humble, and men of honor, of whose legendary tales we refer in or daily conversation quoting from Latif, Sachal, Bhudal, Bedal & Saami.

Enjoying the early morning mist and wilderness at worlds’ largest Necropolis, I came across a man in rags, holding a plastic shopping bag, transparent enough to spot some garbage, an empty can of coke, few dry bread crumbs, empty packets of cigarettes  Gold flake, Dun-hill, and couple of empty green bottles of lime beverage "Dew". A destitute in his entirety; visible from his head to toes, bare feet, ripped shirt, in between tan and dark complexion; malnourished dehydrated skin that wrapped his barrel shaped bony skeleton. He stopped immediately and nodded with humble gestures as if I was the cruelest King and he ought bowing while I walked to my throne on red carpet with slaves standing on both sides right in the heart of Meccali.  Initially I thought to draw towards him and ask him his needs, but then I told myself No. Stop!! Enough is enough. They must  fight!  When will they!!! For a moment I recalled when two years ago first international conference was held here, untiring efforts of Ayaz when he served as provincial head of UNCESCO. The event  flashed to my infested cerebral horizon in front of man in rags; momentary vivid but docile face that focused as I caught my gaze back from on going routine burst of millions of in-congruent events which I sub-consciously keep relating to fix the jigsaw for a meaningful conclusion. Poor man's face reflected the very fate of bloody civilians of this land including myself.  Slaves since ages, like black population of Africa, as if we are dosed to be docile through a multi invisible circuits from an ancient spirit of Lucifer seated at central grid continuously engaged in never ending war with God. None the less, the monuments of rich still stand tall, since centuries.

It was so peaceful, with occasional echoing of wind rattling in corridor between pillars of Jam Tamachi and northern wall of Jam Nizam. I remembered Ayaz telling me that Jam Nizam’s 600 years old corpse is well intact in his grave. The preparation to build his grave was ordered by Jam Nizam during his life time and even the shrine built over it was completed. The cube shape shrine is made of pale yellow yellow stone, a peculiar hill clay color witnessed at most areas here and it bears multiple flower patterns, carvings, terraces, windows and even staircase as if he planned a small house for his spirit to move about freely. Ali my good old buddy from Walhar in Tando Allahyar traces his progeny from the clan of Jam Nizam pet name Jam Nindo. Jam's corpse being intact was recently explored using latest technology of GPR. Ground Penetrating Radar is a new geophysical technique which uses radar pulses to image the sub-surface. It uses electromagnetic radiation in the microwave band. Did they use some special chemical to preserve his body, like Egyptians did with their mummies in Giza Pyramid or was it just higher level awarded by God for His noble followers to keep his corpse from decay like that of Prophets, Oliya, Saliheen or Shaheed ( Refer Koran for meaning of the terms). It was one of the most peaceful walks I could ever possibly imagine  at dawn. An apparent state-imposed lock-down silence due to Corona pandemic down the hill in Thatta downtown in contrast to city of silence here at hill  at Makli. Who would come here for a peep! Or a hello aired to only echo back at you. Air vibrating in solitude whistling between the corridors  of graves. Silence is your only friend here  smiling with you.  I walked between many graves, peculiar patterns on graves teach you whether you greeting spirits of soldiers, or workmen at kings harem, poets or workforce of daily routine. I kept walking as if I had to complete the path in a labyrinth to finally  reach the locked door of Jam Nizam. The Chi-ca-go , koo and Tsing of quail soothing my mind to feel a fresh and  could recall Ayaz’s voice being my guide again  explaining, “Haza Macca  Lee”, "This is my Mecca", the historical statement that is preserved and as precious like  these masterpieces when Shaikh Hamad Jamali stated for Makli. Shailh Hamad's monument stands beside the ruins of an old mosque but  now stands like few playing cards  shuffled out from deck and held in geometrical position by a toddler during play school lessons. It is this statement that named this grave yard Makkali and now slang as Makli. Most contemporary priceless pieces either are stolen or broken and a criminal negligence by culture & heritage department and not enough love in hearts of people of Sindh for their culture, mere political  slogans, "Sindhu mata" 

Thatta district at one time was an empire that housed more than 400 universities, now has burden of 95% illiterates often seen chewing nicotine like cows and buffaloes grind legumes and straw between their jaws. Invaded by many including Mongols, Portuguese and Arabs,  this claimed  Gateway to Islam,  is corrupted in the history with invasion of Muhammad Bin Qasim posed as hero sent on instructions of his uncle Hajaj Bin Yousuf who had set ablaze Kaaba. But the agents of tyranny twisted history to teach our children  in school curricula that Bin-Qasim was our savior. The real preachers and companions of prophet waiting for Imam-e-Zamana are resting here near my native district Shikarpur, who introduced Islam first time in Sindh. 

Eleventh day away from home, traversing lock downs from Karachi to  Dadu, drove pass Sewan and  witnessed deserted  inlet  to  Qalander from Indus Highway. Wonder after how many centuries the peace and tranquility  has returned to streets of sewan which otherwise portray the site of never ending carnival 24/7. Lal Shahbaz now  must have found peace in his allotted spiritual empire, that otherwise bore thousands of knocks in a day to listen to  their complaints and to plead for their wishes to come true; only at the cost of embarrassment in front of Almighty. Few years before Super floods, he commanded me for a collective prayer & forgiveness and revealed forecast for  massive floods.Yet again when I went to offer homage returning from Farooq’s funeral he appeared as I squeezed the Alum erected beside his left shoulder, and  advised me to pay a visit each month. But I guess since I could not keep up the promise, so the sign now read beside the inlet to his shrine “We are currently not available due to Grand Galactical maintenance from Corona Contamination”.

The bloody commoners including myself had busy schedule training districts Health management teams, building their capacities to manage COVID-19 positive victims, a pan doom with sinister plans. I stationed in rest house booked by Ayaz on my request, not far from Hujra Huzoori across the road behind Shrine of Makhdoom Muhammad Hashim Thatvi. The vast 16 square kilometers of the necropolis is occupied without any mercy, a highway crossing over its bosom, city courts, markets, district health offices, Gymkhana, District Head Quarter Hospital and other government offices. You see ancient temples and mosques together, unlike today’s RSS fanatic Hindutava doctrine for “Hindus only” or "Pakistan ka matlub kya La illa ilullah", propagated by state sponsored Mullahs. Why do they not add Muhammad Rasool ullah with that slogan, rather to complete the Kalima. Muhammad s.a.w who is pure icon of love, forbearance, and forgiveness, never found place in Arabian History books hence the need was felt  to write about events relating to his life in books of  Hadith. Same agents have distorted history of this land, praising the conquest- the invasion by Bin Qasim of Sindh in the name of Islam.  I wonder what lessons have we learnt from the holy book revealed through prophet. This reminds me of a beautiful phrase I came across in prelude from Deepak Chopra’s book titled Muhammad, “A mule can go to Mecca, but that doesn’t make him a pilgrim”

The legend has it, that prophet in Islam, replied to Makhdoom Muhammad Hashim Thattivi’s greetings a loud when he went for pilgrimage. Was he being hallucinated! No. Because he replied three times, and on third occasion quoting his name not Hashim only because there was another pilgrim with same name, but rather as Hashim Thattivi. I wonder what cursed this land Thatta. Such quoted tales are probably banned and lessons removed from academic curriculum, and our children now read Matilda, Prince and the Pauper, Charley and Chocolate factory. If these historical facts were shared with our children they would be only contradicting these claims and can only malign newly injected conceptual thinking that once dead, dead forever.

My journey to learn about Comprehensive Health System started when I first visited this special legendary place where saint used to have meetings with the prophet. No it’s not a coincidence!  My task started from that epi- center in Thatta, when I was sent by JSI- an international NGO working since 20 years in Pakistan,  during my course at Aga Khan University in Health Policy & Management back in 2017.

This is 2020 and I am here again to facilitate a training workshop on building capacities of District Health Teams to combat Corona pandemic. The circle in Stage- 1 gets completed today.  Waiting for next task, walking along and  drawing circles in cosmic sand spread out at my imaginary terrains.  I suddenly shrugged myself from self-created hallucinatory theater from Corona RNA coded genes virulence to Cosmic supernatural DNA  multi helix and realized I had to hurry back to my room and get ready to go, to Deputy Commissioner's Darbar Hall. To take one last glimpse I turned back to say good bye to everyone and God smiled at me peeping through the clouds sending out His love; fencing sunlight that broke through patches of clouds, shinning in heart shape sparkle that bathed my vision and tickled my heart wishing, “Have a great day Inam”