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Mera Sahib – Saadat Hassan Manto's Classic

Saadat Hassan Manto wrote this classic in the early 1950s in Lahore.  The translation here is by writer who writes under the num de plume “Godot”

“It happened in 1937. The Muslim League was in its juvenility. I, too, was a young man. I wanted to do something. Anything. Besides, I was healthy and strong, and wanted to engage in a rumble. I wanted to look for trouble and pick fights. I was at an age when one longs to do somethingBy something, I mean to say, if not a great adventure than something!

“After this brief intro I return to the time when Ghalib was young. Don’t know if he ever participated in any political movements or not, but Yours Truly was a very active member of the Muslim League. Ghazi Corps was comprised of youths like me, and I was a sincere member of it. I stress ‘sincere’ because in those days I had nothing else. “It was in those times that Mohammad Ali Jinnah came to Delhi. The Muslims took out a huge and a wonderful procession in his honor.  Obviously, Ghazi Corps participated in this procession with full vigor. Our leader was Anwar Qureshi sahib. He was a strong young man who has been given an honor of, and is now known as, ‘Poet of Pakistan’. Our Corps’ youths were singing an anthem written by him. I don’t know if we sang in tune with each other or not, the only thing I remember is nobody cared about singing in synch. “This historical procession started from Delhi’s historical Jamia Masjid and, roaring, passed through Chandni Chowk, Lal Kewan, Hoz Qazi, and Chawri Bazar and ended at its destination, meaning at the Muslim League office. In this historical procession people yelled “Quaid-e-Azam,” which was considered illegal, for Mohammad Ali Jinnah. A six-horse coach was provided for him. All members of Muslim League were there in this procession. There were lots of cars, motorcycles, bi-cycles and camels. But it was exceedingly well organized. Quaid-e-Azam, who by nature was a very civil and organized person, seemed very pleased to see such civility.

 “I caught many of his glimpses. I don’t know my reaction the first time I saw him. Now, when I think about it and analyze it I conclude that, because sincerity is colorless, my reaction too was colorless. At that time if someone had pointed me to any man and had said ‘there is your Quaid-e-Azam,’ my adoration would have believed him. But when I saw him many times there in that crowd of people and cars, my ego was hurt: my Leader and so skinny…such a weakling! Ghalib has said: He comes to my house God blesses / Sometimes I look at him and sometimes I look at my house.

“It was his kindness and God’s blessing that he came to our house. I swear to God when I saw him and his frail body and then my strong physique, I wished either I contract or he expands. In the heart of my heart, to keep him safe from evil eye, I had prayed for him and his feeble body. The wounds he had inflicted were a common topic among his enemies. “Circumstances change. Situation arose such that the art bug that was sleeping in me started to crawl. I felt like testing my kismet in Bombay in that field. I was attracted to drama ever since I was a kid. I figured maybe there I could show off my skills. Now, on one hand a desire to work for the nation and on the other, acting! A man is weirdly contradictory!

 “I arrived in Bombay. In those days Imperial Film Company was at the top. It was difficult to get in, but somehow I got in. I worked as an extra for eight anas a day, and used to dream that I will be a top movie star one day. With God’s blessings, I am very talkative. I am not a very pleasant talker, but I am not that unpleasant either. Urdu is my mother tongue, a language the stars of Imperial Films did not know. Urdu helped me out more so in Bombay than it did in Delhi. Almost all the stars there had me read and write letters in response to those that came to them in Urdu. All this reading and writing for them did not help me, though. I was an extra and remained an extra. “During this time I became friends with Buddhan, the very special driver of Saith Ardesher Irani, the owner of Imperial Film Company. Buddhan paid back my friendship with him by teaching me to drive a car in his free time. But his free times were brief, and I was always scared of the Saith lest he finds it out. I never really became a skillful driver. Without Buddhan I could drive the Buick on an alif-like straight road. My knowledge about the parts of the car, however, remained zero.

 “I was obsessed with acting. But that was in my head. My heart still belonged to the Muslim League and Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah. At Imperial Film Company, on the Kennedy Bridge, in the Bhindi Bazar, on the Mohammad Ali Road, and at the Play House, we used to have a discussion, with groups of mostly Muslims, about the behavior of the Congress. Everyone at Imperial knew that I was a Muslim Leaguey and adored Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah. But it was a time when Hindus did not try to kill anyone who uttered the word “Quaid-e-Azam.” Pakistan was not yet on the horizon. I think when people at Imperial Film Company heard me praise Quaid-e-Azam they thought he was a film star and I was a fan of his. That is why one day the biggest film hero D. Blemoria said to me, ‘hey, here’s your Jinnah sahib,’ while moving Times of India towards me. I thought there was a picture of him in the newspaper. But I didn’t see it. So I said, ‘why, bhaiya, where is his picture?’ Blemoria’s John Gilbert style thin mustache expanded with a grin, ‘no photo woto, this is an advertisement.’ I asked, ‘Advertisement? What kind of advertisement?’ Blemoria took the paper back and showed me a long column and said, ‘Mr. Jinnah needs a motor mechanic who can take charge of his garage.’ I saw the ad where Blemoria finger was resting and said ‘Oh!’ as if I read the whole ad. The truth is I knew as much English as Blemoria knew Urdu. “As I already told you, my driving was limited to driving a car on an alif-like straight road. I knew nothing about the mechanism of the car. Why does the engine start when you press the self, if some had asked me that question I would have said that because it is the law of motors; and why it sometimes doesn’t start, then I would have said that is also the law of motors and human intelligence has nothing to do with it! “You’d be surprised to know that I noted down the address of Jinnah sahib I took from Blemoria and decided to go there the next morning. I neither thought nor expected to get the job. I just wanted to see him in his residence from up close. Therefore, taking my sincerity as a diploma, I arrived at his beautiful mansion, located near the Pleasant Road, on the Malabar Hill. Outside was a Pathan guard. He was wearing an enormous shalwar and a silk turban, was very clean, strong, and intimidating. His appearance made me very happy. I felt strangely satisfied that there was not much difference in his and my biceps, maybe of half-an-inch or so. “There were many candidates. They were all standing with their credentials under their arms. I joined them. The funny thing was, forget about the credentials, I didn’t even have a simple driving license. My heart was beating hard just thinking I am about to meet Quaid-e-Azam any moment. I was still thinking about my heartbeat when Quaid-e-Azam appeared in the porch. Everybody turned attention. I moved to the side. With him was his tall and skinny sister whose pictures I had seen in many newspapers and magazines. On the side was his respectful assistant.

 “Jinnah sahib fitted his one-glass round eyeglass on his eye and started to scrutinize the candidates. When his eye turned to me, I moved back further. Immediately his piercing voice was loudly heard, but I only heard “You.” I knew that much English. It meant “Tum.” But who was that “Tum” that he addressed? I thought it was the guy next to me, so nudging him I said, ‘I think he’s calling you.’ The guy asked hopefully, ‘me, sahib?’ Quaid-e-Azam said again, ‘No. Tum.’ His skinny but iron-like strong finger was pointing at me. My whole body trembled, ‘Ji, ji, me?’ ‘Yes.’ This three-knot-three bullet ripped through my heart and brain. My throat, which used to yell “Quaid-e-Azam,” was completely dry. I couldn’t say anything. But when he took off his monocle and said “All right,” I felt I might have said something that he heard, or he understood my feelings and said  “All right” just to save me from further torture. He turned around and said something to his very handsome and healthy secretary and went inside with his sister. Totally confused, as I hurried to get out of there his assistant called me and said that the Sahib wants me present at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I couldn’t ask the assistant why the Sahib wanted me; I couldn’t tell him that I was not at all capable and not qualified for the job for which Qaid-e-Azam put out an ad. The assistant went inside and I returned home.

“I was there again at ten the next morning. When informed I was there, the handsome and very well dressed secretary came out and, to my surprise, told me that the Sahib had selected me and wants me to take charge of the garage immediately. When I heard this I felt like spilling my guts and tell him that Quaid-e-Azam had misunderstood Yours Truly, and that I showed-up just to have a little fun; why are you putting this garage responsibility on these incompetent shoulders. But I don’t know why I couldn’t say all that. As a result, I was immediately given that responsibility and the keys were handed to me. There were four cars of different makes, and I only knew how to drive Saith Ardesher Irani’s Buick, and on an alif-like straight road at that. There were many turns to get to Malabar Hill, and Azad was going to carry not only his own self in the car. God knows how many different places for important work he had to carry this Leader to whom belonged lakhs of Muslims lives. “I thought of dropping the keys and running away; run straight to my house, pick up my stuff, and catch the first train to Delhi. But I didn’t think this was the right thing to do. I figured tell the truth to Jinnah sahib, apologize to him, and return to the place where I really belonged. But trust me, sir, I did not get a chance to do this for the next six months.”

“How so?” I asked. Mohammad Hanif Azad continued, “Listen to this now. The very next day I was ordered to bring the car. Those things that fly at times like these, almost flew. I decided that the moment the Sahib comes, I’d say salam to him, return the keys, and fall at his feet. But it couldn’t happen. When he came to the porch, I was so intimidated by him that the incompetent me couldn’t utter a word. Besides, Fatima sahiba was with him. To fall into someone’s feet in the presence of a woman, Manto sahib, was too much.” I saw bashfulness in Azad’s big eyes and smiled, “khair, what happened then?” “What happened then, Manto sahib, is that Yours Truly had to start the car. It was a new Packard. I started the car with the name of Allah, and took it out of the mansion very cleanly. When I got to the bottom of the Malabar Hill near the red light at the corner…you know what a red light is, right?” “Yes, yes,” I shook my head affirmatively.

“Well, sahib, that became a problem. Master Buddhan had told me to just press the breaks and everything should be alright. In confusion I hit the break with such clumsiness that the car stopped with a sudden jolt. The cigar fell off Qaid-e-Azam’s hands. Fatima Jinnah jumped forward two balisht and started cursing at me. A deep fear seeped through my entire body. My whole body started to tremble. I felt dizzy. Qaid-e-Azam picked up his cigar and said something in English, which probably meant ‘lets go back.’ I obeyed the order. He asked for a new car and a driver and left for where ever he had to go. I did not get to serve him for the next six months after that incident.”

 “To serve him like that?” I asked, grinning. Azad also smiled. “Yes. You figure the Sahib would not give me another chance. There were other drivers. They served him. The assistant told the drivers the night before the car and the driver that were needed the next day. If I’d asked him about me he couldn’t give me a satisfactory answer. I found out later what was in Sahib’s mind. No one could say anything about him with any certainty, nor could ask him about such matters. He spoke only when he had to, and listened only when he needed to. That’s why, although being so close to him, I could not find out why he kept me like a useless car part.” “It’s possible that he forgot about you,” I said to Azad.

 A huge laughter came out of Azad’s throat, “No, sir, no. The Sahib never forgot anything even if he wanted to. He knew very well that Azad is breaking free bread. And, Manto sahib, when Azad breaks bread they are not little bread. Look at this built.” I looked at Azad. I don’t know what he was like in ‘37 or ’38, but I saw a well built and a strong man sitting in front of me. You must have known him as an actor. Before the Division he worked in many films in Bombay. With his other actor friends he is barely making a living in Lahore these days.

I found out last year from a friend of mine that this big-eyes, dark-skinned, well-built actor was a driver to Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah for some time. I had been, therefore, eyeing him ever since. Whenever I met him, I brought up the topic of his Master and collected his stories in my head. With an intention to write this essay, when I listened to his stories yesterday, I saw a very interesting angle to Quaid-e-Azam’s life. What had struck Mohammad Hanif Azad most was that his Master liked physical strength. Just as Allama Iqbal liked those things that were tall and majestic, Quaid-e-Azam liked strong things. That’s why when he picked his servants, their health and physical strength was the first thing he noticed. In those days, of which Mohammad Hanif Azad talked about, Quaid-e-Azam’s secretary was a very handsome man. All of his drivers had exemplary physical built. The guards for his mansion were also selected based on physical strength.

What could be an explanation for this other than that, psychologically, although Late Jinnah was physically very weak but extremely strong from inside, he did not want to associate himself that was weak and feeble. When a person really likes something, he takes care of it real well. Quaid-e-Azam made sure all his well-built servants dressed very well. His Pathan chowkidar was ordered to dress his ethnic dress. Azad was not a Punjabi, but was at times asked to wear a Punjabi turban. This headgear is quite impressive and one looks very impressive in it. Quaid-e-Azam seemed very pleased by it and used to award Azad whenever he put one on. If one thinks about it, Jinnah being so conscious of his own frail body was his very strength of his strong and powerful life. That was evident in the way he walked, talked, ate, and thought. Mohammad Hanif Azad told me that Quaid-e-Azam ate very little. “He ate so little I wondered how he is alive. If I were forced to eat that little my fat would’ve started to melt the next day. Despite him eating so little, four or five chickens were cooked every day. But he used to eat only a very small cup of a chick’s soup. Fruits were delivered everyday, and lots of it; but all of it used to wind up in the servants’ bellies. Every night after the dinner, the Sahib would check the list of grocery and give me a one-hundred-rupee bill for the next day’s dinner.”

 “One hundred rupees everyday?” I asked Azad. “Yes, sir, exactly one hundred rupees. And the Sahib never asked what happened to it. Whatever remained of it got divided among the servants. Sometimes thirty rupees remained, sometimes forty, and sometimes even sixty or seventy. He must have known that we kept the remainder, but he never asked for it. However, Miss Jinnah was very clever. She used to get mad at us and say we all are thieves. But the way the Sahib treated us we used to think of his things as our own. So we kept quiet when she would lose her temper at us. At times like that the Sahib would say to her sister, ‘It is all right, it is all right,’ and that would be the end of it. But once “It is all right” did not end it. Miss Jinnah kicked the cooks out, not one but both cooks. Quaid-e-Azam had two cooks at the same time, one was an expert in Hindustani food and the other in English food. Usually the Hindustani cook was a waste and did not do anything. He got to cook maybe once in months. Once in a blue moon he would get an order to cook, but Quaid-e-Azam did not really care about that food. “When both cooks got kicked out,” said Azad, “the Sahib did not say anything. He did not interfere in his sister’s affairs. So he started eating out in restaurants. During this time we had a ball.

We would take the car out for hours, hang out, come back and tell them we could not find a cook. Finally, both cooked were asked to come back by Miss Jinnah.” If a man does not eat much, he either hates those who eat a lot, or feels very happy to see others eat a lot. Quaid-e-Azam ate very little but he was very happy to see others eat a lot. That’s the reason he used to hand out one hundred rupees everyday and forget about it. It doesn’t mean he was a spendthrift. Mohammad Hanif Azad recounts an interesting incident. “One evening in 1939, by the Warli Beach, I was driving the white Packard very slowly with the Sahib in it. The low waves were touching the shore gently. It was a beautiful but slightly chilly evening. The Sahib was in a really good mood. I took advantage of it and started talking about Eid. He knew immediately what I was after. I saw in the rear view mirror he took his never-separating cigar out of his mouth and, his thin lips smiling, said in a broken Urdu, ‘Well, well, you suddenly have become a Muslim, try to be a little bit Hindu also.”

Four days earlier Quaid-e-Azam had turned Azad into a Muslim, meaning that he had given him two hundred rupees as an award. That‘s why he advised Azad to become a little bit Hindu. But that did not affect Azad. In this Eid Azad came to the film producer Syed Murtaza Jilani to affirm his Musalmani when I saw him and further interviewed him for this story. Quaid-e-Azam’s private life is a mystery and will remain so forever. That is the general feeling. But I think his private life was so mixed-up with his political life that he had practically no private life left. His wife had passed away long time ago and his daughter married a Parsi against his wishes. Mohammad Hanif Azad told me, “The Sahib was in a great shock because of it. He wished his daughter had married a Muslim; the skin color or the ethnic background did not matter to him. His daughter argued that if he could marry to whom ever he wanted, how come he does not grant her the same freedom.”

Quaid-e-Azam had married the daughter of a very influential Parsi man. Everyone knows that. But very few people know the Parsi man was very unhappy about it and sought revenge. Some think he conspired to have Qaid-e-Azam’s daughter marry a Parsi. When I talked to Azad about it he said, “Only Allah knows. I only know that this was the second biggest shock to him after his wife’s death. He was greatly affected when he found out that his daughter married a Parsi. His face was a mirror of his feelings, and reaction to even a simple event could be seen on his face. A simple furrow in his eyebrow could become very scary. What must have gone through his heart, only the Late One could tell. What I found out from the outside sources is that he was very disturbed. He did not meet anyone for fifteen days. He must have smoked hundreds of cigars, and must have paced hundreds of miles in his own room. “He walked a lot when he was in deep thoughts. In the dead of the night he would pace back and forth on the hard and spotless floor for hours. In calculated steps, from here to there, and there to here, in the measured distance, his white and black, black and white, or white and brown shoes used to make a strange tick tick sound as if a clock is telling the news about its life in a consistent manner.

 Quaid-e-Azam loved his shoes, perhaps because they were always at his feet and moved according to him. “After fifteen days of constant mental and spiritual disturbance, he suddenly re-emerged. There was no sign of shock on his face any longer, although the sadness had left a slight wound in his neck. But it was still straight and stiff. It did not mean, however, that he had forgotten the shock.” When Azad started to talk about this aspect of Qaid-e-Azam’s life a second time, I asked, “How do you know he had not forgotten that shock?” Azad answered, “Nothing in a house can be hidden from the servants. Sometimes the Sahib would order to open a trunk. In this ship-like trunk were many clothes, of his late wife and of that disobedient daughter when she was a little girl. When those clothes were taken out, the Sahib would look at them with an intense quietness. Then a sudden sadness would cover his thin and very clean face. He would quietly say ‘It is all right, it is all right,’ take off his monocle and, wiping it, would walk away. According to Mohammad Hanif Azad, “Quaid-e-Azam had three sisters: Fatima Jinnah, Rehmat Jinnah, and I don’t remember the name of the third one who lived in Dongri. At Jopati Corner, near Chinnai Motor Works, lived Rehmat Jinnah. Her husband was employed somewhere. Their income was very modest.

Every month the Sahib would give me a sealed envelope that had money in it. He would also give me a parcel that perhaps contained clothes and things. I used to deliver these to Rehmat Jinnah. Miss Fatima Jinnah and the Sahib would pay visit there every once in a while. The sister who lived at Dongri was married. All I know about her is that she was well off and did not need anyone’s help. He had a brother. The Sahib would help him out routinely, but he was not allowed in the Sahib’s house. “I had seen this brother of Quaid-e-Azam in Bombay. One evening, in a bar, I saw a man, who looked like Quaid-e-Azam, ordering half rum. The same feature, the same backcombed hair, almost the same white striped hair. When I inquired about him I found out that he is the brother of Mr Mohammad Ali Jinnah, Ahmed Ali. I kept looking at him. Sipping it slowly, he finished that half a glass of rum in a royal manner.

It cost one rupee, which he paid as if he is paying a huge amount. From his attitude it appeared as if he is sitting at a bar in Taj Mehal Hotel, not in a flimsy and a cheap one. There was a gathering of Muslims just before the historic meeting between Gandhi and Jinnah. I had a number of friends at that gathering. They told me that Jinnah was on the platform giving a speech in his typical style, and far, at a distance, his brother Ahmed Ali, wearing his monocle, was standing in such a way as if he was chewing his brother’s words.

“Billiards was the only indoor game Quaid-e-Azam liked. He would order to open the billiards room when sometimes he felt like playing the game. Although every room was cleaned every day, the servants made sure the special room he ordered to open was very clean and everything in it was set properly before he walked in. Because I played the game a little, I was allowed in that room. Twelve balls would be presented to him, he would select and the game would begin. Miss Fatima Jinnah would stand nearby. The Sahib would light up a cigar, press it between his lips, and would analyze the position of the ball he was going to hit. He would spend many minutes in his analysis. With this angle. With that angle. He would weigh the cue in his hands and move his bony fingers on it as if it were a sarangi, mumble something, and take a position; but if another angle come to his mind, he would stop, think, make sure, hit the ball with the cue, and if successful, would look at his sister with a conquering smile. “In the game of politics, Quaid-e-Azam was as careful. He would never decide immediately. He would analyze and scrutinize each problem as if it were a billiard ball. He would move his cue to hit only if he was certain. Before he struck, he would weigh his prey with his eyes carefully. He would consider all angles. He would select the weapon according to the size of his opponent. He was not a hunter who would pick up a gun and just shoot. He would make sure not to miss. He would know his prey’s every possible weakness before he aimed.”

According to Azad, “Qaid-e-Azam stayed away from the people who came by just to meet him. He hated useless and senseless talk; but only those talks that mattered, and even that had to be very precise and concise, in both what he had to say and hear. That’s why only a few people were allowed in his special room. There was only one sofa inside the room with a small side table on which he would drop the ashes of his cigar. Across the sofa were two showcases. He kept those Qurans in them that were given to him by his fans. That room contained his personal papers as well, where they were kept safely. He would spend most of his time in that room. There was no table there. If a person was asked in that room, he would stay at the door, listen, and walk out backwards. The empty side of the sofa had his papers all over it. If he wanted to write a letter, he would have the steno come in and take dictation. His tone had certain harshness. When he spoke one felt as if he was putting emphasis on those words that did not need emphasis.” Judging from Azad’s testimonies, it seems the psychological reason for his harshness was his physical weakness. His life was more like a smooth pond, but he lived a life of a storm.

Some people say that it was his inner strength that had him live for that long, that is, his awareness of his own physical weakness. According to Azad, the Late Bahadur Yar Jung was among Quaid-e-Azam’s best friends. “It was only him with whom he was so frank. Whenever he came to visit, both men would talk about the country and politics like true best friends. At that time, Quaid-e-Azam would separate his outer shell from his inner self. He was the only one with whom the Sahib was so frank and open. One felt as if they were childhood buddies. When they talked to each other, one could hear the loud laughter coming out of the closed doors. Other than Bahadur Yar Jung, other Muslim League leaders, such as Raja Mahmud Abad, I. I. Chundrigarh, Maulana Zahid Husain, Nawabzadah Liaquat Ali Khan, Nawab Ismail, and Ali Imam sahib used to pay visit. But the Sahib dealt with them in a professional manner, not in a frank way reserved for Bahadur Yar Jung.”

“Khan Liaquat Ali Khan must have visited quite often,” I said to Azad. Said Azad, “Yes, the Sahib treated him as if he were Sahib’s best student. And the Khan sahib listened to him very carefully, obeyed, and carried his orders. When he was asked to pay visit, sometimes he would ask me, ‘Hey, Azad, how’s Sahib’s mood today?’ I would tell him how his mood was. If the Sahib were not in his good mood, every wall in the mansion would know it. “Quaid-e-Azam took great care in his servants’ character and personal behavior. Just as he hated bodily dirt and smell, he hated bad behavior and character. He liked his assistant very much, but was very irritated when he found out that the assistant was having an affair with an employed girl. He could not tolerate this irritation for long. The assistant was asked to see him, and was fired. But after firing him, the Sahib started treating him as a friend.” Tells Azad, “Once I came home at two in the morning after having some fun. Those were the days when young blood feels certain pleasure for doing bad things. I thought the Sahib would not know about me coming in so late. But somehow he did. He called me in the next day and said in English, ‘You are developing a bad character.’ Then he said in a broken Urdu, ‘Well, we’ll have you married.’ So, when he went to Bombay from Delhi for a conference, I was married per his instructions. Although I am just a Shaikh, I am fortunate that only because of him I was married in a Sadat Family. The girl’s family accepted me because Azad was a servant of Qaid-e-Azam.”

 I suddenly asked Azad a question, “Ever heard Quaid-e-Azam say I am sorry?” Azad moved his fat neck in negation, “No. Never.” Then he smiled, “If by an accident he uttered the words “I am Sorry,” I’m certain he would’ve erased those words from the dictionary forever.” I think this spontaneous response of Azad sums up the entire character of Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah. Mohammad Hanif Azad is alive, in this Pakistan given to him by his Quaid-e-Azam. And now, on the map of this world, this Pakistan is struggling to stay alive with the leadership of Jinnah’s best student, Khan Liaquat Ali Khan. In this free country, outside the doors of Punjab Art Pictures, near the paan store, Azad sits on a broken cot and waits for his Master. He also prays for a better time when he would get his salary in time.

He is even ready to be a Hindu, as his Master once told him, provided he gets that chance back. He was very worried when I talked to him about Quaid-e-Azam’s life. He did not have money even for a paan.

When I started to make small talk to relieve him from his worries, he sighed and said, “Sahib has died. I wish I had gone on that journey with him. It would be his open white Packard. I would be at the wheel. I would drive the car very slowly to his final destination. His frail body could not tolerate jolts, you know. I’ve heard, Allah knows right or wrong, that when the airplane with him on landed in Karachi, the engine of the ambulance that took him to the Government House was not in good condition. It stopped after going only a short distance. My Sahib must have been so annoyed.”

Azad’s big eyes were full of tears.

Courtesy Chowk.com

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