Sufi Encounter Post 21 reminded me a of a saying of Hazrat Ali:


[Allah possesses a drink which is reserved for his intimate friends:

When they drink they become intoxicated,

When they become intoxicated they become joyful,

When they become joyful they become sweet,

When they become sweet they begin to melt,

When they begin to melt they become free,

When they become free they seek,

When they seek they find,

When they find they arrive

When they arrive they join,

And when they join,

There is no difference between them and their Beloved]

On a side (and a completely irrelevent) note, when one compares the ideas on life after death with regards to Abrahamic religions (heaven hell), Hinduism, Buddhism (moksha and reincarnation), Evolution of life on earth from tRNA to super complex organisms, Adam and Eve`s descension from a `paradise` the location of which no scholar knows, the ideas of Iqbal`s `superman`, i.e man being a penultimate form only one step away from perfection, unity, Sufism, love and shedding one`s ego, the Prophet`s (pbuh) desire to understand the ultimate nature of things, his ascension until a single partition divided him from the Ultimate Reality (i.e. Allah), hadiths on doing what is right to please a Greater Being until He becomes your eyes, your ears, your hands etc etc, and the chemical nature of man and mind...

One concludes that God must be a chemist designing a drug.

Umer M

Deadly Earthquake Godot,

Go for Edhi. On GEO snippets, I could see his ambulances.

Umer M.

The Dispatches on War (Part V) Feroze,

Being the smartest history student over here, and from your ilogs I sense that you yearn for a sense of balance in the delivery of history, how do you feel about:

1) The term, Dark Ages, being used to identify Europe as an ignorant entity when a very large chunk of Europe, i.e. Andalusia, was anything but Dark? Is it because the ever shrinking Andalusia was a successful Muslim domain for almost 700 years? Which continent did Andalusia belong to? Africa or Europe?

2) Do you seriously consider the role of the Andalucians to be as mere transmitters of Greek knowledge when the Greeks got so many things wrong, including their mode and methodology of the hard sciences?

3) Do you not think that there needs to be a paradigm shift on part of the European Historians to acknowledge not just the Muslims’ contribution (to whatever degree) towards the Renaissance but also to accept the Muslims as part of ancient European history?

I fear that 3) is very hard to swallow because it means having to give up on the substance of Renaissance – a rebirth. Accepting the above will make Renaissance more of an egg hatching.


Faisal,

There’s not much original stuff available on the Assassins. The works of Juwayne are useful. The Persian Nizaris (Ismailis) were called assassins by the Sunni Arabs because ‘Hashishiyoon’ was a derogatory term. Also, the myth of hashish was further propagated by the stories of Marco Polo.

He narrated how young Nizaris were brainwashed into the ideas of heaven and beautiful virgins. Their souls were then said to be transported to heaven (via the use of hashish) for a brief glimpse of what lay awaiting them. Beautiful woman would greet them and show them around lush gardens. They would then feed them more hashish, sending them back to sleep. When they awoke, they would find themselves back in the real world. Hence, the desire to return to heaven would be passionately instilled within their hearts and so on and so forth…

The Nizaris were a devious bunch of fuckers (one whose resilience, passion and strategies I admire nevertheless). They had absolutely no remorse or compassion for the rest of their Muslim brethren. On occasions they allied themselves with the Crusaders. But I don’t blame them because as a group, they were on the verge of extinction and they had to do what they had to do. They never changed themselves (courtesy of their philosophy of taqqiya). They were wiped off at Alamut Castle by the hordes of Hulego and it was many centuries later that they made a come back – this time benignly – in the form of the Aga Khanis.

Umer M

Saudi Government to Demolish Prophet Muhammed’s home Reading the above made me pen this little number below. Man, I ain`t no grave worshipper but ths is plain wrong. Those at the top treat politics and religion as a big family business. Their children grow up with the property and belongings of others handed to them on a gold platter. You will hear it in their tones. You will see it in their body language. They`re all born managers.

They have absolutely no fucking empathy or understanding for the feelings of those whom they rule over. Who the hell gave a bunch of people the right to dictate to over a billion people as to how they should think or that they cannot be responsible for their faith.

And where`s the response from the people? Fucking smelly sheep.


Once, in Ferghana Valley, there lived a flock of sheep. Cute, white and fluffy, they ate all day long. They grazed upon the fresh wet grass, drank the cool clean waters of Syr River and inhaled the air swept down from the Pamir Mountains. Thus, they became cuter, whiter, fluffier.

The sheep lived their life without a care in the world. Every morning, the air carried with it the perfume of moist soil and chlorophyll from the cut grass. Every night, there was the warm safe sanctuary of a pen. Life was good and simple.

The sheep were led, not surprisingly, by a sheepdog, who was answerable to a human. Every morning, the dog would wake up and run around the sheep, barking orders for them to move here and move there.

It was one such day when a curious baby lamb asked his elder brother:

‘Why do we take orders from him, the one with four legs and a horrible bark?’

‘Because he is our leader,’ said brother proudly. ‘And what a leader he is: that growl, that shiny black coat and those fearsome canines. Wow.’

‘Oh,’ said the baby lamb. ‘But why does he look so different from us?’

‘Because he is a dog and we are sheep,’ instructed brother.

The little lamb grew silent. Growing older, a question came into his confused mind which he posed to his mother:

‘Why must we take orders from a dog?

‘Because we need him to lead us.’ Mother said straightforwardly.

‘Does that mean we don’t know how to lead our own lives?’ asked the little lamb.

‘We are sheep and he is a dog,’ is all that the mother said. ‘It has always been that way.’

The little lamb grew quieter until he entered youth. The youth knew much more of the sheep’s life. He knew now that there was another animal, a Human, who had installed the dog to lead the sheep. But the youth still could not understand why they had to be led by a dog – an animal he had come to hate. The irritated adolescent approached his father:

‘I will not take orders from someone who does not know us!’

‘You will disobey an ancient tradition?’ his father said disbelievingly.

The youth bleated. ‘He is a dog; we are sheep. He has canines; we have molars. He eats meat; we eat grass. He barks; we bleat. He has a coat; we have wool.’ Steam was rising through the young blood’s nostrils. ‘How can we follow someone who doesn’t come from us – someone who doesn’t understand us?’

The father was furious to hear that the youth had spoken against an old tradition. He scolded the young son who walked away brooding.

Not very far from the valley was a jungle. Here, a pack of travelling wolves had convened to discuss their next meal. One by one, they discussed the lands they had travelled to and the animals they had met.

Said the eldest wolf: ‘My native land has plenty of moose and they are big and ugly and with horns that are twice our length. I am too old to kill one on my own, but with team work and with good directions from the leader, they can be brought down.’

The deputy wolf then spoke of his journey: ‘On my travels to Africa, I saw many animals that ate grass. But they lived in big families helped by their leaders. And there were many predators too: Cousin coyote, Nephew fox and Uncle cat.’

One by one, they described their journeys into the different continents and icy wastelands and deserts and forests and those strange places called cities occupied by humans.

Throughout the meeting, the youngest wolf had had on him a smirk. Now that it was his turn to speak, he burst out laughing:

‘I know you wolves are older than myself. And compared to you lot, what I know is only the tip of the iceberg.’ Here he broke off into another bout of laughter. ‘But you’re not going to believe what I’ve seen.’

The pack raised its ears.

‘I’ve seen some pretty weird animals and hunted some crazy ones too but I’ve never seen an animal more stupid than a sheep.’ He howled.

‘A what? Why is this sheep animal stupid?’

‘Uncle Wolf,’ the young wolf addressed a grey-haired animal. ‘You’ve seen buffaloes and they are ruled by a buffalo. You’ve seen Zebras and they are led by a Zebra. The deer are led by the deer. The elephants are led by the elephant. Grandpa,’ the youngster now turned his attention to the chief wolf. ‘The moose; who leads and protects them? The moose of course. But guess what; these sheep are led by a dog!’

‘Cousin Dog! Argh ha ha ha ha harrrr.’ The entire night, the forest was filled with howles. That night they decided that they would feast upon these sheep. An animal so stupid deserved to die. The mission was given to the youngest wolf who decided to replace the dog. After all, who could disguise better as a dog, but a wolf.

One night, when the sheep had gone inside their shelters, the wolf snuck behind the dog and killed him. From now on, he would observe, and like a true predator wait for the right time to come.

By now the adolescent lamb had grown into a strong muscular Ram. His thick, intimidating horns curled twice before jutting forward. He had become openly rebellious too, something he came to clash over with the entire flock.

‘You are stubborn and strong-headed,’ they bleated.

‘I recognise authority and I’m willing to obey but how can I take orders from an animal who doesn’t understand who I am?’

‘But the dog is a good leader.’

‘The dog is a dictator who was installed by the Human. He barks and pushes us around. He is not one of us. How can we put our trust within him? Do we not have any pride or intelligence to govern ourselves?’

The flock was aghast to hear that. ‘For generations,’ said the ewes and the rams, ‘we have been happy the way we have been living. Nothing has ever happened to us. The human is benign and the dog has protected us. Just look at our plump bodies and our thick wool.’

The ram stomped the ground like a bull. ‘You are all slaves! The human is not benign. Did he cut grass for our sustenance or plant trees for our shade? Did he carve out the river for our nourishment? Did he sculpt the mountains for us to marvel at? Did he perfume the fresh air for us to breathe? This land always belonged to all of us. He just happened to put a fence around it. We are his prostitutes! The human needs us; that’s why he keeps us alive! What good is it to have dead sheep?’

‘Why don’t you leave us alone? We are happy to be the way we are?’

‘You are happy to live in a dream because you think that that dream will last your lifetime. But we have become weak. Tomorrow, if that dog,’ the ram sneered at the wolf-in- disguise, ‘or that Human was to turn on us, we would not be able to do anything.’

This was the truth and the flock knew it. But they were reluctant to accept the painful reality, so they chose to live in a fairytale. In unison, they all turned their backs to the rebel. The Ram was shocked. His eyes welled up with tears. He had been rejected by his own – including his family – and told to leave the flock forever.

Slowly and painfully, he turned around. Something told him he would never see his family again. He walked away from the pen and disappeared into the valley to live a new life. He never came back.

The few days the young wolf had spent living his life in disguise were educational. He had learnt the mentality of the sheep. The wolf was bigger than the dog, his fangs longer, his ‘bark’ more of a growl, yet the sheep never noticed. And how could they? If the dog could not understand the nature of those he ordered around, then the sheep also could not understand the real nature of the animal they took orders from.

If ever the wolf had any remorse for those cuddly white dumplings on four legs, it was not there any longer. Indeed, such stupid animals had existed throughout time only to be eaten. Fearsome as he was, however, the young wolf had feared the rebellious ram – even respected him.

Now that the Ram had left the flock to live a new life, the wolf was free to do as he wished. One night, he returned to the forest and informed his pack to prepare for an ambush.

The next morning, the ewes and rams had come out, doing what they had always done. Swiftly, the wolf led them out of the pen, then gathered them into a new formation and steered them into a new direction. Before long, the wolf was leading them away from the areas where they normally grazed.

They were headed towards the forest.

The sheep didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t know any better. Bleating merrily along their way, they happily followed the wolf.

That day, the forest shook frighteningly and the valley echoed with growls and bleats. No sheep ever returned from the forest.

Umer M.

A Moment of Silence With all due respect,

Who gives a flying fuck about the dead of the 9/11? Who are they? Who cares? So we`ll have ripe tomatoes growing on the soil of the twin towers. People die all the time: Hindus, Muslims, black white, children, adults, men, women...

The truth is, if we spent even a single second of silence for every individual who had died unjustly, we`d never talk. Better to carry on and live your life and make sure it`s not YOU who`s hurting the other.

Ever since I slaughtered my first animal and saw how obedient the beast was and how easy it was to run that blade across its neck, I`m wondering if death is overrated, like one of those fancy roller coaster rides.

Umer M.

Cold Flesh This story by Manto was craptabulous. As someone of Pakistani origin, I could enjoy it, but only because it evokes some kind of an emotional response. It`s like watching the ol` Brit comedy, Faulty Towers. No youngster would enjopy that man`s antics but all the oldies would because it brings back memories of low inflation, cheap house prices, and intact sex drives.

Umer M.

Interview with the Vamp Cayanne,

Regarding the Afghan refugees, a few clarifications:

It started with the Soviet-Afghan war. Brezniev (sp?) himself quoted the CIA covertly supporting the pre-79 nascent mujahideen factions (6 months before the war) so that the puppet communist government in Afghanistan would collapse. This would force the Soviet military to step onto the Afghan soil and the Americans would have had their Bear trap set.

Also, because the Mujahideen used the villages as their hiding bases, the Soviets decided to bomb the shit out of those places so that the mujahideen would be flushed out. The resultant native villagers would flee to Pakistan and create the refugee burden. This move was intended to stop Pakistan from supporting the covert war. This, in around 1985, was responsible for the biggest wave of refugees.

During ’85, the process of Talibanisation had begun in the tribal belt but let’s not forget that the ‘2 bullets + 2 guns = 1 dead Russian’ textbooks were published in the States. The total cost of the project was 50 million dollars.

Then the dumb Mujahideen (89 – 92) decided to bomb each other which further worsened the situation and brought more Afghanis onto the Pak soil.

Then in 1994 the Taliban came to power (and believe it or not, the very first mission of the Taliban was supported by our very own Benazir).

The Taliban brought peace and stopped the gandu warlords fighting over little boys’ ani. But, being dumb and head-strong like they all are, power got to them and they changed for the worse.

And I believe Musharraf had told them on many occasions (prior to 9/11) to calm down in terms of their policies.

As for creation of Taliban, yes Pakistan had a BIG hand. Whether it’s wrong or right is one thing but Pakistan had to preserve its interest. There are bigger problems in this world and they are the hippy environmental issues but certain states refuse to bow down because it’s in their economical interests.

Just thought I’d get things in perspective for you.

Interview with the Vamp Re: # 20

Are you a slave? Is it possible for you to outgrow yourself and stop being led by others` agenda? Is it possible for you to say, `Hey I`m an Indian, but that doesn`t mean I have to foam at the mouth every time Pakistan is mentioned. I`m an Indian but I don`t have to feel that pang of jealousy. Just because I am an Indian, when a good looking actress comes to Pakistan, I don’t have to stick Ashwariya up everyone`s bund. Just because some odd Westerner may praise the Pakistani people, I don’t have to bring LeT into the equation. Hey, I may be an Indian, but if some guy commits the true Original Sin of praising Pakistan’s improving economy, I don’t have to jump up and down like a tattu and start putting the person down.

Learn from the dogs. Even they have a personality.

Be a man...hell, be a woman. Just be yourself. Has any other country, with an exception to Iran, offered space to those refugees? Has India? You guys are 7 times bigger, a trillion times more populous and according to those who chart and read the stars, India is the next best thing since sliced bread.

Pakistan has, in whatever capacity, offered 3 MILLION refugees a space for over 25 years now!!! The result has been the Kalashnikov-drug culture. Yet the country has been hospitable enough to offer their Afghan brethren space. In that time, it not only has shared its space, it has shared its grain, its produce and I’m sure there are incidences of food shortages due to the refugee crisis.

This is Pakistan. Before you opened your mouth, did you ever bother thinking that this country doesn’t even look after its own? And yet you’re expecting for the refugees what exactly: free housing facilities? Double glazing in their mud brick abodes? A chauffeur driven donky cart? Perhaps a Mauritanian slave to hold your opium joint and another to place a crystalline rose petal on your tongue? A silk-whip threaded with gold to whip your wife into shape?

And what the hell was this:

‘Afghan men, women and children are abused by pakistanis often subjected to verbal abuse and humiliation.’

NO! really?!? That’s some awesome accusation. What did they call them: kutta, billi. bhosdi ka? Teri maan da samonsa? Teri pan da flooda? Teri tee da chhola? Was the above phoosy (a fart if you may) your trump card, that something-up-your- sleeve, your secret weapon? Yeah, I can feel the Pakistani UNHCR authorities quaking in their boots. Haha.

Umer M.

Intelligent Design or Accident? Mr Gill,

Re: the constants. Absolutely beautiful! Thanks for that.

Umer M

Charity Welcome to Chowk, temporal. We hope you enjoy your sojourn.

Umer M

Not Your Mother’s Holiday Oh God,

As if women don`t moan enough! Moan moan moan...

Umer M.

The Last Leaf Hey there Tauheed,

That was really nice. Beuatiful, yet easy for a poetry simpleton like myself. As long as you`re alive, a part of your father will always be alive and nourished. You carry half of his DNA code, some of his looks, some of his mannerisms. I`m sure you also reflect some of his teachings. Next time you look at yourself in the mirror, you`ll come to see that you`re keeping him alive in more ways than one.

But as for seeing the older generations go, I know what you mean. It is saddening.

Umer M.

Manto Strikes And here I was thinking it was an article on Jinnah.

Umer M

Am I Insane? Samina,

The answer is to be found within the treasure chest that is the unplugged.

Umer M

Am I Insane? Emma,

I`m sorry if you were offended. It was intended to be a joke.

Umer M.

Am I Insane? Okay okay,

Soulat, You`re obviously disturbed by what I have done. And I hate disturbing people so I`ll end this prank now.

People, Soulat`s the `real` author behind this. I am, indeed, a fake.

Now please carry on with your advice and inputs.

Umer M.