It was twelve noon. In the lawn of Fountain House, Lahore, an institution for the mentally ill, all three of them were sitting under a tree next to each other since early morning. Today they were to face the medical board for evaluation and it was to be decided if they were in need of continued psychiatric care or were fit for release. For long, none had spoken a word. Finally one of them broke the silence and shyly asked the one on his right “What brought you here?" The respondent looked towards the other two and in a whispering tone, started narrating his story. "I belong to a respectable family of Multan. After doing my master’s in Urdu, I tried my best to get a suitable job but failed, so I was left with no option but to join my father in our family business, a small cloth store in Mumtazabad. Since most of the job was being performed by our two salesmen and I had ample time, one of my cousins, who was a student of Allama Iqbal Open University, suggested that I should get enrolled there and continue my studies. The idea appealed to me and I chose Iqbaliat as a subject for my M.Phil. On the very first day of the tutorials, as we were sitting in the classroom, a man entered. He was a thin man with round glasses, wearing a yellow coat with green trousers and a long red fool’s cap with white joggers. That get up in shocking colors had made him quite an eccentric. Soon we found to our utter amazement that he was the tutor. He started off with his lecture, 'Ladies, (mind you, it was an all male class) once I was a normal man like you, but today, I look like a lunatic, a deranged idiot, an insane dumbo'. Well I am studying and teaching Iqbal, particularly the concept of khudi (self) for the past 50 years. Lo and behold! You obsessive compulsive neurotic students of Open University, dodging everybody to look qualified. I don’t know how many of you have actually done your matric and now have come here for M.Phil and that too in Iqbaliat, I swear upon God I am still better off, but you, you all would be psychotics, by God, carrying all the symptoms contained in DSM IV (TR) of the American Psychiatric Association, once you start reading his philosophy. Ha ha ha, ha ho ho. Ok my dear, sixty year old boys, thick-headed, soft-witted so-called learners of Open University, without wasting any more time let’s start with the concept of khudi. And let’s see how it helps us in practical life?' He laughed. 'And that too if at all you are able to understand it!' He laughed again. 'On my life you will never ever. Even Iqbal’s teacher, Professor Nicholson, could not understand it and he sought many answers from him in a letter before he could translate his book asrar-e-khudi' (The secrets of self).
He continued, 'Iqbal, while merging his aesthetic sense with his literary and poetic sense describes the concept of khudi, as developing the mind through the self to the real self through the process of cleaning of heart and increasing self-transparency and then subjective intensification of existence and then the edification of belief to the transformation of the heart and then the heart mirroring the self leading the person to see God, with the self deeply related to Ultimate Ego or All-embracing Ego, which is the source that ‘awakens in man the higher consciousness of his manifold relations with God and the universe, which is a synthesis of ideality and reality, infinitude and ineptitude, possibility and necessity, eternity and time, universality and individuality, and the individual self deriving attributes from the All-embracing Ego! Any head or tail, dummies?' he asked and then laughed in a high pitch.
'Okay baby boys what the bloody hell have you understood? Not even an iota of what I barked! I knew it! None of you sissies can ever get it'. There was complete silence. In fact nobody had even the slightest idea of what he stated about khudi.
Finally, I asked, “Sir, could you please explain to us the concept of khudi in simple words?" He shouted, 'Listen you old man I am 75 years of age and I started studying khudi when I was in FA that is 58 years from now. I have lost my mind, my wits, and my bloody health in understanding this concept and could not and you want me to explain it to you in simple words in a couple of minutes. I teach this because this is my livelihood. Don’t try to understand it, you will be a madman like me, just cram it for the exams and don’t bother yourself and me too.' “Sir, I will try to understand it and make all of you understand. I responded politely”. 'Okay man, go ahead' said the teacher. I took it as a challenge and studied it for four years. I failed and finally I landed here in this mad house. Our tutor Professor Ahmad Javed was right.
As the first man concluded his story he looked towards the one on his left and asked "How come you are here?” The second man took a deep sigh and after a small pause started narrating his story. "I was working in a multinational at a hefty salary, had a beautiful wife, two cute sons, a luxurious lifestyle, until one day a friend of mine took me to a lecture on Iqbal’s mard-e-momin (perfect man) by Mr. Zaid Hamid. The lecture was very moving and it inspired me. I resolved that from then onwards I would act like the mard-e-momin, who had no fear and nothing could upset him. Even death could not frighten him because of a developed ego. Let me admit that my wife had an authoritative style and generally I straight went home after office hours. That day I thought I should see all my old friends whom I had not met for years. I switched off the mobile and after spending a very hectic day with friends reached home at 2 AM. The entire family was awake and some of my close relatives were also present. All seemed terribly upset. As they saw me they took a deep sigh of relief. My wife started crying. I told them that I was with some friends.'Is that the way, you never even informed us!' My wife shouted. 'Well baby, I am your figurative God and not only that, but also the vice-regent of God on earth, and I fear nothing, and I am not answerable to you. Next time you question, and I’ll set you straight! And let me also say that from now onwards you will stay at home, so just resign from your job. The real place of women is home, as my spiritual godfather, the poet of the East has said.' I told her in clear words. 'I will manage everything and I am a strong man. You would soon hear that even the houris will complain against my indifferent behavior towards them,' I remarked. She was looking at me in a state of shock. The following day I drove the car at 100 mph on the Mall and reached office. The same day there was a meeting in which the CEO of our company was cracking some stupid jokes. Everybody was bursting into laughter, yet I remained in a somber mood. The CEO looked at me and said 'Don’t you enjoy jokes?' 'Well, I do but not the silly ones and let me tell you that all these people you find laughing are doing it only because they want to please you for accelerated promotions, bonuses and foreign tours. I am telling you all this because there is no greed left in me and I have lost interest in material objects. I am combining jamal(divine beauty) and jalal(divine majesty) in my person and I will make hearts of rivers shiver. Even death cannot frighten me, what to talk of you, Mr.CEO, and this is because of my extra-developed ego.' I said, firmly.
That kind of behavior went on for a couple of days until I lost my job and my wife. Later at a reception, at a close friend’s house the host while introducing me to Maulana Fazlur Rehaman said 'You must know this great personality?' 'Oh sure I do, this is the great Maulana diesel, the black mailer molvi (priest), the king of lotas, (turncoats) I know him very well, what a pity he survived in the suicide attacks.' I remarked. 'Look you call him an aalim (religious scholar). Can a true aalim have such a huge tummy?' Everybody, including the Maulana was looking at me with an open mouth. That was the end of it. My friend a multi millionaire, who was vying for a senate ticket on a JUI seat, of course at a high bid, threw me out of his house. As I had already lost my job and wife, four days later I was here with both of you."
As the second man ended his story, they both looked towards the third. What happened to you? "Well I was an army officer doing my staff college when I was asked to conduct a research on Iqbal’s “Shaheen” (eagle). My research paper got so much appreciation from the commandant that I was asked to conduct workshops at various formation headquarters to inculcate the spirit of 'Shaheen' into the hearts of our young officers. Since Iqbal’s philosophy remained the hallmark of our security establishment, I often wondered why our military accepted 7.89 billion dollars from the US since 9/11, whereas Iqbal, addressing our Shaheens categorically said 'Ae tair e lahoti, us rizq say maut acchi jis rizq say aati ho parvaz mein kotahi'. I was also confused as to why we were enjoying a luxurious life in our fortified garrisons when a Shaheen’s place was in the mountains and not in the plains and he had to reach the ultimate heights of sky. However, the golden opportunity came when our valiant Shaheens who essentially were mujahids, captured the peaks of Kargil. Whatever followed, the lesser said the better. I also had great admiration for an authoritarian rule and remained confused as to why our military dictators allowed counting of individuals rather than weighing them, violating Iqbal’s directive. It was also not understandable as to why we often talked about present, when Iqbal had left so much for us in Cordova and Sicily to eulogize and glorify. I also wondered, that as my sanctuary stretched from the banks of Nile to the sands of Kashghar, why I had to apply for a visa for all the countries falling in between, inclusive of Egypt and China and Bangladesh too, after 1971.One day while conducting a workshop I told the young officers that they didn’t need guns to fight. 'Why?' they all asked. 'Because momin fights without a sword' I told them. I also felt that my service was nothing but slavery. I began to feel that while I had feathers and strength to fly, why I searched my freedom in slavery. My aggressive statements and insubordination compounded with conceptual conflicts caused my supersession, followed by a court martial, a discharge and finally I landed here."
Late that afternoon all three of them appeared before the medical board and were declared mentally and physically fit. They were given the option to either continue for a while or if they liked they could leave the half-way house. All three decided to pack up and leave at once. As they were moving towards the walkway, they heard a loud voice. It was Bala, an inmate who used to give them the 'drug'. The drug, which would take them in a different world of dreams and hallucinations. He was accompanied by the chowkidar in khaki and the molvi who were his close associates. 'Hey boys, where are you going? Won’t you need the drug? You will not be getting it outside! Just come back!' he shrilled. 'We don’t want that drug any more, just keep it with you' they all denounced it, in unison. Suddenly they felt an extremely strong temptation to return. That feeling of 'high', that 'ecstasy' they got after taking the drug, was not readily available in the outside world, the real world beyond the walls of that facility, had its own rules of business. They stopped but then mustering all their strength exclaimed 'We don’t need your drug now, that was our past' 'But your past is your present' retorted Bala. 'No! Past is history! We will tie our present to our future, not past', responded one of them. 'Look how intoxicating the past is! Just come back, future is uncertain' cried Bala. 'We will try to make it certain' they all answered in one voice. Bala was shouting at the top of his voice, and the pull of the drug was killing; they stumbled but then firmly held each other’s hands and walking slowly and slowly passed through the exit gate, leaving the asylum behind.
