by Fazal Ur Raheem
7 April 2002
Early in spring this year, my beloved granddaughter, Maria Mohyuddin, invited me and my wife to the Grandparents’ day at her school. Maria is a charming doll who comes up with beautiful ideas, so we joyfully accepted her affectionate invitation.
The 7th of March turned out to be a brilliant day. Islamabad was sparkling. The blooming flowers provided a colourful farewell to a rather chilly winter. When we entered The City School, we were graciously welcomed by the students and directed to our seats under the grand Shamiana. The audience was a beautiful mix of all the generations one could think of. I was taken in by their enthusiasm and looking forward to the activities when my wife nudged me and whispered, “You never told me you had been invited to speak. Your name is on the speakers’ list.” Suddenly I woke up to a rather confusing reality. I had no idea I was expected to speak.
My wife’s next question voiced my fear exactly: “What are you going to speak about?” I looked at her blankly. “I have no idea,” I replied. “Somebody has taken this initiative without my knowledge.” I looked around for the culprit, and soon discovered that it was Maria’s father. “What am I to speak about?” I asked. “Well, something about your school days would do fine.”
Well right, I thought. I finished school in 1941. How easy for younger people to think that everybody remembers their school days. So I closed my eyes and humbly prayed for something worthwhile to remember. And then I recalled something! In 1936, the Quaid-e-Azam, then known simply as Mr. Jinnah, an eminent barrister from Bombay, had addressed the town’s gentry at our school. He had returned from Kashmir via Murree and had sent a message to a prominent citizen that he would like to address the gentry on the need for Muslims to be aware of the “Rights” under the 1935 Act.
I was drowned in these old memories when I heard Maria’s voice. She was at the microphone, slowly and confidently reading a poem. One after the other, the children captivated the audience with their fascinating dresses, amusing accents, and admirable performances. Everyone in the audience was glowing with pride. We saw an excellent display of teamwork. The function was a tribute to the school, and it reminded me of an old English saying, “The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton and Harrow.” Pakistan was created by Mr. Jinnah, the greatest constitutional lawyer of his age, who welded the nation together through the Pakistan Resolution in 1940. He then took only seven years to give us this beautiful country and the opportunity for scientists like Abdul Qadeer Khan to develop it into a nuclear power. The Quaid was a product of the Sindh Madrassa. We need schools like the Sindh Madrassa, or Eton and Harrow, by the dozen to provide us leaders like Dr. Khan in every field of thought and action. The struggle for Pakistan’s success as a nation must be fought and won in every home and every school, every day, by focussing on the education and upbringing of our children. The schools alone cannot wage this struggle. The teachers and the parents have to work in harmony to that end. Our children are our greatest asset, and the children I saw at The City School on the 7th of March gave me a great hope in the future of our nation. So when it came time for me to speak, I had plenty to talk about and, as old people often do, I probably talked too much. But I am grateful to the children and to the School for rekindling old memories and giving me a new hope.