Some wounds never heal!

By Dr. Muhammad Hafizullah

The hot evenings of June have a suffocating effect on me! My heart sinks and breathing becomes laboured. My comprehension dwindles and concentration reduces markedly.

The world seems drowned in sorrows and every eye appears wet. Every smile seems cynical and I can see an unwritten and unspoken message of gloom and despair behind the smile.

It was 19th of June, exactly two decades ago, when my Agha Ji bid adieu to this transient world! Has the pain decreased in two decades? Do tears still not flow on the mention of his name? Do my eyes still not long to see him? Do I still not feel the warmth of his kiss on my cheek? Do I still not feel the affection of his hug?

The relationship between a son and father has many dimensions! It’s a love and love bond, it’s a bond of trust and conviction; it’s a relationship of passing the baton to the next generation, it’s a God given chance to realise one’s dream and more importantly to fulfil one’s aspirations and wishes.

A father is a role model for his children, a source of strength, a spring of hope, a beacon of love, a reason to live and prosper and a cause for progress.

In Agha Ji we found everything and perhaps much more! We savoured his love, we reveled in his trust and we prospered in his tutelage.

In his abounding love, he drew very strict rules for us and ensured that they were followed. In his extreme love, he never forgot to teach us to stand on our feet. In his limitless kindness, he showed the path of right and justice. He equipped us with much wanted traits of honesty, truth, sincerity and hard work.

It was April 1968, that I was admitted to Cadet College Hassan Abdal. For the first few days we were totally lost and spent our nights soaking our pillows.

From the luxury of home, we were thrown at the mercy of heartless seniors. Not knowing how to swim was a sin, for which we were literally thrown into deep water.

During those days of ‘turmoil and uncertainty’ he stood by me like a rock. In those days of limited facilities of phone and absence of cellular technology, our only contact was through letters.

I used to receive a letter in his beautiful handwriting on nearly daily basis. He would not miss a weekend to come and see me. He was most encouraging.

When I left home the next time, it was for UK after my house job. My first few weeks in Exeter were very tough. Suddenly from the mantle of a ‘doctor’, we were down and had to prove once again that we were good enough to be recognised as ‘doctor’ in UK by passing PLAB.

In spite of being very busy in his job, he would write to me every alternate day regardless of a reply. My younger brother Sana Ullah had left for UAE at the same time, Agha Ji would write to both of us as religiously and perhaps at the time of Fajar prayers.

When the youngest brother Amer Aman went to LUMS in Lahore, Agha Ji would write to him on a daily basis as well. He would ring up my only sister on a daily basis at a fixed time and he would frequently say, “The day cannot start without hearing her voice!” His letters were full of advices - urging us to adhere to his own guiding principles -honesty, truth, sincerity and hard work.

He used work by the clock! He was incredibly organised, setting very high standards for us to follow! He always had the twenty fifth hour available to him to excel. He could not compromise with the changed norms and would be among the first few guests in a social or official function. He tried to inculcate similar approach in us by setting himself as a role model.

The best attribute he received from his friends was that in spite of being a police officer, he never behaved like a police officer.

His doors were open to all - friends and relatives - mostly new found relatives and acquaintances posing to be friends. He was magnanimous in his approach and ready to walk an extra mile with all. We, as his children, would often complaint about people taking advantage of his helping attitude; he would in return say, “Be thankful to Allah Subhanu Taala that they have to come to us and it is not vice versa!”

His love was limitless and even at the peak of his career he did not forget his friends of childhood, old football era friends and friends of early police career from DI Khan and Abbottabad.

He would make it a point to visit his friends regularly and look after their families. He would try to keep in touch with his poor relatives and extend whatever help they required. No wonder we were visited by many unknown people after his death, who claimed to be very close to him and direct beneficiary of his benevolence.

Tears, almost naturally, find their way out when someone mentions his name. Heart starts throbbing faster, when his loving picture appears on the canvass of mind. Two decades have done nothing to reduce the intensity, the wounds still raw and bleeding, and it still hurts a lot when his name is mentioned and his memory flashes back!

The only solace is when we look into our hearts and see him smiling and implanting kiss on our forehead. This dries our tears and spreads a smile on our lips! We feeling proud of him… and he hopefully proud of us!