IT is a pretty long prelude, but one that is critical to the subject matter and hence one must bring it on record exactly as envisaged and drafted by Mark Twain.

‘A man’s house burns down. The smoking wreckage represents only a ruined home that was dear through years of use and pleasant associations. By and by, as the days and weeks go on, first he misses this, then that, then the other thing. And when he casts about for it he finds that it was in that house. Always it is an essential –- there was but one of its kind. It cannot be replaced. It is irrevocably lost. It will be years before the tale of the lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he know the magnitude of his loss.’

‘Houses have the composite soul of their inhabitants. Show me the home of a person and I will tell you the kind of person he is,’ so wrote Halide Edib in ‘Inside India.’

Halide, a British citizen of Turkish origin, visited Peshawar in the earlier part of the 20th century. A three-day long stay in the city including a daylong trip to the Khyber Pass had enabled her to draw a beautiful picture of our house. She carried home sweet memories of the people whom she called Pathans and its area she saw as arid at that period in time but full of opportunities.

Alas! That is no more to be and hence one can imagine no more bringing Halide’s peaceful soul back to our battered climes to pass judgment on the kind of inhabitants who have this land as their dwelling place. It could be a heart-wrenching experience for the brilliant writer that she was, and it will doubtlessly smear the beautiful portrait of our house drawn by her.

Traveling through the lengths of this godforsaken province there is monumental evidence that one would like to hide from the outsiders as it gives us up as some grotesque creatures. Some twelve years ago we carved a fabulous tunnel in the grey craggy hills in Darra Adam Khel to lessen the travails of the travelers traveling to and from the south of our province. Not many years passed since a war erupted in the said tribal land and passage through the tunnel subsequently turned into a challenge of gargantuan proportions for the travelers.

A huge billboard with verses from the Holy Scripture written thereon stands prominently at the entrance point of the Kohat Tunnel. ‘And when it is said to them: Make not mischief on the earth, ‘they say: we are only peacemakers.’ And followed by: Verily! They are the ones who make mischief; but they perceive not. One wouldn’t like to be seen explaining this to the foreigners, as this calls into question our chequered journey of 67 odd years.

It is not possible to travel through the picturesque Swat Valley and not notice the ubiquitous warning notices to the terrorists scribbled all around, even on rocks in the hills and mountains. ‘Terrorists are warned to report and surrender at such and such points,’ the commandments on the tablets read. ‘Whence did these terrorists come or were there really born among us to parents unknown to us?’ disturbing questions keep begging for replies.

In the recent days something appallingly horrendous has happened that apart from indelibly scarring our house has the potential of calling even our civilization into question. On December 16, 2014, the same nameless and presumably parentless terrorists slaughtered scores of our school children and their teachers, and resultantly we have now barricaded and camouflaged our educational institutions.

A headmistress in a small private school while allaying the lingering worries of the parents suggested that she would keep the blackboards in covers. And while driving around the Edwardes College one found out that its old magnificent bricks building, its sprawling lawns and long verandahs now stood hidden behind ugly walls.

It was in this college and in those verandahs with its newspapers-reading stands where as a student one had learnt to detest authoritarianism under the ruthless and bigoted dictatorship of Zia. The country is now grappling with apparently insurmountable odds to come to grips with what the dictator had sown. A tree was being felled on the perimeter of the college’s science block this morning to allow for a portion of the wall to rise beyond the prying eyes and claws of the terrorists.

Equally galling efforts are afoot at the Islamia College University where primitive banyan trees are being cut down allegedly to secure the pristine building and its inmates from the onslaught of the militants. This is ludicrous. Walls cannot stop terrorist neither do trees shelter them. It is fear that breeds terrorism, and fear is what authorities have succeeded in spreading to a degree.

The scars of this endless war are all around us, and getting worsened by the day. Our house is disfigured beyond recognition, and is highly unlikely to be redone in our lifetime. Our main hotel, once the beehive of the foreign tourists and journalists, lies deserted behind high rising concrete walls. Its gates remain closed all day long and reopened at request where visitors are welcomed by sniffer dogs.

We already know the details of this and that essential from our burnt down house, but as Mark Twain said it will be years before we know the real magnitude of the loss.

Published in Dawn, January 30th, 2015

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