There was a time
…I believed in Holy War
…I believed all non-Muslims were my enemies
…I was willing to give my life for a Holy Cause
and
…I was willing to kill in the name of God.
Now when I think about those years, a cold chill runs
down my spine and I feel ashamed and embarrassed.
How could I think like that?
How could anybody think like that?
How can anybody believe in a merciful God and then be
so cruel to take a human life?
How can anybody kill a human being and then consider
his cause noble and holy?
When I see the pictures of Kabul, Afghanistan and Peshawar,
Pakistan appearing repeatedly on the television screen, my mind fills with
the images of my past. That is the part of the world where I spent my childhood,
my teenage years, and my young adulthood before I immigrated to the Western
World. The day American President George Bush decided to attack and bomb
Afghanistan and asked Pakistani President Pervaiz Musharaf to support him,
I felt perturbed. I thought back to the days when I wanted to join the
Pakistani Army and fight a Holy War against India, against Hindus, against
my enemies.
I vividly remember filling out the enlistment forms and
putting them
on the table for my dad to sign. Those forms stayed there
for two weeks unsigned. I assumed he was so busy that he did not have time
to read them. Finally, with the closing date approaching,
I asked my dad,
“ When are you going to sign my papers?”
“I am not going to sign them.” I was shocked at his brief
but firm answer.
“Why not?” I was curious.
“I don’t want you to go into the army.”
When he saw my puzzled look, he asked me to sit down
and he tried to explain his position.
“ Dear Son!” he said, “ By signing these papers, I will
be giving you permission to kill. If you join the army, you will take an
oath that if your commander says, “Shoot!” you would shoot. If Pakistan
ever had a war with Iran or Afghanistan, then you might be asked to kill
your Muslim brothers and sisters. I cannot give you my blessing to do that.”
After listening to my dad’s lecture, I got up without
saying a word and left the room. I was disappointed in him. I did not understand
his rationale. I was pre-occupied with our Hindu enemies in India. I had
never imagined the possibility of going to war with Iran or Afghanistan.
After that disappointment, I always considered my dad idealistic, rather
than realistic. But when President Bush declared war on Afghanistan and
asked for the support of the Pakistani Army, I realized that my dad was
more far-sighted than I.
When I ask myself, “Why did I want to join the Pakistani
Army and fight a Holy War?” I am reminded of the 1965 war with India. I
now believe that that war made lasting impressions on my thirteen-year-old
psyche. When I reminisce about that phase of my life, I remember that in
1965, political tensions had started to escalate between India and Pakistan.
The dispute with India over Kashmir had surfaced again. The sparks of rivalries
and prejudices finally turned into flames and both countries declared war
on sixth of September.
The whole nation’s life was turned upside down. Nobody
knew how to deal with such a major crisis. The government decreed a complete
blackout after sunset. No one was allowed to burn a match, light a candle
or turn on a lamp, which could give enemies, the clues where to bomb in
the middle of the night. Soon people could see in the dark. Digging trenches
was a part of getting ready for the war. People were encouraged to dig
trenches close to their houses so that they did not have to travel far
and waste time carrying their children to the trenches at odd hours of
the night. It was also suggested that the trenches be made in L, V or W
shapes so that even if people sitting in one wing were affected, the others
would be protected.
The whole nation was in a state of emergency, with everybody
scared and unsure about their safety and the security of their families.
It was interesting that people who hardly talked
to each other prior to the crisis started making plans to dig trenches
together. The men of the families living around us decided to dig them
outside our courtyard because they were afraid small children might fall
into them. However, digging them outside the wall meant that due to the
proximity of the river, water appeared in the trench at a depth of three
feet. The whole area seemed to be waterlogged. Finally, they dug trenches
that were I-shaped. They were not very satisfactory, but something was
better than nothing. At least they had enough room for women and children,
while the men used to sit outside. Even people from the neighboring streets
came running when the siren sounded.
I will never forget one incident in the middle of the
night when the siren had sounded and everybody had come rushing to the
trench. The women and children were huddled in the trench and the men were
crouching outside on the flat ground. Suddenly one of our neighbors, Mohammad
Sharif, started to shake and shiver. He was so afraid, he was grinding
his teeth. One of the women felt so sorry for him that she came out and
asked him to jump into the trench. He was utterly embarrassed. He was caught
between fear of the bombs and shame at wanting to sit with the women. Finally,
fear won out, and he crawled into the trench. That day I realized I never
wanted to become weak and vulnerable and afraid like Mohammad Sharif. I
wanted to be a mojahid, a brave and strong holy warrior, who could sacrifice
his life for his faith.
The declaration of war changed the psyche of the whole
nation. People became very patriotic and religious. Political leaders made
patriotic speeches, maulanas, the religious leaders, preached special sermons
and poets wrote stirring patriotic songs sung by popular singers. Many
people offered up special prayers for a Pakistani victory. They believed
it was a Holy War, a jihad, in which they wanted Islam to win. Many nights
I saw Indian planes dropping bombs and flames leaping to life in the destroyed
targets. The neighborhood was often shaken by the staccato of our anti-craft
guns firing at Indian planes, creating havoc in the skies.
One night after seeing an Indian plane, a villager got
so overwhelmed with his religious emotions that he tired to shoot down
the plane with his rifle and unfortunately the whole village got bombed.
We saw the ruins and ashes the next day. It was so sad. The whole village
paid the price for one man’s fanaticism and stupidity.
Those days people became so religious that it spilled
over into superstition, and there was talk of miracles. One of the stories
was that when an Indian plane dropped a bomb near the River Attak, people
saw an old man in a green dress and a green cap catch a thousand-pound
bomb in his holy hands and quietly drop it into the river. People believed
it was one of the miracles of Islam.
People were so emotionally involved that it was not uncommon
to see hundreds of men and women lined up in front of shops all over the
cities to listen to war news.
That war ended in seventeen days and the public was made
to believe that the Pakistani army had won. One of the heroes who received
a number of medals and awards for his extraordinary performance in the
war was a pilot named M.M. Alam, who shot down six Indian planes in fifty
six seconds, less than a minute.
Those were the days when the whole nation was proud of
their army and air force. And I was no exception. After the war the intoxication
with patriotism and religion remained for a long time like a sinister hangover.
To enshrine it in the national psyche, the 6th of September was declared
a national holiday.
I was so impressed by the war heroes that I wanted to
join the Pakistani Army myself and fight for my religion, and become a
hero, like M.M.Alam.
When people ask me, “How did your Holy War consciousness
transform into Peace consciousness?” I keep quiet. I find it hard to answer
the question in a few sentences. I think it was a gradual process.
Over the years, I discovered that we all have multiple
identities and some identities are more significant than others. Like many
other Muslims, I considered my religious identity to be primary and my
ethnic, linguistic and cultural identities secondary. Eventually I realized
that inside Islam there were sub-identities because of different sects
in the Muslim World. The strongest sects were Shiites and Sunnis. I was
shocked to find out that those identities were so strong that people were
ready to kill each other in the name of God. For many years on the Tenth
of Moharram, a special day of mourning for Shiites, there were violent
confrontations between Shiites and Sunnis in numerous cities in which many
people died. I also read about the centuries of Holy Wars between Muslims,
Jews and Christians throughout Europe and the East. I gradually realized
that religion divided people into believers and non-believers and that
many religious people had a tribal mentality. Some of them identified so
strongly with the tribe that they were ready to go to war with followers
of another religion, another tribe, and call it a Holy War. Now I find
it hard to believe that for many years I was one of them.
There was a time I used to wonder what my religious identity
would have been, had I been born into a Hindu family in India or a Communist
family in China.
In the journey from a religious attitude to a humanistic
attitude towards life, a number of writers, philosophers and mystics guided
my way. The first writer who challenged my thinking was Saadat Hasan Minto.
He had written thought-provoking stories about the 1947 tragedy following
Partition, in which thousands of innocent men, women and children were
slaughtered on the altar of religion. In one of his stories he wrote,
“Why do you say one hundred Muslims went to heaven and
one hundred Hindus went to hell. Why don’t you say we lost two hundred
precious human lives.”
Minto was the first intellectual with a humanist
attitude, which made me aware that all human beings were equal and that
their lives were sacred. He helped me respect other people’s faiths and
beliefs and lifestyles. His writings put a dent in my conservative, traditional,
religious tribal thinking. After Minto when I read the teachings of Buddha
and the writings of Kabir Das, I could not imagine how I could hate the
followers of such peace loving philosophers and poets. Buddha helped me
discover the spiritual dimension of life. He said, “One’s own experience
is the ultimate teacher” and Kabir Das helped me transcend religious traditions
and institutions and embrace all of humanity. He wrote,
O Brahman!
I say only
What I have seen
With my own eyes
And you keep quoting
The scriptures
I speak
To unravel the mystery
But you insist
On keeping it
Tangled
How can our paths
Cross? (Ref 1)
Buddha and Kabir Das, like many other mystics, helped
me discover my own truth and respect other people’s truth. He taught me
to accept that there are as many truths as people and as many realities
as pairs of eyes in this world.
As I traveled through India and met wonderful writers
and intellectuals and common people who welcomed me with open arms and
hearts, I discovered that Hindus were my brothers and sisters. When I traveled
in the Middle East, I realized that Muslims, Christians and Jews were all
children of Abraham, and being followers of the monotheistic tradition,
they had more similarities than differences. And when I traveled in Europe,
the West Indies, North America, South America and South Africa, I discovered
that all human beings share the same moon, the same sun, the same winds,
the same mountains and the same oceans. Gradually I realized we are all
children of Mother Earth, members of the same tribe, the same family, the
Human Family.
Now when I turn on the television and see Afghanistan
being bombed, I feel so thankful to my dad for not signing those papers.
It was interesting that year later, after I became a doctor, he asked me
once,
“Son! Do you still want to join the army?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I would have no objection if you wanted to join army
now. As a doctor, you would be a healer, not a murderer. You could even
help your suffering enemies.” That day, I realized that my father was a
Humanist at heart, as he loved human beings and humanity. Years later,
I remembered my dad when I read Walt Whitman’s poem that he had written
in the Soldier’s Hospital in Washington while working as a volunteer with
the wounded soldiers of the Civil War. He wrote,
For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead,
I look where he lies white-faced and stiff in the coffin
…I draw near,
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face
in the coffin. (Ref 2)
That poem helped me see a human being even in my enemy.
It helped me see the unity in our diversity, a common bond of humanity
we all share as human beings.
To kill other human beings in the name of a merciful
God is the ultimate contradiction human beings experience individually
and collectively. We, as human beings, have our dark sides and we have
a potential to kill. Throughout history, human beings have been killing
other human beings for personal, social, national and political reasons.
I believe that the most tragic killings are those done for religious reasons.
The worst wars are Holy Wars as they are fought in the name of a compassionate
and merciful God. Krisnamurti highlighted that contradiction in these words,
“The men who dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima said God was with them,
those who flew from England to destroy Germany said that God was their
co-pilot. The dictators, the prime ministers, the generals, the presidents,
all talk about God, and they have immense faith in God. Are they doing
service, making a better life for man? The people who say they believe
in God have destroyed half of the world and the world is in complete misery.”
(Ref 3)
In the present international tragedy, when we read
the speeches of Osama bin Laden and George Bush, we are struck by a number
of similarities. Each believes he is fighting for justice and peace. Each
believes the other is a terrorist. Each believes he is on the right path.
Both have declared a Holy War, and are willing to kill innocent people.
One calls it a Crusade, and the other a jihad. Both believe God is on their
side.
REFERENCES
1.Kuman, Sehdev. The Vision of Kabir, Alpha and
Omega Books, Ontario Canada, 1984.
2. Henry, Thomas and Lees, Dana. Living Biographies of
Great Poets, Garden City Books USA 1984.
3. Krishnamurti. The First and Last Freedom, Krishnamurti
Foundation London 1986.
Word Count: 2620
