The man has strong, unbending personal beliefs. He feels deeply and is often hurt. He has a sense of duty. But everything about Abdul Sattar Edhi falls into place with a single, overwhelming characteristic: he is a man of action. "Words mean nothing, nor do impressive titles, plush offices, flashy cars. To serve is what matters, "he says in a husky voice that would be rasping if it weren't so sincere and rich. "I worship God by serving His people, that's all." Which is why, after toiling at the grassroots of charity for 40 years, he has managed to create the Abdul Sattar Edhi Foundation and welfare Trust-the largest, most efficient, most well-endowed private charitable network in Pakistan. Possibly one of the largest in the entire sub-continent. Under the direct and daily management of the Maulana, his wife Bilquis, their daughter Khadija and several responsible senior workers, the Edhi foundation runs a humanitarian service that receives donations of approximately Rs 3 crores($.7m) every year. The network is, to put it mildly, impressive. In sheer numbers (see box page 11) the extent of the Edhi structure is overwhelming As are the instances of courage, the missions of mercy he mounts at tines of great need. Flash floods, riots, bomb blasts, hijacking...the Maulana and his forces are always the first to arrive and the only ones to keep coming back for more. Indeed, above the odour of recurring civil disturbances that still hangs heavily in Pakistan and particularly in Karachi, the memory of Maulana Edhi's unflinching service provides a single, refreshing message of hope. "I tell them we must keep trying," he says, referring to an incident when he, personally, was stopped, searched and manhandled by riot police. "They may be suspicious of us at first but eventually, they too will let us pass." As indeed, they did. And will continue to do in a country where most people stand humbled at the mere mention of his name. For behind the statistics and the scenes of drama lies a pulsating and angry world of daily pain, suffering, decay and death. And it is this monstrous world that Edhi breaches in a private war for humanity, touching as he does so, every level and strata of society. The Edhi arms strikes deep into the very core of existence, aiding the minuscule individual trapped in old age, mental disease, unemployment or poverty, protecting the young woman shunned by society, educating the orphan, the illegitimate child, feeding the starving infant, the crippled leper, the terminally ill and burying the thousands who are unwanted even in death. "They send their dead to me," he explains as suddenly a commotion outside attracts our attention. A young worker rushes in, hands him a slip of paper. He rushes out into the narrow, crowded lane.
There bodies, mutilated and shrunk, lie at the back of an Edhi ambulance. It is difficult not to peer and not to recoil in horror. The Maulana works with the men, swiftly, as each is covered in a white shroud brought from within the center (miles of white cloth stand stacked in a small room, awaiting the average 6-8 bodies the Edhi Trust will provide with a free burial daily), and is then stored in a chilled room before being sent to the Edhi Trust Burial Site for the abandoned. "We have abandoned ourselves, no one has done this to us," the Maulana continues when we are seated again. "These bodies were people. Drowned, they say. No one to claim them, so the police call us, send them to us." He is not complaining, merely telling it like it is. "You know, I started off by driving around, picking up dead bodies. I still do, "he says. "In fact, if you want to know what I'm really qualified to do, " he adds with a hint of a smile, "it is to drive an ambulance. I will always go anywhere, at any time to help a person in distress, " he continues seriously, "because I , personally, am committed to two acts of service. I will aid the needy, I will bathe and bury the dead, the 'lawaris' for whom there is no one in this world, no one ready to perform the final act of humanity." If his voice cracks slightly with emotion as he recites his personal creed, it is probably because the young Abdul Sattar Edhi grew up with suffering around him. " In our village, Batva, when I was very young, there were old people, ill and infirm. I used to shun my playmates, they made fun of me but I couldn't help myself, to get medicine and food for these people. And my mother died, a patient of paralysis," he recalls.