by
Tariq Saeedi
(Tariq Saeedi is a Pakistani journalist, based in Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. He writes for Pakistani and western publications, and also maintains a website www.saeedi.4t.com dealing with Central Asia and Caspian region.)
Eighty years ago, at the beginning of 20th century Africa was the land of adventure and excitement. Adventure was in gold and diamonds and excitement was in seducing exotic unsuspecting African beauties. At that time political correctness was not a fad and people did not hide their true intentions behind fancy jargon.
A young doctor from Punjab also went to Africa. He earned some gold nuggets and some rough diamonds treating sick miners and their staff and returned to India in 1926. He decided to open a clinic and thought that Jabalpur was as good a place as any to start a medical practice.
Technically he was a Punjabi because he was born in a village near Rawalpindi but in his own heart he had never considered himself a Punjabi. Having maintained a pure line of descent for almost 1400 years, his clansmen, the Hashmi Arabs, prided themselves as descendants of the Prophet. His inner self was a mixture of baseless arrogance and unfounded sense of superiority. However, being an educated person, he usually managed to hide his prejudices quite well.
He selected a spacious building in downtown Jabalpur and opened his clinic. A sign painter was called to paint a huge sign, proclaiming, “Punjabi Dawakhana” (Punjabi Clinic). In his own mind, the doctor was cleverly masking his sense of superiority, hiding behind another identity of which also he was quite proud.
Everything was purchased, borrowed or commandeered and the Punjabi Dawakhana was ready to open its doors for the sick humanity of Jabalpur.
Everything was in place; that is, everything but a Chowkidar (a guard). The young doctor spread the word around and in no time at all a candidate appeared at his door. Guess who ? A Pakhtun, of course.
An interview began in which both tried to evaluate the suitability of the other. The young doctor soon lost the contest and the aspiring Chowkidar conducted the major part of the interview.
The doctor himself narrated the relevant part of the interview to me when he was an old man and I was a young boy.
“Why have you decided on Jabalpur”, asked the old Pakhtun.
“It is as good or as bad a place as any”, replied the young doctor.
“And why do you want to call it Punjabi Dawakhana.”
“It is because I am a Punjabi.”
“No one is denying that you are Punjabi but why call your clinic Punjabi Dawakhana.”
“I am proud of being a Punjabi”, lied the doctor.
“You mean to say that you will treat only Punjabis in this clinic.”
“No, I will treat anyone who trusts me enough to take my medicines”
“Then, will you charge Punjabis less compared to your other patients.”
“No, absolutely not. Same charges for everyone.”
“Then I don’t see any reason why should you call it Punjabi Dawakhana.”
“Yes, I also don’t see any particular reason to call it Punjabi Dawakhana”, said the doctor, slightly red in the face.
The doctor seemed on the retreat and the Pakhtun goaded him further.
“When you rise on the judgment day and stand before God, will He give you some concession for the fact that you are a Punjabi.”
“No.”
“Will there be a separate door for Punjabis where they can enter paradise without any questions.”
“No.”, contritely.
“Will people appear before God in ethnic groups.”
“No.”, sweating under the collar.
“Were you a Punjabi before you were born ?”
“No.”
“Will you be a Punjabi after you die.”
“Of course, not.”
“What is the ethnic identity of your Rooh (spirit) ? Is your Rooh Punjabi?”
“No, I am sure not”. Then the doctor remembered a passage from Koran: "When they ask you about Rooh, tell them it is ‘Amr-e-Rabbi’, (It is an order of God).
The doctor proudly quoted the passage to the old Pakhtun and the Pakhtun smiled triumphantly.
“So, you agree that you could as easily have been born a Shudra or a Bheel or a Marasi.”
“Indeed”, said the doctor, shuddering at all the possibilities.
“Then why be so proud of a temporary identity which is just God’s way of organizing you into groups so that you can find it easy to endure the tests of life in human company.”
So, the interview concluded and the chowkidar was hired, or more accurately, he hired himself to look after the arrogant and ignorant doctor.
The clinic was renamed “Dar-ul-Elaj” (House of Treatment) and the chowkidar and doctor became uncle and nephew. It lasted until the death of Old Pakhtun in 1946.
I know this because the once-arrogant doctor was my grandfather.
