MY MEMOIRS, PART 2.

My memoirs: Part 2 (1955-1962)

In 1955, my father has moved once again back to Lahore. We stayed in a two-room house in Rahman Pura, adjacent to Ichhra, the headquarters of Jamaat Islami. My elder brother Shuaib and I were admitted to Pakistan Model High School, Urdu Bazar. To reach these we have to take a bus either directly to Secretariat, very near to Government College, next to which was our school or through Regal and Mew Hospital from where we have to walk through alleys to reach the school. We both were admitted to class 9 leading to matriculation at the end of class 10.

Though we were both in the same class, soon we had to change our subjects. Brother Shuaib opted for science subjects (Physics and Chemistry) while I went for Humanities (Urdu, Arabic etc) with English as a compulsory subject. I was fond of reading any form of literature my hands could lay on. Beginning with the historically-based Islamic fictions of Nasim Hijazi, Rashid Akhtar Nadwi, Abdul Halim Sharar with a blend of detective narratives of Ibn Safi, Sherlock Holmes and Arsene Lupin (both in Urdu translation), I was addicted!

There used to be an Ana Book shop (each book to be hired for one Ana i.e. 1/16 of a Rupee) which was somewhere on the main road leading to Ichra bus stop. I had been introduced to Jim Corbett, the famous hunter who had left a host of his encounters with man-eaters of East Africa. I had a very grim picture of life in Africa through his narratives. Could I have imagined in those days that I would be one day trespassing the very same jungles and bushes Jim Corbett has so earnestly described? On our way to the bus stop, we used to pass by the modest home of Inayatullah Mashriqi, the famous Ahrar leader who played an alarming role in Indian and later in Pakistani politics.

Though I opted for Arabic (against Persian, the subject most commonly chosen by students), I was chosen to receive a further dose of Arabic grammar in the hands of Asim Al-Haddad, originally a pupil of my father. He later excelled in Arabic writing and translation by accompanying Mas’ood Alim Nadwi, the great Arabic scholar who was an ardent follower of Jamaat Islami. Asim Al-Haddad with his profound ability to render Urdu articles to Arabic became a pioneer to introduce Maudoodi’s work to the Arab world. I am proud to have taken some lesson from him. To familiarise me with modern Arabic, a host of story books and illustrated children’s magazine ‘Sinbad’ were brought for me by my father. My appetite for reading was able to digest them all.

One of our neighbours was Professor Ahmad Yar Khan, a Hafiz of the Qur’an, and an authority on Qur’anic script. He was so fond of the Qur’an that he named his children after Qur’anic names and expressions like Ne’mal Abd, Zul Qarnain and Nadratul Na’im (his daughter). We were very close to the boys who shared with us street games including cricket and football. During summer vacations, the eminent teacher used to go to his home town, Jhang, leaving his home keys with our family. The first time I saw the National Geographic magazine was on his bookshelf.

The year 1957 was the end of our exams of matriculation but it was a year of trouble and turmoil for my father. An internal crisis in the Jamaat Islami, about which I have written in detail in my book “Life & Services of Maulana Abdul Ghaffar Hasan” in Urdu, led him to resign from the Jamat and join the newly set up educational institution by the title of “Jami’a Ta’leemat Islamia’ at Lyallpur (presently known as Faisalabad) on the invitation of Hakim Abdul Rahim Ashraf, who was a close family friend and had also resigned his membership. I accompanied my father on his way to Lyalpur on a country bus. There had been a big two-storey house with a big name plate on the gate: ‘Ashraf Laboratries’ where we stayed for a few days. The premises accommodated the office of the weekly Urdu journal ‘Al-Munir’ as well which carried the hallmarks of our host’s skill in Urdu writings on religion and political issues. To my amazement and joy, there were a host of papers and magazines which the office used to receive as an exchange for ‘Al-Munir’ both from Pakistan and India. For me a treasure of knowledge was at hand and I could make use of it in my times of leisure.

There had been no other activities except for studying with my father as the very first student of Jamia and digesting the freely available reading material whenever I liked. Soon the family left Lahore and joined us in Lyallpur, the town named after its founder and designee Lieutenant Governor of Punjab, Sir James Broadwood Lyall in 1892. He planned the town to replicate the design as a Union Jack. There were eight bazaars and eight roads (four wide and four narrow streets) sprouting from a central point where a Watchtower overlooked them. Each Bazar took the name of a city which lies in that direction like Jhang Bazar followed by Montgomary, Bhawana, Chinute, Amin Pur etc or the name of a local landmark like Katchery (the court), Rail and Karkhana (factory). A circular Bazar known as Goal Bazar (round market) passed through them as well.

Hakim Abdul Rahim Ashraf was not only a prolific writer, he was an eloquent speaker as well. In a centenary conference at the Dhobi Ghat of Lyallpur on the liberation movement in 1857 from British advance to bring an end to the Mughal Empire in India, Hakim Sahib was one of the speakers. About him, a journalist commented in his daily paper: “A small man (he meant Hakim Sahib because of his short stature) said something very high and large”. Dhobi Ghat, at a very short distance from Jinnah Colony, the place we stayed at, was a public place famous for public speeches and lectures. I was fortunate enough to attend a host of such conferences which used to be held there during my four years’ stay.

Soon after our arrival in Lyallpur, I had the honour to ride one day in a Tanga (cart driven by a horse) in the company of three great scholars: my father, Hakim Abdul-Rahim Ashraf and Maulana Amin Ahsan Islahi, the author of ‘Taddalus Qur’an’, a great book of Tafsir in nine volumes. All three men became the source of knowledge for me. Islahi had just started writing his Tafsir beginning with Surah Al-Fatiha which saw its first appearance on the weekly journal Al-Munir of Hakim Ashraf. I have benefitted later in my life with the said Tafsir book of Islahi. In fact, it is the only Urdu Tafsir which I have read from the beginning to the end while I used to hold weekly Tafsir lessons during my stay in London later in my life.

Through his writings, I was introduced to his teacher and mentor, Maulana Hamiduddin Farahi, one of the great scholars of India. His exegesis commentary of some selected Surahs of Al-Qur’an besides his short book on ‘Who Was Zabih’ (the one who was subjected to sacrifice by Syyedena Ibrahim AS) had always been reference books for me. As for Hakim Ashraf, I followed his writings on a variety of subjects which used to mark the pages of Al-Munir which was later renamed as Al-Minber. Then I was the product of my father who motivated me to leave Govt. College and devote myself to the Oriental.

Soon afterwards, my mother with four of my siblings, elder sister and three brothers, moved to Lyalpur. As the classes in Jami’a were still held in the evening, we (myself and my elder brother Shua’b) were admitted to the Govt. College, situated next to Jinnah Colony facing Dhobi Ghat. I had to study Humanities (English, Arabic and Economics) while my brother went for science subjects. Our first residence was in a house at Labour Colony, an area far from the College. I had to peddle the bike or use a bus to attend the College. First time in my life I was exposed to the English Literature, ‘Great Expectations’, ‘The Three Musketeers’ and a novel by Galsworthy, alongside a selection of English prose and poetry, which were part of the curriculum. I enjoyed reading them but to be honest, to pass the exam we had to rely upon summarised versions with explanations in Urdu, in most cases. Even in Arabic, we were introduced to a collection of Arabic prose and poetry ‘Qatf-ul-Azhar’ by Arburry. Thanks to my solid foundation in Arabic at home, I always excelled in Arabic tests. I enjoyed listening to the annual debate, the theme of which was a line of poetry by Iqbal, the famous poet from Sialkot and a national figure in Pak-Indian liberation movement:

“Do not carry the favours of the European mirror-makers. Create your own wine and vessels from the clay of Pak.”

(Pak has been substituted for “Hind” India, in the original poem).

I was fascinated by the debate and addressed myself: “One day you will be addressing in this manner”. I used to borrow books, both in Arabic and English from the College library. In Arabic, mostly story books by Kilani, and in English, I remember borrowing ‘Gulliver’s Travels’. There used to be a Council library at the corner of the Dhobi Ghat. It became another source for me to quench my thirst for reading. I used to sit there for hours reading the books of my choice as it was not a lending library. Sometime in early 1958, I remember reading the news about the death of a great Indian leader, Maulana Abdul Kalam Azad, while I was looking at the daily papers in the College library. As for the Pakistani politics, the year 1958 brought to us the Marshal Law of General Muhammad Ayyub Khan, the first military commander to show the politicians a taste of military rule.

As a shy teenager, I found it difficult to develop a friendship with any classmate. My studies in the College came to an end after one year. My father was not happy with me to continue with College education. I must follow the path of my father and fore-fathers in pursuing great Islamic heritage which only Arabic could provide. I left the College and in the evening, after Maghrib, I had the honour of being the first student at Jamia Taleemat Islami at 5 Jinnah Colony. The house on a commercial road of the town was our dwelling, the part of which was used for evening classes. Elder people used to attend the Arabic classes with my father. Long after my departure from Lyallpur, Hakim Ashraf with his God-gifted skill and generosity was able to acquire a big piece of land on Sargodha Road, away from the centre of the town, on which he raised a proper building along with a mosque to house this institution.

One day, we were at Lylallpur railway station giving farewell to three Syrian students who after graduating from the Agricultural College, were on their way to Lahore or Karachi to catch their flight home. I had seen the generous gesture of Hakim Ashraf that day. He had sent for each one of them a carton full of his factory’s medical products which contained syrups, sweet kaamira of energetic nature, all sorts of balms and yunani mixtures of soothing affects for pains and aches. (Yunani medicines are named after Yunani in China, not after Greece as wrongly misunderstood).

I was given another task by my father – Translation of the memoirs of Sheikh Hasan Al-Banna, the founder of Ikhwan in Egypt to Urdu language. I engaged myself to do this long and laborious job in my leisure time. By the title of “The Diary of Hasan Al-Banna’, it started appearing on the pages on Al-Minber in instalments. I was happy to see a product of mine, with my name on it, appearing in a well-respected magazine. But, alas, the manuscript was lost when Hakim Ashraf moved his offices from Jinnah Colony to another locality. It was lost forever and I could not see this effort of mine taking the form of a book. Long after, a book by the same title was published by Islamic Publication, Lahore but it was a rendering of the same Arabic book by Khalil Hamidi of Jama’t Islami.

Though I could not see the fruit of my hard-earned exercise, I benefited a lot from the life history of this great man, his zeal for Da’wa, his openness to the people, his unbeatable desire to bring a change in the lives of ignorant masses of his country. My next job was to translate another scholarly work of an Ikhwan writer, Al-Bahi Al-Kholi, entitled “Tazkhirat-ul-Du’at” (An Admonition for the Preachers). That was another voluminous work which I published, but the fate of this exercise was no more different from the first one. I have no recollection of the translated material where it has ended up. Apart from studying, I had enjoyed listening to various speakers, mainly the scholars in public meetings either at Dhobi Ghat or in different Mosques. Among the non-scholars I was fascinated by the speech of Shorash Kashmiri, the editor of weekly “Chitan” and an ardent follower of Syyed Ataullah Shah Bukhari, the most famous speaker in Indian history. He was famous due to his speeches in the defence of the finality of Prophet Muhammad (pbuh). I had the honour to see him , in his old age, in a public meeting at Jamia Mosque, Katchery Bazar, where he graced the meeting with his Du’a at the end.

My father, by that time had joined the Islamic Seminary, Jami’a Salafiya as a teacher at the far end of the city. For the next two years. I had to attend Tafsir, Hadith, Arabic poetry first in Jami’a Salafiya and then in Dar ul Qur’an wal Hadith, another Islamic institution in Jinnah Colony itself. The latter one was established by a famous Ahl-e-Hadith scholar Abdullah Verowali. Besides my studies in these two seats of knowledge, I was preparing to sit in the exam for attaining an Oriental-based degree, Alim Arabi in 1959 and Fadil Arabi in 1960. These two degrees used to be the highest in Punjab Public Board of Education. The syllabus, in both grades, covered a vast amount of all Islamic subjects especially in Tafsir, Hadith and Arabic poetry. I was very pleased to see my name at the top of the list of successful candidates.

Being first in these two exams brought a sense of satisfaction and self-glorification but no scholarship for further studies. That was allocated only for the top ones at the University level. For a holder of Alim and Fadil degree, the way was open to sit in the University exams of F.A and B.A. for only one subject i.e. English. This is what I did. Taking hold of the syllabus for F.A. in 1961 and for B.A. in 1962, I used to study by myself with an English dictionary at hand. For a very short period, I attended the evening classes of a retired University teacher at Lyallpur. I sat my exam for F.A. at the premises of Islamia College at Lyallpur. During the early days of Jamia, a young tall fellow from Iraq came to study at the famous agricultural College of Lyallpur. He was an energetic supporter of Ikhwan movement. He was none other than our brother Salih Mahdi Al-Sammara’i. As a very keen student of Arabic, I used to visit him a lot at his boarding house, not only to practice the language verbally but to borrow from him Arabic journals like ‘Al-Shihab’ of Beirut, Lebanon. He was a regular visitor to Jami’a and became a close friend of both my father and Hakim Ashraf.

Then to promote Arabic and let the students of various Jami’at in the town, my father established ‘Jamia Ihya Al-lughat ul-Arabia (the society for the revival of the Arabic language). We used to have monthly sessions at this society at the Muslim City School premises where all the proceedings were held in Arabic. Among my colleagues was Bashir Sialkoti, an emerging star of Arabic knowledge and a student at Jami’a Taleemat Islamia. Some local scholars, like Hakim Abdul-Majeed (who was blind), Mufti Siahuddin Kakakheil of Madrassa Ishat-ul-‘Uloom and Ustad Ghulam Ahmad Hasini graced these sessions with their presence. I learnt the famous Arabic proverb, “I was eaten the day the white oxen was eaten” by the mouth of Salih al-Samarrai in one of the sessions.

With a creative mind, Salih could always bring new ideas. One day he said to me, “Let us promote the journal ‘Al-Minber’, among the college students. A good amount of its copies were brought each week to him on Fridays. After the Friday prayers were over, we had to stand outside the Mosque and shout to the youngsters leaving the Mosque: “Al-Minber! Al-Minber!” For me it was embarrassing but for him it was a way of encouraging the young lad on how to humble himself in the path of Da’wa.

My familiarity with Arabic, through these different channels, enabled me to deliver a welcome speech at Jamia, at the visit of the most famous scholar of India, Maulana Abul Hasan Al-Nadwi. He visited Lyallpur because his Sheikh, Maulana Abdul Qadir Rayepuri had camped there for a few days. As a Sufi Sheikh, he always moved between India and Pakistan accompanied by a host of his followers. During his stay, I once visited Ali Mian (Abul Hasan al-Nadawi) at the camp as he wanted to dictate to me an article in Arabic. During that dictation, I took from his mouth the following line of poetry:

“How to pass through the mountains of Lebanon

, their winter is just like summer and their summer is just like winter”.

Later in early 20^th century, I happened to pass through these mountains during a visit to Beirut.

One month before the exams, I had to prepare myself to go through all those books which were included in the syllabus. To have more concentration and privacy, I would take a bag of some of my books and move to the park very near to Agricultural College where I would sit under a tree for hours and hours to study those books and take notice. Once tired and fatigued, I would pack up once again and take the way back home.

It must have been February 1961, when Queen Elizabeth with her husband Prince Phillip visited Pakistan. I remember standing on the side of the road, near Dhobi Ghat, among other spectators to have a glimpse of the visitors who passed by us in a two horses-led buggy. Could I have imagined that fifteen years later I would end up on the hometown of the Queen herself? Now that I had a degree of Fadil Arabic in my hand, I was looking for a teaching post. My elder brother, Shuaib, had already started working in a textile factory after acquiring a diploma in engineering from the Polytechnic and a degree of BSc from Lahore. As a young man, 18 years old, with no teaching experience, I could not be held favourable in my interview for an Arabic teacher post at a secondary school. However, one of my father’s old acquaintances, Ghazi Abdul Jabbar, who had left Jama’at as well, was looking for an Arabic teacher in his newly-set up private school in Rawalpindi. I was allowed to leave the family and join this new post.

Had it not been the houses of my maternal uncle, Muhammad Aslam and my paternal aunt in Rawalpindi, I could not have managed to stay there even for a single day. For my stay in Rawalpindi, I had to rent a solitary room in the old quarters of the City which used to be a labyrinth of alleys and narrow streets. From Banni Chowk, I had to ride a Tanga to reach my destination at Satellite town where the school was housed. It was my first experience in teaching the kids, who were a few years younger than me. During the three months I stayed there, I found myself lonely, with no outdoor activities and with a great longing to return back home. I think that Ghazi Saheb himself was not very impressed by my work. So he was not hesitant to relieve me when I asked to leave the job. However, I returned to Lyallpur with sweet memories of my Mamu and Mami, Uncle Hakim Yahya Khan and Aunt Safiyya. They were all kind and affectionate to me and they provided me with dining facilitites at their homes. My maternal grandfather (Nana Abdul Rauf) used to be in the same area and I had to see him on and off at my Mamu’s place.

One of the benefits which I achieved during my stay was to attend Friday Khutbah in the main Ahl-e-Hadith Mosque where Maulana Ismail Dabih used to be the Khateeb. He was an eloquent orator and possessed a beautiful voice while reciting the Qur’an. During these days, I had to prepare myself to sit the F.A. exam for English language. In the summer of 1961, I was able to pass that exam and then be prepared for the next one – B.A. (in English).

That was the year when Dr. Israr Ahmed had established a Qur’an Hostel in Montgomery (now Sahiwal). The objective was to provide lodging facilities to young boys who used to receive their higher education in the local Govt. College. By staying there, they had to learn Arabic in the evening and attend Qur’an classes with Dr. Israr himself. By consultation with my father, I was chosen to be their teacher of Arabic while I would have the opportunity to prepare myself for the B.A. exam in English. Once again, I had to leave Lyallpur and travel southwards to take my place in the Qur’an hostel. There were five colleagues, a little younger than me, who were there to benefit from my knowledge of Arabic. Among them were Abdu Khaliq, Abdul Ghani, Salahuddin, Absar Ahmad (Dr Israr’s youngest brother) and Iqbal Suhail (a volatile, sweet table talker whose mother was Spanish). They were all colleagues with whom I shared the lodging, food and jokes. We all had to attend Dr Israr’s Qur’anic circle which were famous because of his eloquence in speech, profound knowledge of the Book and his own impressive personality.

For a few sessions, I benefited from Iqbal’s mother who assisted me in explaining the poetic expressions of Shakespeare’s drama, Macbeth, a part of the B.A. curriculum. Before the summer of 1962, I had my exam which I passed to be a holder of the Bachelor of Arts degree. During my short stay in Montgomery, I joined the famous Islamic seminary, Jami’a Rashidiya which was situated somewhere across the railway station. It was run by Maulana Abdullah and his brother Habibullah. I used to attend in the morning two classes; one the lesson of Musayara Musamara in the knowledge of Kalam by Sheikh Abdullah and the other by Hafiz Siddiq who used to teach Nur al-Anwar in Usul-al-Fiqh. Thus, I could combine my Arabic studies, preparation for the exam and my duties as an Arabic teacher in the evening.

Soon I was called back to Lyallpur. My father had decided to leave Jami’a Ta’limat Islamia and join Dr Israr’s venture for educating the youth in an Islamic manner. I had to assist in collecting the household, especially my father’s vast variety of the books and load them in a truck which was hired for this purpose. For my family, I was a herald when we came to Lyallpur in 1957 and once again I was there before them in 1961. The whole family moved to the new place and by my father’s arrival I was relieved from my duties to focus further on my studies.

Among the memories of my stay in Montgomery, was the episode of “Ghairat Ka Janaza’” (the funeral of honour). What happened was, news had leaked to us that the local council was going to host a ladies hockey match in the City. We, the young pioneers of Islamic idealism, led by Iqbal Suhail, got up to block this event. A leaflet with the above-mentioned title was prepared and printed. First we distributed it to all and sundry, then we took a special task to approach the prominent Imams in the town on a Thursday evening to brief them about this unprecedented event which would bring shame and dishonour to the Islamic values we held. We met a number of them, approaching one after the other, asking them to condemn this proposed activity in the Juma Khutbah. I remember the last one to meet when it was too late at night. He had gone to bed to sleep but he was kind enough to leave his bed and greet us in his reception. We met Imams of all factions: Ahle-Hadith, Deobandi, Barelvi and Shia. With their co-operation and our protest, the expedition ended in success. The event was cancelled.

My other memory was that of attending a Tabligh gathering. I myself with a colleague of mine were supposed to spend the night in a particular Mosque, in line with Tabligh Jamat practice to spend one night in a Mosque weekly. We took our blankets and made our way to the Mosque. It was a cold night. Our blankets could not warm us well. So we sneaked slowly away from among the lines of sleeping devotees to make our way home.

My curiosity and yearning for Arabic literature took me to Maulana Abdul Jalil of the Ahl-e-Hadith Mosque who used to have a good collection of old Arabic journals. [In Lyallpur there used to be two similar sources for me: Hakim Abdul Majeed (the Blind) from whom I used to borrow copies of the monthly “Al-Hilal” of Cairo, Egypt and Master Fateh Muhammad, a teacher at agricultural college who used to have a good collection of Arabic story books].

I remember some of my strolls, accompanied by one of my colleagues, in the rural area around the town. We had to walk the fields, pray in a deserted village Mosque and enjoy the villager’s hospitality when they offered a drink of “Lassi” to us.

There had been an ancient historical site, Harappa by name, very near to the town which I was able to visit in one of our outings. Brother Waqar, the elder brother of Absar, was a lovely, humble young man whose company I enjoyed. Suddenly came the news that he had to leave us heading towards Karachi where his eldest brother, Izhar Ahmed Qureshi, wanted him to join his construction company. With the saddest hearts, we gave him a farewell in a local tea house. Little did I know that I had to follow suit within weeks of his departure.

In 1961, Jamia Islamia (the Islamic University) had been set up in Madina, the City of the Prophet (SAW). They welcomed students from every Muslim country. In the first batch of 18 students from Pakistan, my name was one of them. Long after I came to know how my name was selected. My father approached Maulana Muhammad Dawood Ghaznavi, the then president of Markazi Jamiat Ahl-e-Hadith, to consider my name as one of the candidates. He welcomed my father’s request and sent my name to the Saudi Ambassador in Karachi.

With sadness in my heart but with high expectations of the future, I gave farewell to my family members at Montgomery railway station who were all there to see me off. That was the first time I was leaving home on a long journey to an unknown place, the only metropolitan city of Pakistan.

My siblings

Apart from three children of my parents who died in infancy, I had six siblings till 1962.

1. Eldest sister: Sabira Khatoon (b. 1936 at Banaras, India). Her wedding took place in Lyallpur. The groom, Hafiz Abdul-Rabb was the son of a cousin of my father. That was the first time when I saw the close relatives of my father, his uncles (or cousins of his father). She had to leave for Karachi after the wedding. (She is still in Karachi with one son and five daughters).
2. My elder brother, Shu’aib Hasan (b. 1940, Banaras, India). We studied together till 1958, when he passes his studies in engineering at Lyallpur Polytechnic first and then at Diyal Singh College at Lahore. As I was fond of writing and them creating hand-written magazines, he created for me a hand made press. It was like a slate of stone on which glue and certain material was spread. Then the hand-written pages (in Arabic) were pasted upon it to make copies. It was again a childish exercise which turned into a hobby. (After a successful career in PIA and Saudi Arabia, he lives in Canada with his daughter and grandchildren).
3. My younger brother, Khubaib Hasan (b. 1946 at Malairkotla, India). He attended Naya Madrassa of Jamaat Islami at Johra, Lahore and then joined Sabriya Sirajiya scholl in Lyallpur. (As a professional medical doctor, he now practices in Islamabad after serving a long time in Saudi Arabia).
4. Suhail Hasan (b. 1951 in Lahore). As a child in Lyallpur, he received the primary education there. (After graduating from Madinah and Riyadh Universities, he is occupied in his teaching and research work at the International Islamic University in Islamabad).
5. Raghib Hasan (b.13.10.1956 in Lahore). (Studied in Madinah, then in Faisalabad and Islamabad, then worked with the Muslim World League Pakistan office, Islamabad until his death on the morning of 8^th February 2014).
6. Ahmad Hasan (b. 1961 at Montgomery). (Studied in Madinah, Faisalabad and Islamabad where he stays now).
7. Hamid Hasan (b. 1963 in Karachi). He was a later addition to the family when I had already moved to Madinah. (Like his elder two brothers, he studied in all three places, then completed his M.A. in Cambridge and Ph.D in Australia in economics. Now works as a professor at Hafoof University in Saudi Arabia).
   
   

MY MEMOIRS, PART 1.

My Memoirs: Early Days of My Life, Part 1.

Since my birth in November 1942, in the princely state of Malairkotla (India) till my matriculation (the end of secondary school) in 1957, I had the prints of my future life due to the way I was brought up in a family with seven siblings; one sister and six brothers. I was the third after my sister and my elder brother Shuaib. My brother Shuaib and I advanced in education together sharing the same class and almost the same subjects (except for the last two years of secondary school) but I was the one who was destined to follow my father’s aspiration and his profession as a teacher of Oriental Studies and as a preacher of the true teachings of Islam. Incidentally, this is the very same period which has totally been devoted, by my father, to the Jamaat Islami which was established by Maulana Mawdoodi in 1941 and which my father joined right after its inception. His presence in Malairkotla, the state where my mother’s family has settled , was due to his full time teaching job on behalf of Jamaat. No exaggeration if I say that I have been brought up in the lap of Jamaat.

I recollect dim memories of my childhood in the state till our migration to Lahore in 1948, just after the partition of India into Bharat and Pakistan. I remember attending Madrasa in the Mosque where I learnt the Urdu alphabet. My hand-writing, the basis for my interest in calligraphy, was deep rooted in those pens made by sharpening the end of wooden sticks. I remember getting the applause from my first Madrasa teacher when I was able to write the letter ‘Jeem’ better than any other child in the class. By the time we left Malairkotla for good, I had become fond of reading short stories wherever I could get hold of them. The trains to Lahore via Amritsar, the seat of Sikh religiosity, had witnessed in those early days of partition, baths of bloodshed on the hands of the hostile Sikh. Some trains reached Lahore with corpses drenched in blood only.

On a hot day in May 1948, we were fortunate enough to have a safe passage through Amritsar station by midnight. I witnessed an ambush where plundering and looting took place in the rear carriages of the train but we, with the grace of Allah, were not affected. The family of six, the father, mother and four children arrived safe and sound at Lahore. My father’s affiliation to Jamaat kept him moving from one place to the other, during the next nine years.

We spent three months in a two-storey small house in the very famous old city of Rawalpindi with narrow alleys and unhealthy sanitation. In the small reception room on the ground floor, my eyes cast a glance at a wooden cabinet, the shelves of which were seen through the glass, bundled with books and magazines. I looked greedily, hoping for some story books, but my father stopped me: “These have been left by the Hindu owner of the house who, like us, has migrated away from his home. We have no right to touch things that belonged to someone else.”

Our family moved back to Lahore to stay in the locality of Ichra, the headquarters of Jamaat at that time. For the next four years, before I was ten, our studies were done at home. We started receiving a children’s magazine entitled “Phool” (A flower) with an entirely Islamic blend. I was fascinated in reading whatever material I could lay my hands on. My happiness knew no bounds when a short story written by me marked the page of this children’s bi-monthly magazine.

My father was so engrossed in jamaat activities that he seldom had time to teach us. Mother took the major role in teaching us the Qur’an and Urdu reading and writing.

The first time I entered a proper school building was in Sialkot, a border town in Punjab, where my father was transferred in 1952 as an activist of Jamaat. He took both of us, me and my elder brother to Pakistan Modern High School (previously known as Khalsa School run by Sikhs) and handed us over to Master Muhammad Hussain, the headmaster and an activist of Jamaat as well. I remember crying when I found myself in such a large crowd of boys. We were admitted to sixth class (the first of three years middle stage in those days).

As migrants speaking Urdu in a predominantly Punjabi gathering, my brother and I were given a new title by the classmates: “Bhayya” i.e. little brother. No one called us by our real names. For the rest of the following three years, we were none but “Bhayya”. For the first time, we had a set curriculum to follow. Apart from Urdu, we had to read English, Diniyat (Islamic studies), history, geography, mathematics, and arts (drawing only). Our school day used to start with the general assembly of all school children who sang with a collective voice the famous poem of Allama Iqbal: “lab pe ati hay dua ban ke tamanna meri”. While in the classroom, we would sometimes recite, “twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are”. I have been fascinated with both, though later in life, Arabic had left no room for mastering Urdu poetry or English classes.

Hockey became a passion for me. Our first group of school mates started playing, not with hockey sticks, because they could not afford to buy them, but with hard twigs of tree branches which had a bend at the end. The only person to bring his own hockey stick was our goal-keeper, who remained throughout his career a shining star of the children’s team. We bought our own hockey sticks sometime later. A scar on my chin, covered up by my beard later, was a result of a strong blow by a player’s stick, and always reminds me of my folly, being on the wrong side of my fellow player. Though this passion lasted only three years of my middle classes (6, 7, and 8^th), I have never been as fond of any other game as hockey itself. I loved watching hockey matches, no matter if I cannot play in the field. I remember sarcastic remarks of a Sikh, long after my days of education, when I started my career as an Arabic and Islamic studies teacher in Nairobi, Kenya. I could not resist paying a visit to watch a hockey match between Pakistan and Kenya. The ground was alive with Asian Muslims in support of Pakistan, and hosts of Sikhs to back the Kenyan team, which used to have a number of Sikh players. The remarks made by one of their spectators was “oh look at them (i.e. Muslims); their Molvis are here as well!”

Let me come back to the school. I remember Ashiq, a classmate whose story introduced us to some strange realities of life. One day he was found guilty of neglecting his homework completely. The teacher became so angry that he asked him to stand up and face lashings on his hand. The teacher hit him hard three times on this hand. The boy, with red hot eyes, stretched out both of his hands, inviting more punishment. The teacher continued with more and more strikes while the boy did not show any sign of weakness, and did not, even for a single moment, withdraw his hands. The boys in the classroom shouted “teacher! This boy is possessed”. As soon as the teacher heard this cry, he was the first one to leave the classroom followed by the frightened boys who hurled towards the door while Ashiq stood still at his desk with his eyes aghast and red. Our teacher for Dinyat (Quran studies) was called upon to handle the boy. He came and asked a few of our classmates to hold him tightly. The teacher read a number of the verses of the Quran and addressed the boy saying “who are you and why are you here?” Of course he was addressing the Jinn who had possessed the boy. “I am not going to leave him!” a trembling voice, very different from his normal voice, resounded in the room. The teacher commanded more beating of the boy until the Jinn yielded to his demand. That poor child who normally did not have the strength to win a dual, turned into a real wrestler who could barely be controlled by the host of boys who caught hold of him. After he received a lot of blows, the Jinn finally decided to leave. Our teacher took from him a solemn oath not to possess him while he was in the class. As soon as he left, the boy fell on the floor, totally exhausted and unconscious. A charpoy, a bed with woven ropes and wooden frame and legs, was brought which worked as a stretcher for him to be taken back home by four boys. He must have been ill for many days because he did not return to the class. The only other time we felt a visitation by that Jinn was the day when the teachers asked him on the last day of fee collection to pay the fee or get expelled. Ashiq asked to leave to fetch the money. In no time, he came back with the sum in his palm. “How could you get this money so quickly?” the teacher asked. “Oh! That was my old friend who, because of his promise, did not enter the class room, but gave me the amount of fee at once. He said to me that he wanted to take me on a Hajj journey as well”. After this incident, I have never doubted the presence of Jinn, an invisible creature of Allah, who are around us but they hardly interfere with us except in very rare cases as that of Ashiq. Like his name, which means “a lover”, Ashiq became the subject of “ishq”, love.

The other most pressing memory of my school life was the day when our whole house witnessed a lot of sadness and gloom. That was the day when the papers brought the news of the hanging of a great scholar, an Islamic activist, Abdul Qadir Audah, a leader of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt. He was hanged with two other activists, by Jamal Nasir’s dictatorial regime. I remember that famous poem, penned by Naim Siddiqi, which covered the whole front page of Jamat’s magazine “Tasnim” with this opening line: “Ye Kaun Tha, Kis ka Khun Baha?” “Who was he whose blood has been spilled”. Our house, as a beacon of Jamat, had first-hand knowledge of all such world movements with which Jamat shared their thoughts and ideologies. My father, in his beliefs, was a strict follower of the Ahl-e-Hadith school of thought. But he used to have good and friendly relations with other faith groups like Deobandis. This is why sometimes he would take us for Taraweeh prayers at Madrasa Shahabiya, an Islamic institution run by a famous Deobandi scholar Maulana Muhammad Ali Kandhalwi. But we used to leave after offering 8 Rakaat in line with Ahl-e-Hadith view.

As a strict adherent to Ahl-e-Hadith theology, we were never familiar with such innovative practices in our house like Shab-e-Bara’at (The night of 15^th Sha’ban when people adorn the roofs of their houses with candles or small eastern lamps); celebration of the birthday of the Prophet (SAW) on 12^th Rabi al-Awwal; providing Sabil of water for passersby on 10^th Muharram, the day of martyrdom of Imam Hussain (RA); holding a gathering of friends and relatives to complete the reading of Al-Qur’an, a practice known as Khatam, especially on the third day of the death of a person, followed by the 40^th day’s gathering; visiting saint’s mausoleums either locally or abroad; celebrating the remembrance day on 11^th day of the lunar month in the name of Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jilani, and many more such innovations that are found to be prevalent among many Muslim houses. What we used to witness in our house were either circles attended by ladies to learn the Qur’an or feasts of some delicious food on Eid Day. My mother would hold such circles at home or would go to someone’s house for such a Qur’anic lesson. In Sialkot, Hamida Begum was such a talented woman who would hold weekly circles. In our house there was no such thing as radio, playing music, cards or any similar means of entertainment. Our whole enjoyment was reading the story books and magazines with Islamic flavours like ‘Phool’ (flower), Talim-o-Tarbiyat, Al-Hasanat and Nur (both published on behalf of jamaat in Rampur, India).

Our first residence was in a first floor apartment in Mubarak Pura which faced the railway line. From the windows, we used to have full sight of the trains, coming and going, with the loud cracking sounds of the iron wheels and startling cries of its whistles. My fascination with trains developed there long before I could have access to “The Railway Children.”

Sometimes, I had to accompany my mother, walking besides the rails to visit another famous lady worker of Jamaat who lived in the locality of ‘water works’ before reaching Sialkot station. My biggest attraction to her house was to be allowed to take hold of a monthly illustrated child magazine, ‘Khilona’ (a toy) by name, which her daughter used to receive from Delhi, India. The lady was a prolific writer in Jamaat papers and magazines. Her daughter later excelled her in story writing. In the company of children’s magazines, I could not resist copying that model myself. I started a hand-written small size magazine by the title of Chand (moon) which was decorated in colours by my brother Shuaib. This magazine showed my skill at hand-writing, storytelling and copying the material from the papers at hand. It was just a childish play which lasted a couple of months, an amusement for the visitors, an enjoyment for both of us after school hours. Encouraged by a small sum, a rupee or a half by the parents, we would be able to buy more sheets of blank papers and ink. I wish I had retained some copies of that child play to show to my grandchildren. I hope some of them are still in possession of my elder sister in Karachi.

Two other memories of my school days:

The school was on the other side of Nala Aik (a rivulet) which used to have such shallow water that we could cross it by foot. When it flooded, it turned into a stormy river. Then we had to follow the road, up to the bridge and straight to the school. Once I was holding a football in my hand, with my school bag in the other hand when a naughty village lad snatched the ball from my hand and ran fast to disappear in the mud houses beside Nala Aik. We ran after him, entered one of the open doors of a house. The old lady in the house must have known the vicious nature of her child. So she did not object to us stepping on the staircase to the roof. There he was, trying to hide himself in a heap of hay. We took our ball and headed back to the home. Once, after crossing the water, we passed by a crowd of people who encircled a village house. We could see the gloom, the anxiety, a feeling of awe on their faces. Led by curiosity we entered the courtyard where, on a wooden charpoy, two babies were resting; resting forever. Somebody had strangled them to death. A sight of death, marked in a young boy’s mind to last forever.

I remember that night when my father was delivering his speech in a public lecture arranged by Jamaat in the famous Ram Talai ground, with the shape of an amphitheatre. I was sitting near my mother among the women in a two storey building nearby. I could not resist leaving her to join one of the boys who tempted me to ascend to the roof and play ‘hide and seek’. It was dark. The roof had no boundary wall at all. I ran after him, only to fall from the top of the roof on to the ground below. With pain and anguish, I made my way to my mother and fell unconsciously in her lap. It was an arduous journey back home. I had to be confined to a dark room in the house for home-made treatment which included massage, oiling the legs and complete rest for a number of weeks. Was I not a naughty boy as well!!

How much trouble I had created for the whole family. I could feel the pain and suffering, so vivid in the eyes of my mother who cared for me during days and nights. May Allah shower His blessings and mercy on both graves (my mother and father) in the evergreen cemetery of Islamabad.

The year 1952 witnessed a great turmoil following the blood-stained movement of Khatm-e-Nubuwwat; a movement to support the finality of the Prophethood of our Prophet Muhammad (SAW) against the ongoing rebellious blasphemy of a claim of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad to be a Prophet as well. The famous treatise of Maulana Maudoodi, entitled ‘Qadiani Mas’ala’ led to a death sentence being pronounced against Maudoodi; this was later changed to a life sentence. My father Sheikh Abdul Ghaffar Hasan, along with the top leadership of Jamaat, were arrested and put behind bars. I remember accompanying my mother to Sialkot railway station where we had a glimpse of him. He was handcuffed and could hardly show his face from a window in a train packed with the prisoners and bound for Multan.

The streets of Sialkot had been surrounded with slogans of Takbir and Risalat, especially when the blood stained bodies of young men, killed by police brutality, were carried on shoulders. From the windows of our house in Kashmiri Kumahran we could see the processions with tumultuous roaring and shouting. At the age of ten, I had no idea of the issue except that a feeling of awe and fear had filled the air. My mother, with five children at that time, managed to cope with the situation with the help of local Jamaat.

During my father’s long absence, eleven months in total, we travelled once to Sukkhar, a very famous town known to have hot weather in Sindh province to attend the wedding of the daughter of Uncle Ubaidullah Ubaidi, one of my father’s best friends. This had been the longest train journey we enjoyed. Nearing Sukkhar, we had a full sight of the mighty river Indus. The bride had been very close to us as she visited us in Sialkot and then stayed at our home for a couple of days.

In 1951(I was still 9 at that time), the year we moved to Sialkot, Jamaat decided to participate in the provincial elections. That was the first time Jamaat tested its political strength. It was an outright failure. People were still not ready to choose a candidate on the basis of his honesty, trustworthiness and piety. Prejudice for clan and tribes affiliation to cast and race and obedience to landlords and masters were the keys to win the election. None of these qualities was enjoyed by the Jamaat. I remember the three “Ds” boldly marked and displayed in Jamaat’s elections’ camps: Na Dhaunce, Na Dhandly, Na Dhoka (i.e. No dictation by force, no malpractice, no deception). The failure in this election led the Jamaat leadership to discuss and debate the most important issue: “could an Islamic State be established through ballots or through a campaign to reform the whole society according to Islamic norms?” My father always believed in the latter in line with the early writings of Maulana Maudoodi on this issue particularly. He always used to quote his saying: “The quality of the cream depends upon the milk itself; how good and unspoiled it is.” So let the society be reformed and it would spill the best out of it. It took my father six more years to finally tender his resignation from Jamaat.

In school summer holidays, we had been given a lot of school work which occupied most of our time. One evening, as I came out of the local mosque after Asr prayers, a man with a turban approached me. With a gentle tap on my shoulder, he asked me:

“Lad! Will you do me a favour?”

“What favour?” I asked.

“Sit here in front of me and let me see your thumb.”

He put a little oil on my thumb, on the nail itself. Then he asked:

“Lad! Can you see anything on your nail?”

“No! I cannot see anything.”

The people were now around us and were looking at us with surprise. He rubbed my nail once again and said:

“Can you see a man cleaning the ground and showering water upon it?”

Then, he kept on asking:

“Can you see a horse rider appearing at the sight?”

He could have asked many questions but I was a bit agitated and frightened. So with shouting “No, no”, I withdrew my hand and ran home.

In Punjab, you would see jugglers and soothsayers, story tellers, presenters of street-side shows with a monkey or a bear, drum beaters and lots of others. That man was among those who tried to discover stolen goods or a lost person by using ‘an innocent lad’ whose thumb would reveal the truth i.e. the location of the lost material.

By the grace of Allah, that was my first and last experience of such an exercise except for a very late event in London which involved a sitting to contact the souls which had already departed from this world. It was just an experiment which showed me how futile this exercise was. I will mention this event at a later stage. It will be a long way until I reach, during my life journey, to the British Isles and narrate that phase of my life.

Now let me narrate two events showing how we were disciplined in those days. During a school recess, I was confronted by a boy for no reason. I do not remember what he did to me but I remember calling him a “dog” out of contempt. The deputy headmaster, a very stern old man, happened to pass by the moment I uttered that word. He took out his lashing stick and gave me a hard blow on my palm which caused me a lot of pain for the rest of the day. The master was known for his violence to the boys. Thus he attracted a sarcastic nickname, “Majha Thus” (fat buffalo). Some naughty devils among the school boys had a nasty plan to offend him. One day, they stood in hiding looking for him to come out from his office. As soon as he appeared in the corridor, the boys jumped upon him with a ‘bori’ (a big bag of woven ropes) covering his head and face. Then they pounded him with fists and blows and then ran away as fast as they could. I do not remember what happened to them later.

Once we (both brothers) came to know about a screen show in Jinnah Park, an open play ground a mile away from our house. It was a public show of a documentary film by an advertising company. They used to attract the crowd showing such films through projectors. We got permission from our mother and slipped away to enjoy our first exposure to a very new world of moving pictures. The show ended and we took our way back home. Our father was waiting for us a few yards away from the house. We had never seen him to be so furious as he was that evening. It was just a heavy slap on our cheeks which deterred us from repeating this adventure for at least the rest of our “single” lives. Apart from that, we did enjoy our new hockey sticks to play between Asr and Maghrib.

Once we were taken to a shoe shop where the size of our shoes was measured by the shoe maker. In a few days time, the shoes were ready for us to leave them for wear and tear. These were the only times when we were given this privilege, otherwise I had always my shoes ready made and straight from the shelves.

I still have to go through the events of 1956-1957 of my life. My father had to leave Sialkot in 1955, the year we (both brothers) had completed our middle school and we settled once again in Lahore. This time we were housed in a two room small house in Rahman Pura, very near to Jamaat main headquarters in Ichra. My father was given the task to organise for the members of Jamaat, a system of spiritual training (Tarbiya). To meet this purpose, he compiled a collection of Ahadith, all speaking about the character building of a true Muslim. This collection, known as Intikhab-e-Hadith, became a major source of inspiration for the members of Jamaat. Now I am pleased to see its English translation by my son Usama Hasan after half a century had passed since its first publication.