ANYTHING turning red might sound alarming especially if the Americans are in the hearing distance. But since there are now just about a dozen or so Americans left in Peshawar whose movement is restricted mostly to their thickly barbed subterranean quarters so one can blurt out ‘red’ with all the freedom at one’s command.

History tells us that the Yankees’ presence on our soil in the 60s was so widespread, and their anathema to ‘red’ was at such a pitch that together the two literally exposed our little old town to a veritable Soviet attack during the time of Nikita Khrushchev.

Conceded that ‘red’ largely carries strategic, ideological and political connotations, there are nevertheless matters no less interesting of which the colour red is such an intrinsic part. It thus entails no risk if such charming matters are discussed at length.

Mardan to the northeast of Peshawar was the heartland of Gandhara Civilisation. It still bears proof why it shouldn’t have enjoyed such a privileged status. The entire northeast of Peshawar could be seen heavily dotted with the remains of Buddhist monasteries; some perched on picturesque knolls in the middle of lush green fields.  

Buddhism apart from being associated with asceticism also presents a profusion of colours of which the predominant are orange and yellow. It still looks quite fanciful to bring to mind the Mardan of the early centuries of the Present Era and imagine how monks wearing orange or yellow robes would be seen attending to their daily chores in and around the two main monasteries at Takht Bhai and Jamal Garhi.

If a Pashtun woman could be seen wearing a sari or jeans in a Pashto drama, it gives impetus to one’s belief that nothing lies beyond the realm of imagination. With our Pashtun folks dressed in robes, Mardan could still have been bathing in yellow and orange colours but only if supernatural forces had not intervened. On a serious note, however, after what the monks in Myanmar have done to the ethnic Rohingya Muslims of Bengali origin, there still would have been little tranquility in our region as one’s trust in Buddhism as the epitome of non violence has been shattered.

The entire countryside of Mardan, and indeed that of Swabi and Charsadda, carries an unfading air of fertility about it. This fertility certainly looks primeval as it along with the solitude of the land appears to have encouraged monks to settle here. Springtime only reinforces such overhanging sensation, which brings into play the Pashtun poet Ghani Khan to play with words to his utmost satisfaction:

Love, sweet succulent love is everywhere Colour and beauty have blended, jesting in a state of exhilaration.

It has to be said to the abiding bliss of its land that with just a little effort it could produce wonders. Thus come springtime, Mardan could be found out producing a bumper crop of strawberries. Until quite recently strawberries, with sherry and cream to those lucky enough, looked a western temptation to be cherished only in English literature and glossy magazines. Trust Mardan, it has brought strawberries to the pushcarts in our dusty towns as well as on the roadsides as one finds the entire countryside in Mardan basking in red.

In recent times Mardan’s largely bucolic landscape has also been invaded by the rampaging designer shops as trendy outlets now dot its main thoroughfares in good numbers. Taliban and their numerous sympathizers in the province must have seethed with anger but Saint Valentine had the last laugh in the world as far as Mardan where it induced love besotted young and not so young to exchange vows and gifts in red wrappers.

Some analysts seized with finding a cure for radicalisation suggest that urbanisation per se is rehabilitation. This may not be wholly correct as some of the hardened extremists have been found out to have been born and bred in hi-tech urban cities. But such technicalities apart, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s northeast has witnessed some miniscule form of urban culture in the recent past, and one would expect it to be replicated in our troubled south.

Urbanisation or lack thereof, the people of Mardan in the recent past have given some good account of their mercurial behaviour whenever a chance bid them do to show their true colours. As the nerve centre of the Red Shirt Movement, Mardan was for quite some time daubed wholly in red. 

The recurring sins of the unrepentant descendants of Bacha Khan saw Mardan drifting to the extreme right and landing in the lap of the clergy at the turn of the millennium. The mullahs had the khans of Mardan run for their money, but then true to their unforgiving and colourful disposition the Mardanites soon got tired of the sanctimonious preachers, and let the red flags flutter on their houses again. A new brand of politicians has since taken over Mardan after capitalising on the continuously blundering heirs of Bacha Khan. The fate of the last mentioned is awaited.

Mardan is the most happening place in KP. It is the land of the unsated khans, chameleon politicians, and vitriolic mullahs and of course the labouring peasants gifted with the power of fertility. Whether it was the paragon of non violence and the leader of Red Shirt Movement Bacha Khan, the strawberries or the shops invoking the spirit of Saint Valentines, Mardan has always looked splendid whenever it wore red.

Published in Dawn February 19th , 2015

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