Badnaseeb Zafar Sha’ban 24, 1441 AH (April 17,2020)
Karachi
In the name of Allah, the most Beneficent, and the most Merciful, We, pen down this account, in hopes that Allah, who is the knower of the unseen, will punish those who have transgressed against the truth, and will forgive His humble servant for trying to present his side of the story in his own words.
This slave of Allah, full of iniquities, was born in 1420 AH, on Wednesday the fifth of Muharram (April 21, 1999), under the sign of Taurus, in the beautiful city of Karachi. Our father bestowed upon us the name of Zafar (Victory), for surely even the feeble minded could see that we had the sparkle of destiny about our eyes. We were the third child and son in our family, and as such had to constantly prove that we were not insignificant, and that as much as our heart had resolution, our arms did not lack strength.
We have spent many years in the pursuit of success, and this similar objective led us to IBA. Before this, however, we were constantly dismayed by our conduct and performance, in many factors of life, and decided that certain changes had to be made, in order to become more worthy of our noble name.
At the turning of the new year, we gauged that our star was in the ascendant, and concluded, that this was to be a year of victories. We would conquer the fields of excellence and rout the hosts of procrastination and indolence. In that very spirit we decided to don the helmet of courage and the armour of determination and to gird the sword of resolution. However, as the Quran says, “And they plan, and Allah plans; and Allah is the best of planners,” God in his infinite wisdom decreed that this was not be a season of victories, but instead one of quiet contemplation. As a plague ravaged the world and brought everything to a standstill, we recognized that the changes in affairs are in the hands of Allah, He does with his creatures as He wishes, and does with His kingdom as He wills. This affliction forced us to restrict our activities to our humble abode, compelling us to spend our days as a hermit.
Our modest home is situated in the renowned city of Karachi, located in the southernmost region of our country. It is where people from all four corners of Pakistan, come to seek a livelihood, and Karachi in her generous spirit never turns them away. The climate here is unforgiving, sweltering heat in the summers, and dry winters, the land is not fertile, and will not yield even to the most skilled farmer, and the people are harsh and short tempered. One would not be remiss for questioning the wisdom of our forefathers for choosing such a place as their home. The only saving grace of this city, is the Arabian sea, for whenever we gaze upon it, the waves of forgiveness washes all the flaws of Karachi away.
Life at our abode has uniformity and lacks the adventure that each new day brings. The exuberant events of each day, contributed greatly to our enlivenment, the absence of which led us to feel that our soul was yearning to get away, and that the sickness of lethargy was slowly casting it’s shadow over our heart. In these trying days, we cherish the brief moments of amusement we get, and thank God, for granting us patience.
We wake from our slumber around late noon, when the sun is at its highest. Our honorable mother has taken to calling us “Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah”, for this unworthy monarch would wake up at a similar time too, while his kingdom crumbled around him. After supping upon the day’s fare, we retire to our chambers, and await the day’s proceedings. Most of our day is spent fulfilling the various tasks and duties assigned to us by our beloved parents. We have also honed our skills at making tea, and after numerous debacles, we are proud to say that the tea we make is fit for the table of kings.
Alongside honing our culinary skills, and spending time with our family, we have also reignited our thirst for knowledge, and spend most of our day partaking of the numerous tomes we possess, learning about incidents long past, and people long dead. It bewilders us that what we are living through today, is a momentous occurrence in the history of this world, while it may not be akin, in importance, to other events, it is consequential nevertheless.
Slumber is not easy for us during these times. We have realized that whenever the tablet of our mind is heavy with our wishes, we are wont to dream about them, and so are constantly reminded of a time before this tribulation. We dream of the charming greenery of IBA, that would put to shame the gardens of Samarkand, the scent of the sea, as it seductively beckons our soul, and most importantly, the melodious laughter of our friends, which we would prefer over even the most elevated of gatherings, in the courts of kings.
In our situation of confinement we were reminded of a verse written by our namesake, many years ago:
Bulbul ko baghban se na sayyad se gila
Qismat men qaid likkhi thi fasl-e-bahar mein
This inspired us to try our own hand at composing a few couplets, though we soon realized that we were not as skilled as our namesake had been. Yet it need not matter, we say, for every lover is, in his heart, a madman, and in his head, a minstrel.
To hear again thy voice sweeter than honey
He will fight till from his bones the flesh be hacked
For one chance to gaze upon thy radiant face
Zafar would give up the treasures of the Shah
Today marks the 50th day of confinement, we are hopeful that the circumstances will improve, and that peace and prosperity will once again be restored, and that God, in his infinite mercy, will allow us to regale ourselves, with the sweet fruit of freedom, once more.
