The Indian Hospitality!

By Ghulam Rabbani Agro

Gen. Zia was ruling over Pakistan. As D.G. Academy of Letters, Islamabad , I was on official visit at Karachi, when one fine morning, Brig. Siddique Salik, Press Secretary to the President, told me on telephone, to return to Islamabad, as President wanted to meet me urgently.

Next day, at 5 p.m. I called on the President at the Presidency, at Rawalpindi. He told me that a 12-member Writers’ delegation from India was visiting Pakistan. I was the official host of the delegation and had to take them to Lahore and other places, where they will give lectures, regarding promotion of Urdu in India, and display books. The President confided that apparently it is a writers’ delegation. But, their actual mission is political. Hence, I had to be careful, and when they left for India, I must give him my own impressions.

I went to Brig. Salik's office. He told me that an officer from the Ministry of foreign office will brief me about the political mission of the delegation. He left his office and we went for dinner to “Islamabad Hotel”, now called “Holiday Inn.”

*** *** ***

Next morning a pretty lady from the foreign office came to my office and introduced her self. She told me all about the “Political Mission” of the delegation and said that it is led by Kunwar Mehinder Singh Bedi, an Urdu poet and successor of Guru Nanik, the founder of Sikh religion. Besides, there are two more important members about whom I have to be extra careful; one is a nephew of the president of India and the other is reported to be an agent of RAW, K.G.B. as well as the C.I.A. Don't allow Indian writers for a private lunch or dinner with any Urdu writers, here, as some of them are on regular pay-role of the Indian Embassy. She then gave me their names, and told me if I had any questions?

“No thanks, you have given me enough information.” I told her, and she went away.

*** *** ***

I received the delegation at Karachi airport. Bedi was dressed in the typical Sikh-style. He sat with me in my car others followed us in official cars. We all left for Hotel “Awari Towers”.

They arranged exhibition of Urdu books (5000 in all) published in India and gave lectures, at Karachi.

I went to the Exhibition Hall and noted that some of the books had been borrowed from the Libraries and had been published many many years before the partition of India. So, their publication was not an achievement of the Indian Government or had any thing to do with the so-called “promotion of Urdu literature in the Post-Independence period in India.”

In the evening I arranged an Urdu Mushaira, with Perveen Shakir, as 'Chief Guest'. The Mushaira was followed by dinner. There were no less than 50 guests in the honour of the delegation, with Justice Ghaus Ali Shah, the then C.M. Sindh, as the “Chief Guest”.

The Indian delegation was pleased and impressed, and they always spoke to me with reverence. Bedi became a friend and talked to me about common points, in the teachings of Islam and Sikhism.

Next morning, we flew to “Mohen-jo-Darro”, symbol of the great Indus civilization, which flourished in the valley about 4500 B.C. K.B. Rind, a friend and then commissioner (or the Dy. Commissioner) Larkana, had arranged a typical generous Sindhi Lunch, followed by Sindhi Folk Dances. We returned to Karachi, by a Foker-Friendship Flight, when a Muslim member of the delegation, purposefully came and sat on the seat, next to me. He himself told me all about the misery and sorrows of Muslims in India.

“It is Hindu ruling over India”, he said in a painful voice: “If a post of Jr. Clerk falls vacant, there are ten applications of Hindus, already on the office table, before we reach the office. He added: Any Muslim 'Nawab' family of pre-partition days would be must willing to give the hand of their daughter for marriage to a young Muslim, only if he was an Office Assistant, any where. We can't get a seat reserved in railway, particularly if the booking clerk is a Muslim. He will be instantly sacked! But, if he is a Hindu, we stand a chance. Don't be surprised if you see a Muslim in an elevated chair. He is only a “Show-piece.” In new Delhi several pretty Muslim young women are lured and then forced to dance in nude in private clubs to earn their daily bread. You have to pay only Rs. 36/= as “Entrance Fee”. You will be served a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches, also.

But, if you take liking to any dancing girl on the stage, you can take her for a night, and pay the owner of the club, Rs. 500/=, in advance. There will be no problem, even if you are a stranger and staying in hotel. Police will get their share from the owner of the club. India is a democracy.”

When we reached Karachi, I had got fair amount of knowledge of Indian progress and promotion of Urdu.

*** *** ***

At Karachi, some poets and writers had approached me for permission, to take delegation for dinners/lunches, to their homes. But, I politely declined their requests. But, no one made such a request at Lahore or Islamabad.

At Lahore I had made lodging & Boarding arrangement of the delegation at Pearl Continental. From Lahore, the delegation came to Islamabad, where I briefed the President. He gave a dinner in their honour. Bedi, on this occasion, complained to the President about me. He said, “Mr. Agro has served us so generously, that we don't want to return to our home.” President gave a big laugh! He said: “ Agro is a Sindhi and all Sindhis are excellent hosts.”

When the delegation left for India, I got several letters from Bedi, that all your admirers are keen to know as to when are you coming to India? They want to return the compliment. you were such a good host!

*** *** ***

It so happened that Govt. of Pakistan, on the advice of Pakistan Embassy at Delhi, decided to send a Two-member delegation to India, to attend a SAARC Seminar at Calcutta, and nominated me as its chairman.

I had never been to India but in my childhood had heard fascinating tales from my father about Delhi, Agra and other places particularly regarding the Mughal Monuments, the Chandni Chowk and Qutub Minar. I had therefore a dream, since my childhood, to visit India.

I and my friend Bashir Goraya from Lahore, boarded an Indian airline plane from Lahore, which was four hours late. We had to catch a connecting flight at Delhi for Calcutta. As soon as we landed at Delhi, a delegation of Indian Govt. officers, which was waiting for our arrival, greeted me and asked if I would like to be their guest or that of the Pakistan Embassy?

I told them that I am in your country and your guest.

In fact, they had received a message from the Indian High Commissioner at Islamabad, to take care of me, as I had served the Indian delegation so well. Similarly, “Aiwan-Saddar” Islamabad had asked Mr. Malik Press Attaché at Delhi, to look after me.

We got the flight for Calcutta and reached over there, at 2 a.m. It was raining in torrents. I had lined up several Mercidies cars for the delegation. But, at Calcutta airport there was only one old Taxi, with a gentleman holding a play-card, with our names on it.

We three got into the Taxi, and managed to keep our suit cases also in it. “Nizam Palace” our host told the Taxi Driver.

I was so pleased! Nizam Palace! What a grand place it must be!

When the taxi driver reached the palace, it was an old Govt. Rest House, which had not been white washed for several years. There was no servant to carry our suit cases. We had to drag them, on the stair case, to the third floor, as their was no elevator. The host entered into a small room. There were two wooden cots and a small table in it.

“Light may suddenly disappear so here is a candle for you”, he told us. The match box was lying on the table, near a plastic jug full of water and a glass also made of plastic. Before we could ask any question, our host was gone. With a deep sigh, we stretched our legs on the wooden cots.

*** *** ***

Early in the morning, my friend Goraya was moving in a restless manner in the room.

“What is the problem?” I asked him.

“There is no water in the wash-room.”

“Why don't your call a chowkidar?”

“There is none. I have called several times!”

“Then?”

“There is no water, no electricity and no telephone in the rest house. All the guests staying in it have already left for different places.”

“So?”

“So, we better move in the Three-star-hotel, which is next door to the rest house.”

Thus, we went to the hotel. The manager immediately asked us: “Are you Pakistanis, as it appears from your dress?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Then you will have to pay the bill in dollars.”

“How much?”

“Well, right now you give me only five hundred dollars as advance.”

We got a room, which was comfortable, neat and clean. Goraya left the hotel to find out the programme of the Seminar. I ordered for a cup of tea. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. A young man, in a neat white shirt and paint walked into our room. “My name is Kaleemuddin” he shook hand with me and asked me “where is your room mate?”

“He has gone to find out the programme of the Seminar.”

Tea arrived. “Will you have a cup of tea?”

“With pleasure.” While I was making tea, there was another knock at the door. An ugly dressed person, walked into the room.

“You son of a Bitch! Don't you know that you have to keep watch at the Gate of the hotel?”

The fellow went away and I realized that we are under surveillance.

Goraya came at 12 P.M. and said “I am hungry, let us go for lunch.” Kaleemuddin joined us in the lunch. After it was over he went away. I cautioned Goraya.

In the evening, we attended the Seminar, in Kulla-Mandir. Natwar Singh was the Chief Guest. Suddenly, the light went off! We waited for sometime. Then the organizers told us to leave our papers and say some words orally. When all had said what we could say in pitch darkness, we were told to come out and have a cup of tea with the Chief Guest.

When we came out they told us that the Chief Guest had left as he had some urgent business so they had cancelled the tea programme. Like every body else, we returned to our hotel, by a taxi.

*** *** ***

Next morning, Kaleemuddin came and enquired about he programme. We told him everything. He gave a smile. We again went for lunch at 12 P.M. and spotted our host, sitting in a corner with a lady. Kaleemuddin went and brought him to our table. When the lunch was over, he asked him to pay the bill. He then asked him “Have you paid the amount of Return-ticket, as promised?”

“Not yet” the host told him.

“Pay it this evening, or I will report the matter to…?”

In the evening, we got the payment in Indian currency. “I am sorry, I could not arrange dollars, as promised”, the host said, meekly.

We packed and came to the counter of the hotel, to clear the bill. The manager regretted that he too can't pay us the balance in dollars. So, we had to accept the balance in Indian currency.

In the return flight to Delhi, a Sikh S.P was sitting next to me. He said “if we are alive to day, it is because of Muslims. After the assassination of Indra Gandhi, it was hell for us. Muslims protected us.” He advised me to stay at “Jan-Pat” hotel at Delhi.

The manager of the hotel again asked for advance payment in dollars. We had none. Now what to do? Suddenly, I had a brain wave. I asked him to get me Pakistan Embassy. Malik rose to the occasion. We got two rooms in the hotel, as his guests. The Indian officers, who had welcomed us at Delhi airport on our arrival, had disappeared altogather.

Next day, I telephoned Kunwar Mehindar Singh Bedi. He told us that he will come to the hotel at 5 P.M. He came and told us that he was leaving for Chandigarh, due to some emergency. But will have a glass of milk-rose with us. He was with us for about fifteen minutes and then enquired about our programme. I told him that we are returning to Islamabad. He said “very well” and took our leave. We never heard from him again.

Next day we offered Friday prayers at “Jamia Masjid” Delhi, and met Imam Bukhari. He insisted that we should have dinner with him. It was a memorable dinner. He narrated several tales of Hindu mentality. “They are all alike. We have to put up with the situation. We only wish, that you keep Pakistan strong.” These were his parting words.

When we reached Islamabad, I told the whole story only to Brig. Salik. He gave a big laugh and said: “So, you saw the dreamland of your childhood.” He added that he was a P.O.W. after the fall of Dhakka. “If this is the treatment Indians gave to their VIP guest, you can imagine the hard times I had to face in their P.O.W. camp.”

Kunwar Mehinder Singh Bedi, thereafter never wrote any letter to me. But, Goraya wrote a column on him in daily “Nawa-e-Waqt” Lahore. Bedi may have read it, as he never came to Pakistan again.

(Mr. G.R Agro is a renowned intellectual and Former Chairman, Academy of Letters, Pakistan, Islamabad.)

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