The Objectives Resolution (Short Story)

 The Objectives Resolution

By 

Tipu Salman Makhdoom

(Translated from Punjabi) 

When people shriek that I was born in 712 AD, I'm simply bewildered. I was born on the shores of the Arabian Sea in 1949; how could they be dragging me back over twelve hundred years? But people turn red and yellow, drooling, their eyes bulging so fiercely that I, myself, grow anxious. I only know what has happened since my own eyes first opened. Before that, I've merely heard tales. And we are not like humans, where the elders recount history to the young. People are the ones who tell me where my lineage begins. They say I was merely born in my present form on March 12, 1949, in the Assembly Chamber in Karachi. My essence was born on the coast of Debal when Muhammad bin Qasim the Arab attacked in 712 AD, overthrowing the local Sindhi ruler, Dahir, and then the Sindhi people began to shift from being Hindu to Muslim. They say tribes are bound by blood, but nations are forged by ideas. So when the Sindhis embraced Islam, their tribe remained Sindhi, but their nation transformed from Sindhi to Muslim. And so, the Sindhi nation was divided, cleaved by the power of an idea... Now, Sindh no longer held Sindhi and Arab nations. Nor it held anymore the Buddhist, Jain, Hindu, and Muslim nations. Only two nations were there now: the Muslim nation and the infidel nation.

My birth, too, was met with great turmoil, a struggle between these two: Muslims and infidels. At first, it seemed as if the dark-skinned and fair-skinned were fighting. The dark-skinned assassins wanted to bury me even before I was born, while the fair-skinned praised me so much that I blushed with shame. But then, as I gathered a bit of courage and listened closely, I realized that both sides, dark and fair, were mixed. Then it seemed to me like a wrestling match between Bengalis and non-Bengalis. But then I learned that Mr. Liaquat Ali Khan, fair and handsome, was also a member from Bengal. And he was the one who had embraced me. Why did a British-educated Nawab from East Punjab serve as a member from West Punjab? This I never understood. Some even say that the Nawab Sahib never contested elections from West Punjab, nor even from East Punjab. He always stood from UP and won from there this time, meaning in 1945. His constituency didn't fall within Pakistan, so he took a Bengali member's seat. Oh, how dreadful! Such alarming things were usually uttered by communists, called “the Reds” in local jargon. I couldn't even close my ears, so I had to listen to everything. Though now, no communist is visible. If someone even mentions Marx or Mao, they appear rather like an orange. Where are the communists, the Reds? Bloody atheists! Dead and gone, neither prayers nor blessings for them. And then, after some time, I saw that some Muslims, too, had joined with the infidels, attempting to orchestrate my demise. Born into this, I was utterly bewildered.

For five days, the Assembly Chamber was a battlefield of arguments: whether to bury me or to celebrate my birth. During this time, I heard several infidels jesting that Pakistan was born, but it hadn't yet become Muslim, and thus the Nawab Sahib wanted to use me as the “first call to prayer in the baby’s ear”, for the newborn Pakistan.

On the very first day, March 7, 1949, when the Nawab Sahib brought me into the Assembly Chamber, holding me up for all to see, I only saw many empty chairs. But many years later, while watching the cartoon film 'The Lion King,' the scene where the wise baboon Rafiki carries the lion cub Simba to the precipice for all the pride to behold, struck me as very funny. I had clearly remembered the empty chairs. For this was precisely the first objection raised against me. A Bengali member named Prem Hari Barma was the first to rise and say, "Mr. President, I object." The President of the Assembly, the Speaker at that time, was Maulvi Tamizuddin. The same Tamizuddin whom the bureaucracy, and then the Supreme Court, later cast out of the Assembly. Now, thinking about those times feels like a dream. Just like the Assembly that day. A Bengali Muslim, who had been a member of the Congress and Anjuman-e-Islamia before joining the Muslim League, was presiding. On that very day, Sir Zafarullah Khan signed the members' register. He was the same Khan Sahib who had reached this Assembly by winning an election on a Muslim League ticket from West Punjab. He had won on a Muslim seat and had now signed the register as a Muslim member. If he were to sign the Assembly register today, he would do so as a religious minority, or else he would face imprisonment, for he was an Ahmadi. Before this, he had also served as the President of the Muslim League and a judge of the Federal Court of India. People used to say that he had even written the Pakistan Resolution. Jinnah Sahib and the Nawab Sahib had chosen him to present Pakistan's case before the Boundary Commission concerning the partition of Punjab and Bengal. After Pakistan's creation, Khan Sahib became Pakistan's Foreign Minister and was the first Asian to preside over the United Nations General Assembly and the International Court of Justice (ICJ). On that same day, the Nawab Sahib was presenting me to lay the foundation of the Constitution of Pakistan on Islamic principles, and right there in the Assembly, the Hindu members were vehemently opposing me. But to counter these Hindu members, the Nawab Sahib did not pick up stones from the ground; instead, he sought arguments from books.

Shri Prem Hari Barma, a Bengali Hindu member of Pakistan's first Constituent Assembly, was the first to object to me. His objection was that the Nawab Sahib had kept me hidden. He said that it was a budget session, and many members had returned to Bengal after the budget discussion concluded, as they had no idea that an Objectives Resolution existed, which was to be presented in the Assembly for approval.

Then Siris Chandra Chattopadhyay said that they had come from East Bengal to discuss the budget. The agenda had no mention of such a resolution. They only knew that Quaid-e-Azam had stated that religion and politics would not cross paths in the state of Pakistan. But this resolution was laying the very foundation of Pakistani politics on religion. He urged that it be presented in the next session of the Assembly so that they could return to consult with their constituents, and all other members could also come and express their opinions. The Nawab Sahib refused, saying that he had submitted the resolution for debate four days prior so that they could deliberate on it. And if they needed more time, they could be given until tomorrow. Maulvi Sahib put it to a vote whether the resolution should be debated on the twentieth of next month or tomorrow. Most members of the Assembly said it should be dealt with immediately. So Maulvi Sahib scheduled the rest of the debate for the next day, March 8, 1949.

In 1992, a full bench of three judges of the Lahore High Court issued a ruling about me. This decision was published under the name Sakina Bibi vs. Federation of Pakistan. This ruling made me the father of the Constitution when the court decided that since 1985, I was not merely a resolution but had become a part of the Constitution. I had not become a part of the Constitution; rather, the Constitution had become a part of me, and now the Constitution of Pakistan had to follow me. Although this decision was later overturned by the Supreme Court, on that day, Zia-ul-Haq came vividly to my mind. It was he who, in 1985, had made me the Constitution's... or rather, made the Constitution my... part. When people, in hushed tones, would call Zia-ul-Haq Surmay Ka Truck "the truck of kohl," I would laugh heartily. But I never understood why, being a general of Pakistan, he was a soldier of Islam. Here, the clerics of small mosques sit as generals of Islam, and he was a much bigger figure, so why did he call himself a soldier of Islam? Then I thought it might be something like a soldier named Ghazi who dies fighting, and he is called both Ghazi and Shaheed, and I don't understand what he truly was.

During the hearing of this case in the Lahore High Court, I heard many strange things. Many of them I couldn't comprehend, especially what the lawyers from both sides were saying. One would argue that since the American professor Dworkin says that the foundation of law is morality, I am the moral foundation of the Constitution. And the lawyers on the other side would argue that the English professor Hart says that law is separate from morality, and therefore I can have no legal connection with the Constitution of Pakistan.

Besides these perplexing lawyers, there were some whose arguments I could understand, and listening to them brought back all the arguments of Shaheed-e-Millat, who was then still Quaid-e-Millat, arguments he had presented in my favor during those days from March 7 to 12, 1949. The Nawab Sahib had also stated that the purpose of creating Pakistan was to establish an Islamic society. And now that an Islamic state had been formed, this state would undertake all necessary actions to build an Islamic society. Many lawyers even declared that the time had come for all laws to be Islamic. It was fortunate that the issue arose as to which school of thought's laws would be enacted. The court's solution to this dilemma was to declare that it was a matter for later. And I too sighed in relief, otherwise, after that discussion, no one would have even spoken about me.

Then, in court, someone said I was born when Muhammad bin Qasim conquered Sindh. I've heard this so many times that if a few days pass without hearing it, I start feeling pangs of longing. But one day, a communist said something utterly strange that has stuck in my mind ever since. I think it was during Bhutto's era, and one of my supporters made this same point, and a communist replied that neither did Arabs ever rule India, nor did Arab scholars spread Islam here. Both these tasks were accomplished by Aryan-descended Muslims from Central Asia. I often think it's a good thing the communists are gone, otherwise, they wouldn't have left me alone.

Shri Bhupendra Kumar Datta, a member from East Bengal, said that the mixture of politics and religion creates two problems. First, religion removes reason from politics. And from this, a second problem arises: when religion is not interpreted by reason, then politics also cannot be interpreted by reason. And thus, the representatives of the people will not be able to interpret politics. Along with religion, politics will then also be interpreted by the clerics. This was tantamount to handing over the entire political system to the clerics.

At that time, these words seemed strange to me, but later I saw that such politics truly overshadowed Pakistan, where the role of the cleric continued to grow. But what truly makes me laugh the most is observing the plight of the Ahmadis. When I see how they now hide for their lives, like thieves, it reminds me of Sir Zafarullah Khan's powerful speech in my favor, in which he assured the Hindu members that by including me in the Constitution, neither would the clerics dominate politics nor would non-Muslims suffer any hardship.

For five days, there was debate and discussion over me. Many words were spoken, many arguments presented. And finally, the Assembly passed me.

Even to this day, I haven't quite understood why people get so agitated about me, both in my favor and against me. I merely state that Pakistan's political system will be democratic, but according to Islamic principles. Why do people feel that because of me, clerics can hijack Pakistan's political system? Islam teaches truth and peace. If people would abandon the clergy's foolishness and use their own intellect, I would not let the clerics even come near me.

Then, when Zia moved me from the Preamble of the Constitution to within the Constitution itself, my article became more famous than me: 2A. It became so famous that one day I heard someone ask another, "Why doesn't the UNO do something for Palestine? Doesn't its charter have Article 2A?"

My worst state was in 1972. People spoke about me in hushed tones. At first, I didn't understand why, because in the preceding decade, my mention had already decreased somewhat. There was more debate in Pakistan about American and Russian ideologies. I thought that was why my mention had further diminished. But then I realized that the clerics were bewildered by the breaking of Pakistan, wondering what had happened. Pakistan's very foundation had been shattered. And the Indians mocked them. For a while, the bewildered clerics forgot my name. But then they began to invoke my name even more than before. It felt as if the clerics were shouting my name at the top of their lungs so that no one could hear the song "Amar Shona Bangla." And that's what happened. Five years later, instead of people asking what had become of the two-nation theory after the creation of Bangladesh, they brought a "soldier of Islam" to establish an Islamic system, who hanged the elected Prime Minister and had people flogged in the name of Hudood laws.

I thought that after getting their behinds reddened, people would have learned their lesson and wouldn't repeat such foolishness. But after 9/11, when suicide bombers began killing people, instead of asking what kind of jihad this was that killed innocent and unarmed Muslim men, women, and children, believers began to claim that all this was happening to them because I was not being implemented. When I heard this, I was bewildered once again, just as I was bewildered at birth. Only this time, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.