Pakistan The Land of the pure - A Myth or Reality

This is the eve of the 21st Century, the dawn of a new era, and 50 years since Pakistan’s inception. Sunrise explodes in an identical fashion as its rays flush down the crimson, descending to announce the outset of a new day in the land of the pure.

Meanwhile in the outskirts of the city sits a little girl amidst the tattered remains of her attire, recollecting being raped the night before. Somewhere else despicable hysterics are to be heard as the news arrives of the latest sectarian killings. Yet another place, a child wails in hunger, wondering what the future holds.

This Ladies and Gentlemen is the Land of the Pure.

The routine knows no end. The day does, as the sun closes its eyes and darkness spreads its wings over the entire region – except for the market place. Because even though the public riot has ended, the flames still continue to blaze, and in the far corner stands whatever remains of the giant poster of Quaid-e-Azam – The Founder of The Nation. And in front of it the flames continue to dance in a fiery celebration as if to say

Welcome,
Welcome, to the manifestation of your dreams
Welcome, to the fate that none may redeem
Welcome, for this is the cradle where ideologies sleep
Welcome, for this is the hearth where visions weep
Welcome, for you have no choice, but to endure
Welcome, for this is your land of the pure.

And then, silence resounds with the question of vitality, Pakistan, the land of pure – a myth or reality.

When at some future date history sits in judgment upon us, we as a nation, will be found guilty of apathy and indifference; We as a nation will prove untrue to honor and integrity, and before we exercise our favorite habit of attributing that as a malignant exaggeration – let us envision the purity of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan,

Where the constitution is nothing but a big joke,
Where the national exchequer has gone broke,
Where all the popular corruption is the order of the day
And bribery and nepotism are what pave the way,
Where democracy amounts to nothing more than political mudslinging
And twice ousted prime ministers keep on singing
Where the entire judiciary is made up of dithering old judges
And political office is used to even out grudges
Where big fat lazy bones figure in the government staff
And incompetent perverts make up the other half
Where technocratic policy makers are in a state of loss
And an unseen presence is the big boss
Where production is on the low and inflation on rise
Where four elections in six years is no big surprise
Where integrity are on sale to anyone who buys
Where the country is burning and no one ever cries.
All this and still we are destined for more
So much for this is your Land of the Pure.

Glimpsing into the earth from yonder one would see amidst the flash points of the largest continent, a land that we call the land of the pure. History books hold a healthy account of how it dawned in eve of tremendous Islamic spirit.

But in reality there exists a void. For we, the inhabitants of the land of the pure are plunged into an abyss of gloom. We pursue in a decree that does not destine, in seek of a life that does not breathe.

No longer do we have a Quaid to fight when atrocity rules,
No longer do we have an Iqbal to dream when darkness drools,
No longer do we have a Sir Syed to profess when all is battered
No longer do we have a Liaqat to unite when all is scattered

For we are selfish, uncaring barbarians, with the entire essence of the Land of the Pure.

Dead, Defunct, Lifeless

And in spite of anyone amongst us has the prudence to proclaim out purity,

Countrymen I ask?

How naïve can we be?