Ambassador M. Alam Brohi

“Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence”, John Adams.

Last week, after meeting President Asif Ali Zardari in Bilawal House, Federal Minister Muhsin Naqvi made a statement in an economic Summit in Karachi that the current system had completely collapsed and needed to be overhauled forthwith. He added that even if the country produced a Prime Minister committed to work for 18 hours a day, the system would not deliver unless more administrative units were carved out. However, he did not outline the factors leading to the collapse of the system nor did he elaborate who was responsible for the political and economic crises, the country has suffered repeatedly since its inception.

Probably, he did not think it necessary to enter into polemics at this stage. He wanted us to understand and endorse his suggestion for the reform of the system. If so, how can we reform the system if we do not identify those responsible for this tragic national failure, and how do we endorse a new system when its outlines have not been revealed to us? We should not deceive ourselves about the apparently innocent and straight forward motives of his statement. It actually represents something deeper – reflective of a new scheme governance. The establishment is surely behind his audacious move to lock horns with the politically influential ruling coalition, and the mainstream political parties.

Nevertheless, Mr. Naqvi has stirred the hornet’s nest. The Sharif family was livid about it. Rather, it felt the hardness of the slap. The dynasty had back to back huddles at Jati Umra. Their unconditional collaboration with the security establishment has pushed their political standing to the lowest ebb. TThe Zardari dynasty is also upset. Their Pakistan People’s Party has demanded the immediate resignation of Minister Muhsin Naqvi whom President Asif Zardari has repeatedly patted on back calling him his boy. Obviously, the PPP could not have moved against him without the consent of President Asif Zardari or its Chairman Bilawal Bhutto Zardari.

Similarly, the other mainstream political parties including Jamiat ulema e Islam (JUI) of Moulana Fazal Ur Rahman, and Pakistan Tehrik e Insaf or the opposition alliance have also opposed his suggestion. Rather, the JUI has been criticizing the establishment as the perpetrators of the challenging situations in Balochistan, KPK, GB, and AJK, and the repeated failure of the governance system in the country.

Minister Naqvi’s statement apart, speculations about dividing the country into more provinces through 28th amendment in the Constitution have been swirling around since the enactment of the earlier 26th and 27th amendments, which were aimed at achieving specific results. As a consequence, the judiciary lost its status as the third state organ as recognized by the Constitution, and certain state employees achieved life immunity from prosecution. Nothing for the country or the common man.

There is a silent but visible consensus that the country should not be subjected to an experiment like that of One-Unit which, in the final analysis, was a very bad political and administrative decision with ugly consequences. It sowed the seeds of the secession of East Pakistan as it not only disregarded the majority of the Bengalis, but also created an artificial province of West Pakistan as a countervailing force to deprive them of their majority share in political power, and the divisible pool of financial resources, and federal superior positions of the country.

This was mindlessly done by amalgamating the existing historic, and culturally and linguistically compact three provinces into Punjab and calling it West Pakistan with Lahore as its capital.   This deprived Sindhis, Baloch and Pakhtun of their historic geographical, cultural and linguistic identities, and the right of self-rule as per Pakistan Resolution of 1940. These smaller provinces had to struggle hard for a decade and half to wriggle out of the political and economic dictatorship of Lahore.

There is also a consensus that the country, economically weak, and politically fragmented as it is, cannot afford to go through a new and unnecessary exercise of political disputes and tensions; controversial division of economic and financial resource and fresh apportionment of the irrigation waters; the demarcation of new boundaries, districts and divisions and constituencies of the new administrative units; allocation and transfer of bureaucracy; appointment of Governors, Ministers,  and setting up of Provincial Secretariats,  Legislative Assemblies, spending huge amounts on contingencies, rents and royalties, pays and pensions, allowances and privileges particularly when we are facing bad security situations in Balochistan, KPP, and tenacious political unrest in the AJK.

The ruling clique is mistaken to consider the existing federal units as administrative units. These lands historically existed as separate nations before the advent of the British Raj. They voluntarily supported the movement for Pakistan. The Quaid did not have a kinetic forces to compel Sindh to pass a resolution in March 1943, and Punjab in June 1946 to join Pakistan.

The country has administratively devolved from the capital to the tehsil level. The country has witnessed tremendous administrative changes since inception. Sindh has grown from one division in 1947 into the existing seven; Punjab from three into ten; KPK from two into seven and Balochistan from two into eleven divisions. The number of divisions has grown from 8 to 35, and of districts from 40 to 150 in all the four provinces since the creation of Pakistan. These are administrative units.

Will we outsource the new administrative units to angels from the heaven to perform wonders? We have the same politicians, the same bureaucracy, the same federal institutions, the same law enforcing agencies, with their strengths, weaknesses, prejudices and foibles to run the new administrative units. We can well imagine how the new administrative units will be run. Do we expect wonders from these reforms? The new bottle will not change the acerbic taste of the wine.

The Federations are strengthened by the volunteer support and endorsement of federating units under a constitutional framework – free from any exploitation, coercion, and political and economic gerrymandering, and firmly anchored in plural, representative, participatory, inclusive, and democratic governance; rule of law, equality before law, social and economic and financial justice, and meritocracy.

The example of India has been repeatedly cited to justify the creation of new provinces. We should not mix up Federation and a Union of States. A Union of States is created by the Central authority by administrative acts for political and administrative convenience, while federations rest on the voluntary and constitutional endorsement of historically recognized national lands.  India has not divided Uttar Pradesh with a population of over 220million. The province of Behar, with a population of over 130 million, carries on as one province without any problem.

Keeping in view the sensitivities of the federal units about their historic status as national lands, the 1973 Constitution, adopted by almost a consensus vote, has recognized the four provinces, and laid down a tough process for the division of a province or creating a new province. The process needs the endorsement of the concerned provincial Assembly by two-third majority, and a two-third majority in the Parliament.

Read: The Imperiled National Security

_____________________

Based in Karachi, the author is a former member of the Foreign Service of Pakistan and has served as Ambassador for seven years

First published in The Friday Times Lahore

The post Stirring The Hornet’s Nest first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Pakistan, meanwhile, inherited a railway network of around 12,000 kilometers if the wider pre-Partition network figures are considered, but its present operational route network is only around 7,500–7,800 kilometers, representing a decline of roughly 35–38 per cent, depending on the historical and current baseline used.

By: Ramesh Raja

Pakistan’s transport story over the past eight decades tells a troubling tale. We have built motorways, highways, flyovers and bridges across the country, but at the same time we have allowed one of the most efficient forms of mass transportation, the railway, to decline. The consequences are now visible everywhere: overloaded roads, thousands of heavy trucks, rising fuel consumption, pavement deterioration, traffic congestion, higher logistics costs and increasing pressure on public finances.

The railway was not a luxury inherited from the British. It was a strategic economic asset designed to connect markets, ports, agricultural areas, industrial centers and cities over long distances. Yet Pakistan has failed to develop that asset in proportion to its population, economy and transportation needs.

The really interesting question is which actual services in the world give the best time-cost-comfort combination. There are some excellent examples in Japan, China, Europe, India, Australia, Canada and the Middle East, and the differences are quite striking.

The comparison with India is particularly revealing. Around Independence, the railway network in the territories that became India was approximately 53,000 kilometers. Today, India’s railway route network is around 70,000 kilometers, an increase of roughly 32 per cent. Pakistan, meanwhile, inherited a railway network of around 12,000 kilometers if the wider pre-Partition network figures are considered, but its present operational route network is only around 7,500–7,800 kilometers, representing a decline of roughly 35–38 per cent, depending on the historical and current baseline used.

The precise figures require care because Partition changed the boundaries of the railway system and historical sources use different definitions of route-kilometers and track-kilometers. But the broad conclusion is unmistakable: India expanded and modernized its railway system, while Pakistan largely preserved, neglected and in some cases abandoned what it inherited.

Railways are not merely another mode of transport

A modern country does not choose between roads and railways. It needs both.

Roads are best suited to flexible, door-to-door movement, short and medium-distance journeys and the first and last mile of freight. Railways are particularly efficient for large numbers of passengers and heavy freight travelling over long distances.

One freight train can replace a very large number of trucks. This means fewer heavy vehicles on highways, lower pavement damage, lower fuel consumption, reduced congestion and lower emissions. For a country struggling with foreign-exchange shortages and a large petroleum import bill, this is not merely an engineering consideration. It is an economic necessity.

Pakistan has instead allowed an enormous amount of long-distance freight to migrate from rail to road.

The result is a vicious cycle. More trucks require stronger pavements. Stronger pavements require greater investment. Heavy axle loads accelerate deterioration. More vehicles increase congestion and crashes. More diesel consumption increases the import bill. The government then spends more money repairing roads that are being damaged partly because the railway system is unable to carry the freight it should be carrying. This is economically inefficient.

The highway cannot carry everything

Pakistan’s highway network is indispensable. The National Highway Authority and provincial governments have an important responsibility to expand, rehabilitate and maintain roads. But highways cannot be expected to perform the job of railways.

Consider the movement of coal, cement, wheat, fertilizer, sugar, minerals, containers, petroleum products, steel and other bulk commodities over several hundred kilometers. Transporting all of these commodities by thousands of individual trucks is neither the most economical nor the most environmentally sustainable solution.

The road should be the feeder, not necessarily the entire journey.

A better system would allow a truck to collect cargo from a factory, farm or warehouse and take it to a nearby rail terminal. Rail would then carry the shipment hundreds of kilometers to another terminal, where trucks would complete the final delivery.

This is modern multimodal transportation.

Pakistan’s ports need rail connectivity

The railway question becomes even more important when viewed through Pakistan’s ports.

Karachi Port, Port Qasim and Gwadar are gateways to international trade. Yet a port’s economic value depends not simply on how much cargo it can handle, but on how efficiently that cargo can move into and out of the country.

Pakistan needs strong rail freight corridors connecting its ports with major inland economic centers.

Containers arriving at Karachi should be capable of moving efficiently by rail to Lahore, Faisalabad, Multan, Peshawar, Quetta and other industrial and commercial centers. Agricultural products should be able to reach ports. Imported raw materials should be transported efficiently to factories. Export goods should reach ports at predictable cost and within predictable time.

Without an efficient rail freight system, Pakistan’s ports remain partially disconnected from the national logistics network.

The geography of Pakistan makes rail particularly important

Pakistan has a long north-south economic corridor. Karachi and Port Qasim are located in the south, while major population and industrial centers are spread across Sindh, Punjab, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan.

This geography naturally creates long-distance freight flows. The country’s principal road corridors, including the N-5, N-55 and motorway network, carry an enormous amount of traffic. Instead of asking roads to carry an ever-increasing proportion of this freight, Pakistan should develop parallel high-capacity railway corridors.

The principle should be simple: long-distance bulk freight should move by rail, short-distance and door-to-door freight by road, international maritime freight by sea, and high-value, time-sensitive cargo by air. Together, these modes should function as an integrated national transportation system, with each mode performing the role for which it is most efficient.

The neglected opportunity of freight rail

For decades, Pakistan’s railway debate has focused heavily on passenger trains, fares, punctuality and locomotives. These are important issues, but the strategic economic opportunity may lie even more strongly in freight rail.

Pakistan Railways should be transformed from primarily a passenger railway into a commercially oriented national logistics system.

Dedicated freight trains, container trains, modern terminals, electronic tracking, efficient loading and unloading, reliable schedules and competitive tariffs could make railway freight attractive to industry.

Railway stations alone are not enough. Pakistan needs freight terminals, dry ports, inland container depots, logistics parks and industrial sidings connected to the railway network.

The objective should be to move cargo from “factory to port” or “farm to market” with minimum handling and predictable delivery time.

Modernization, not nostalgia

Reviving Pakistan Railways does not mean simply repairing old tracks and bringing back old trains; Pakistan needs a modern railway system designed to meet the demands of a growing economy. Priority should be given to the rehabilitation and strengthening of existing tracks, double-tracking of heavily used corridors, modern signalling and train-control systems, electrification where traffic volumes justify it, high-capacity freight corridors, modern locomotives and rolling stock, containerized freight services, dedicated freight terminals, port-to-rail connectivity, dry ports and inland logistics centers, improved level crossings, better maintenance systems, digital freight tracking and scheduling, and professional, commercially accountable railway management. The railway should also be fully integrated with the highway network, so that every major logistics center is not designed as a road-only facility but is assessed for rail connectivity from the very beginning, enabling efficient movement of freight between roads, railways, ports, dry ports, industries and markets.

The cost of doing nothing

The cost of railway neglect is not confined to Pakistan Railways’ balance sheet. It is distributed across the entire economy.

It appears in the cost of diesel. It appears in the deterioration of highways. It appears in the price of imported goods. It appears in the cost of agricultural products reaching markets. It appears in congestion and travel delays. It appears in road accidents. It appears in carbon emissions. It appears in the government’s annual expenditure on road rehabilitation.

In other words, the railway’s weakness creates costs elsewhere in the economy.

This is why railway investment should not be evaluated merely by asking whether Pakistan Railways itself will make a profit. The proper question is whether an integrated railway system will reduce the overall logistics cost of the country.

Pakistan should learn from India, but not copy it blindly. India’s experience provides an important lesson. India did not abandon its inherited railway system when road transportation expanded. Instead, it continued investing in railway expansion, gauge conversion, doubling, electrification, modern signalling and dedicated freight corridors.

Pakistan can follow the principle without simply copying India’s projects. Our railway network must be designed around our own geography, trade patterns and economic priorities.

The most urgent objective should be to connect ports, industrial zones, agricultural regions, mineral-producing areas, dry ports and major cities through a reliable national rail network.

A new national transport policy is needed

Pakistan should develop a long-term National Multimodal Transport Strategy in which railways and highways are planned together rather than separately.

Before constructing a major new highway or motorway, planners should first assess what proportion of the expected traffic will consist of long-distance freight, whether some of that freight can be shifted to rail, where the appropriate rail freight terminal should be located, and how the road network can provide efficient first- and last-mile connectivity. Asking these questions at the planning stage would help create a much more rational, integrated and cost-effective national transport network.

The objective should not be to build the maximum number of kilometers of roads or railway tracks. The objective should be to build the most efficient national transportation system.

The railway is an economic necessity

Pakistan cannot afford to continue treating railways as a declining public-sector organization whose problems are dealt with through occasional bailouts and temporary repairs.

Railways are strategic infrastructure.

A strong railway can carry people, move national freight, connect ports with markets, reduce pressure on highways, save fuel, support exports, reduce logistics costs and improve regional connectivity.

Pakistan has already invested billions in its highway network, and the answer is not to stop building roads but to rebalance the national transport system. We need roads for flexibility and railways for capacity, trucks for first- and last-mile connectivity and trains for long-haul transportation, while ports must be connected to railways, industries to freight terminals, and highways to logistics hubs. The choice before Pakistan is therefore not between railway and road, but between an integrated railway-and-road transport system and an increasingly expensive road-dependent economy. After nearly eight decades of Independence, Pakistan should stop asking whether it can afford to revive its railway; the more important question is: Can Pakistan afford not.

Read: Tando Masti Khan: Trade Corridor Reimagined

______________________

The author of this article, Engr. Ramesh Raja, is a Civil Engineer, visionary planner, PMP certified and literary enthusiast with a passion for art and recreation. He can be reached at engineer.raja@gmail.com  

The post Pakistan Railways: Put Back on Track first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Between heaven and earth, our houses, trees, mountains and rivers glow as bright as day.

Wherever moonlight falls, human figures shrink small and slight.

Han Wenge

Han Wenge, male, born in 1964, is from the mountainous eastern Hebei region and currently lives in Shijiazhuang. He began writing poetry and published his first poem in 1982. He has released numerous poetry and prose collections, including A Auspicious Village, The Fading Summer, Beneath the Clear Sky, All Living Things, Epic of Yan Village, Xugu Ancient Town, Where Blossoms Bloom, and To the Yanshan Mountains. He has received a variety of poetry awards.

韩文戈，男，1964年生，冀东山地人，现居石家庄。1982年开始诗歌写作并发表第一首诗，先后出版诗（文）集《吉祥的村庄》《渐渐远去的夏天》《晴空下》《万物生》《岩村史诗》《虚古镇》《开花的地方》《致燕山》等多部，获多种诗歌奖。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

The Moon and Wild Geese

There is always a bright full moon hanging over nights long gone.

Between heaven and earth, our houses, trees, mountains and rivers glow as bright as day.

Wherever moonlight falls, human figures shrink small and slight.

The smaller these figures drift deeper into my memory, the hazier they grow.

Silvery plumes of the moon drift across the pale blue sky; dreams are older than night itself.

Wild geese drag their own shadows behind them,

Shadows cast over mountain ridges, river bends and ancient temples.

They drift slowly across the Yanshan Mountains, glide past upturned faces, flying south or north.

As they soar over borders, they gaze down upon humankind below,

Watching our aged grandfathers and grandmothers, our young fathers and mothers.

Grandpa and Grandma carry grey clay chamber pots, trundling back to old rooms.

Fathers fresh from work carry shoulder poles to draw water under the moon, watering their vegetables and tobacco plants.

Mothers feed swill to pigs and fodder to sheep in the pens.

Magpies and crows that flitted by day have retreated to treetop nests to slumber.

The geese stretch out their cries, clear as moonlight piercing autumn chill and spring frost.

(As if they are the souls of ancient kin, brushing across the vast night sky.)

My playmates and I dragged our thin, frail shadows too,

Running across this plain yet barren old homeland—back then, not one of us was missing.

月亮与大雁

总有一轮皓月高悬在逝去已久的夜晚

天地之间，我们的房屋、树木、山河亮如白昼

凡月光照临的地方，人们又矮又小

矮小的人越往我记忆深处游走，愈加模糊

淡蓝色夜空飘浮月亮银色的羽毛，梦比夜更古老

大雁拖着自己的影子

那影子投射到山脉丘陵、河湾寺庙

缓慢移过燕山，移过仰起的脸庞，飞向南方或北方

它们一边俯视低处的人类，飞过国境线

一边看着我们年老的祖父祖母、年轻的父亲母亲

祖父、祖母提着灰陶尿盆慢慢走回旧房间

刚收工的父亲们在月亮地里挑水浇灌自家的蔬菜和烟草

母亲们往猪圈、羊棚投喂着猪食、草料

白天的喜鹊、乌鸦都已躲进树顶的窝巢打盹

大雁拉长叫声犹如通透的月光穿透秋凉与春寒

（仿佛总是它们，古老亲人的灵魂，擦过夜晚的长空）

我和我的伙伴们也拖着瘦小单薄的影子

奔跑在简单但贫瘠的旧大陆，那时我们一个也不少

***

Labour

In the terraced orchard, a man trims fruit trees

Gripping his pruning shears, perched atop a wooden ladder.

He bends branches that barely survived the winter,

Humming a song amid thawing winds.

It is early March, a fading morning.

The sun climbs over the eastern hill, half-lighting his face and fully mine.

Behind us, the rising black mountain slope blazes pale white.

Grass shoots in wind-sheltered nooks, sharp magpies, crows and sparrows—

They must listen to him sing often, happier than I am.

Soon sap will quicken inside the tree trunks at the sound of his tune,

Swelling tiny buds upon every bough.

This is a song I long forgot; he must be my contemporary.

It has been years since I heard tunes from our youth,

Years since I saw anyone labouring,

Humming an old song from a distant age.

Spring has come. Try it yourself, just as I do now.

劳动

梯田果园里，那个为果树剪枝的男人

紧握着修枝剪，骑坐在木梯顶上

他一边弄弯越冬不久的枝条

一边在解冻的风里，哼起一首歌

这是三月上旬正在逝去的清晨

太阳越过东山，照着他半张脸也照着我整个脸庞

在我们身后抬升的黑山坡亮得发白

避风处的草芽和凛冽的喜鹊、乌鸦、麻雀

一定常常听他唱歌，应该比我幸福

过不了多久，歌声中的果树树液

就要在树干内加速，催出枝头小小的花蕾

这是一首被我遗忘的歌，他应属于我的同龄人

很久没有听到我们年轻时代的歌了

很久没有目睹，还有人一边劳动

一边哼着一首遥远年代的老歌

春天来了，你也试试吧，就像此刻的我

***

Song of the Accordion

(Dedicated to a village female teacher of my teenage years)

The young woman of yore walks down the old street with a worn accordion slung over her back.

She carries the love of those days, a secret love newly requited.

She hums old songs from that era, stepping in time as if to ancient drumbeats.

Her pace quickens, growing lighter as she passes lines of schoolchildren heading home.

The children sing too, white teeth shining, bright lips parted.

Red scarves tied round their necks, their small heads bobbling.

She blends in with them, passing plain carpenters, bricklayers,

Blacksmiths, bamboo weavers and metal menders.

They wander past cattle and sheep, farmlands, lakes, woods,

And tidy yet impoverished villages and towns.

In an instant, she and the children take flight,

Floating just like their songs. Her white silk scarf drifts like a wisp of cloud,

As tender as her secret love, now finally affirmed.

Now she shifts the accordion to her chest, as if cradling an armful of blooming flowers.

Above plants and livestock, she draws music from the bellows.

Her melody merges with the earth’s steady rhythm, intertwined with her youth.

She soars across the blue sky, the sole lyrical poet of that age.

手风琴之歌

（献给一位我少年时代的乡村女教师）

 那个旧时的姑娘身背旧手风琴走在旧时的街道上

怀着那时的爱情，秘密的爱情刚刚得到回应

她唱着那时的老歌，踩着那时的步伐，像踩在老鼓点上

她越走越快，越走越轻，穿过成队放学的孩子

孩子们也唱歌，白白的牙齿，明亮的嘴唇

他们系着红领巾，晃动小小的脑袋

她和他们成了一伙，穿过朴素的木匠、泥瓦匠

以及铁匠、篾匠、焗锅匠

穿过牛羊、田野、湖泊、树林和干净又贫穷的村镇

不一会，她和他们就飞了起来

像他们的歌那样飞，她的白纱巾她的白云

像她秘密的刚刚得到确认的爱情

现在，她把琴挪到前胸，像抱着一捧盛开的花

在植物与动物的上空，拉响了手风琴

像她的琴音和大地的鼓点，像她的青春

她开始在蓝天上飞，成了那个时代唯一的抒情诗人

____________________ 

Read: Half of Spring – Poetry from China

The post Poetry: The Moon and Wild Geese first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Our mullahs called them

“The Devil’s cart.”

Bahtiyar Hidayet

Bahtiyar Hidayet, born in 1974 in the Gazakh region of the Republic of Azerbaijan, graduated from university in 1995 and has been working as a history teacher since 1998. Wrote poetry since high school and has 4 poetry books published in Azerbaijan.

A Wedding on the Devil’s Cart

When the first automobiles appeared,

Our mullahs called them

“The Devil’s cart.”

Now, in the hottest time of summer,

I am on a minibus.

The minibus is packed tight,

The smell of hell inside.

We open the windows—

The dust puts us in a bad situation.

We close the windows—

The heat puts us in a bad situation.

Like Munkar and Nakir,

Who have difficulty deciding

Whether a dead person,

Whose sins and good deeds are fifty-fifty,

Should go to hell or heaven,

We also have difficulty deciding.

But the driver

Is more merciful than God.

By an improvised method,

He has installed a fan.

…

A new passenger.

The driver shouts:

— “Be a little kinder!”

A passionate voice:

— “Don’t worry, brother,

We’re practically related already.”

…

Wedding music

Is playing on the stereo.

How wonderful our people are,

How wonderful our people are—

We can have fun

Even in Hell.

A mullah’s car passes by us.

Its air conditioning is excellent,

Its conditions are excellent.

As if he has fallen into Heaven.

Religious songs

Are playing on his stereo.

The name of the car:

The Heaven Cart.

___________________ 

Read: The Revenge of the Egrets

The post A Wedding on the Devil’s Cart first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Dr. Barbaros İRDELMEN

Poetry is more than a way for human beings to tell the world who they are; it is an attempt to give the world new meaning. Geography changes, languages change, cultures change; yet human joy, sorrow, loneliness, longing, love, death, and the search for freedom remain unchanged. This is precisely where the true power of poetry reveals itself: an emotion born in one language can come alive again in another.

The book you hold in your hands brings together the poetic worlds of two distinguished poets from two very different parts of the world: Hassane Yarti and Im Sol Nae. Between Morocco and Korea lies not only a distance of thousands of kilometers, but also profound differences in history, culture, tradition, and aesthetics. Yet when we look closely at the poetry of these two writers, we discover that this distance disappears within the realm of poetry.

Because poetry knows no borders.

In Hassane Yarti’s poetry, the fragility of the human soul, exile, loneliness, love, longing, time, loss, and existence frequently come to the forefront. In his lines, sometimes it is the absence of a beloved that speaks; sometimes the sorrow of being far from one’s homeland; and sometimes the desolation within the human self. In poems such as “My Expatriation,” “Longing…,” “Ruins,” “A Woman of Paper,” and “And I Forgot That We Never Meet…”, longing is not merely an emotion; it becomes an inner geography in which the human being searches for the self.

In Yarti’s poetry, love does not remain a simple romantic feeling. Love becomes a test in which a person dares to reveal his or her entire being. The brief yet intense expression in “Indeed” makes this unmistakably clear: to love is to risk placing one’s whole existence on the line. At times mystical, at times philosophical, and at times charged with profound lyricism, the poet’s language moves through a rich inner landscape. In his poetic world, the human being is constantly in conversation with the self, with the past, and with all that has been lost.

Im Sol Nae’s poetic world opens another door.

Drawing upon Korea’s historical, cultural, and spiritual heritage, the poet brings together nature, death, memory, motherhood, transformation, the inner light of the human being, and the fragility of life through distinctive imagery. In her poetry, a butterfly is never merely a butterfly; it becomes a symbol of transformation, hope beyond death, and the freedom of the soul.

“Metamorphosis” (羽化) is, in this sense, one of the keys to the poet’s poetics. The ascent into the light of a creature that has lived for years in the darkness of the earth becomes a poetic counterpart to the transformation taking place within the human soul. The poet does not regard the passage from darkness into light merely as a biological change, but as a spiritual awakening.

In “Blue Butterfly,” death ceases to be an ending or annihilation and becomes a possibility of transformation and liberation. The references extending from Zhuangzi to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross also reveal the intellectual bridge the poet builds between East and West.

The figure of the mother holds a particularly powerful place in Im Sol Nae’s poetry. In poems such as “Mother Living in the Museum,” “White Butterfly Hairpin,” and “Within Me,” the mother is not merely a biological presence; she is the root of life, the home of memory, and the doorway through which the poet enters her own past. The aging and death of a mother, the scent she leaves behind, become, in the poet’s lines, part of the collective memory of all humanity.

“Sumbi Sori (Breath of the Woman Diver)” descends into another depth. Through the breath of Jeju’s women divers, the poem explores the delicate line between life and death. Here, the sea is not merely an element of nature; it is the source of life, its test, and ultimately the place where the human being returns to the self. The act of holding one’s breath in order to survive becomes a paradoxical statement of existence: Sometimes, in order to live, we must hold our breath.

What brings these two poets together is not merely their poetic achievement. There is a deeper bond between them: The human being.

In Yarti’s poetry, the human being is one who longs, loses, waits, and tries to love again. In Im Sol Nae’s poetry, the human being is one who transforms, remembers, and reconnects with the mother, the earth, the sea, and the sky.

One shows us the geography of longing; the other, the geography of transformation.

One searches for exile within words; the other discovers light within darkness.

One speaks to the wounds of the past; the other opens a path of transformation from the past toward the future.

Yet both ultimately arrive at the same destination: The human heart.

Another striking feature of this collection is the profound relationship these poems establish with nature. The sea, the sky, trees, flowers, butterflies, fireflies, the moon, the stars, and the wind all become mirrors of the human soul in the poetry of both writers. Nature is not merely the setting of the poem; it is a speaking character within the poem.

The date palm tree in Im Sol Nae’s “The Scarlet Light Universe,” the river and the sea in “Becoming the Sea,” the plum blossoms in “The Plum Blossom Path,” and the stars in “Aura Physics” invite us to reconsider the human being within the wholeness of the universe.

In Hassane Yarti’s poetry, the sea, night, harbor, ash, rose, thorn, and sky become reflections of the fractures and upheavals within the human inner world.

For this reason, this book should not be read merely as a collection of poems by two poets.

It is an encounter between two cultures through poetry.

This poetic journey stretching from Morocco to Korea, from Africa to Asia, reminds us once again why literature is universal. The true boundary of poetry is not language. The true boundary of poetry is not geography. The boundary of poetry lies only in whether a human being can recognize the self in another person’s sorrow and joy.

And before great poetry, we recognize ourselves.

We may find our own longing in another person’s longing, our own loss in the death of a mother, our own transformation in the metamorphosis of a butterfly, and our own infinity on the shore of a sea.

Perhaps this is why poetry books are not merely read; they build invisible bridges between people.

This book, bringing together the poetry of Hassane Yarti and Im Sol Nae, is such a bridge. Two poets, two languages, two cultures, and two distinct life experiences…

Yet beneath the same sky;

the same loneliness,

the same hope,

the same love,

the same death,

the same life,

and the same humanity.

Perhaps this is one of the most beautiful things poetry can tell us:

People who seem so distant from one another in this world are never truly far apart within poetry.

Believing in the border-crossing voice of poetry, I sincerely hope that this valuable work will become a source of new literary encounters—not only between Moroccan and Korean poetry, but also between East and West, between different languages, and between different cultures.

Read: Living like a flame 

____________________

Dr. Barbaros İrdelmen is a Turkish poet, writer, translator, and retired physician. He is the author of nineteen poetry collections, with works published in numerous national and international anthologies, literary journals, and poetry festivals. A member of the Turkish Writers’ Syndicate, he translates world poetry from English into Turkish and contributes to the Turkish edition of Poetry Without Borders. He is also affiliated with the poetry translators’ community of the ITHACA Foundation (Spain), promoting literary dialogue across cultures through poetry and translation.

The post Toward Humanity from Two Distant Lands first appeared on Sindh Courier.

our fates stitched in the same pair of trousers.

Han Yuguang

Han Yuguang, male, born in Yuanping City, Shanxi Province in July 1970. He began writing poetry in the late 1980s and has published poetry collections The Moon of 1970 and Light Catcher.

韩玉光，男，1970年7月生于山西原平市，二十世纪80年代后期开始诗歌写作，出版诗集《1970年的月亮》《捕光者》。

Translate by Ma Yongbo

Half of Spring

Where the qin lies, its melody lingers on, I and Ji Kang

our fates stitched in the same pair of trousers.

I have wandered crashing into the Southern Mountain time and again

certain history books are never worth glancing back at, true enough

I share one straw hat together with Tao Yuanming.

The whole spring is a pair of embroidered cloth shoes

Li Bai took one away for his journey, time will never treat me unfairly

it shall reserve the other shoe for me

only a shoelace is missing, no great matter.

Look at the Hutuo River

rushing forth, coming straight from the north of the county town.

二分之一的春天

琴在，琴声就在，我和嵇康

的确穿着一条裤子。

南山撞了无数回

有些史书不值得回头看，没错

我和陶渊明戴着同一顶帽子。

整个春天是一双绣花鞋

李白穿走一只，时间不会亏待我

会把另一只留给我

还差一根鞋带，不要紧

你看滹沱河

正从县城的北面赶来。

***

Ode to the Zither

I am worthy of but one zither all my life

at least twice each day

when my fingers brush my ribs, the urge to play surges up.

Leanness is undoubtedly an inherited grace

the strings of my zither

are unlike any others beneath heaven.

This ancient qin clad in mortal flesh, untouched by gods or ghosts

I play and sing alone to myself.

What trembles upon the strings

is not my own shuddering.

It is the shadow

I can never shake off through all my years—

this posthumous child of light!

琴赋

我这一生只配有一把琴

每天至少两次

在摸到自己肋骨的时候，生出弹奏的念头。

瘦，无疑是遗传的美学

我的琴弦

不同于世上别的琴

这披着人皮的古琴，神鬼也不能染指。

我自弹自唱

琴弦上泛起的

并非自己的颤抖

而是我

一生都甩不掉的影子——

这光的遗腹子！

***

The Low Ground

Stepping out onto the wilderness alone

all mortal distractions melt away entirely—

Fallen leaves swirling thick may serve for my flesh

the setting sun sinking into the river

may become my heart

Once the horizon

fills my field of vision, I behold the years gone by

Half my life has already been buried deep

no more burying

this is my bottom line

低处

一个人来到旷野上

已然杂念全消——

那落叶纷飞，可做我的身体

那落日沉河

可做我的心

而一旦地平线

成了我的视线，就会看见岁月

已埋了我的半生

不能再埋了

这是我的底线

___________________

Read: Laozi and the Butterfly – Chinese Poetry

The post Half of Spring – Poetry from China first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Coming are the golden days of MrBeast.

Rajendra Ojha

Rajendra Ojha (Nayan), based in Kathmandu, is a Nepalese poet whose work has been featured in international journals across Europe, Asia, and the Americas. He is the author of several books, including Through the World (2011), The Weeds of Aspiration (2024, originally published in Nepali), The Paradoxical Civilization (2025), and The Gates of Silence (2026). He also served as a citizen diplomat for three months in 2018 with the Ministry of Population and Environment, participating in the Minamata Convention diplomatic program in Geneva, Switzerland. Rajendra holds a Master’s degree in Development Studies and a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations, bringing a unique global perspective to his literary work.

From Armstrong to MrBeast

Slowly, the era of Neil Armstrong is disappearing,

Coming are the golden days of MrBeast.

Gone are the dreams of diving into swimming pools,

Now the best swimmers prefer large bathtubs.

Give me your mind, I swear on the top,

I’ll set you free from all your anxiety.

For attention is the only meal I need,

And the price I pay will provide you mental stimulation.

Slowly, the soulless Frankenstein finds its dawn once more,

But this time, it has learned to master itself.

Coming are the golden days of MrBeast,

Coming is the golden era of struggle with Mother Nature.

That Frankenstein is asleep within me,

A fake mind that values roses as much as cacti.

Slowly providing remaining lilies to the era of Armstrong,

To welcome MrBeast with the captive aroma of the flicker market.

___________________

Read: Ozone of Utopia – A Poem from Nepal

The post From Armstrong to MrBeast first appeared on Sindh Courier.

But how will I face the world with a barren heart..?

Latifa Harbaoui

Latifa Harbaoui is a poet, writer and journalist from Algeria, the land of one and a half million martyrs, a proud North African nation known for its rich history, ancient civilizations, vast Sahara Desert, and vibrant cultural heritage. Algeria is the largest country in Africa, a land of freedom, dignity, and deep-rooted traditions. She graduated in Philosophy from the University of Bouzaréah and continued her studies at the University of Mohamed Khider in Biskra. She is widely recognized as one of Algeria’s distinguished contemporary literary voices, having published extensively in leading Algerian and Arab newspapers and magazines, where she authored influential literary and cultural columns. Her published works include the poetry collections A Sun Tailored to My Size, Fragments of Anxiety, and Close to the Front with a Kick, winner of the Dar Motoun Prize for Creativity (2023), while her forthcoming collection, Proof, is currently in press. She also published the literary epistolary collection Letters of the Blond Bat, wrote for children’s theatre, and authored the children’s book My Golden Steps in Smart Reading, published under the supervision of the Algerian Ministry of Culture and Arts in 2025. She is also working on her debut novel, Yet He Sees Me.

Harbaoui has served as Algeria’s representative of the Arab Writers League, President of the House of Poetry Biskra Branch, and a member of the Cultural Advisory Council of Biskra Province. She founded the children’s artistic troupe Shadou El Djazaïr in 1995 and produced several literary and radio programs.

Her writings have been the subject of extensive academic research at Algerian universities and translated into English, Turkish, Albanian, and other languages. She has received numerous national, Arab, and international distinctions, including the First of November Medal, two honorary doctorates, recognition among the 100 Most Influential Personalities for three consecutive years, and recent honors from the Governor of Biskra Province and Barcelona Magazine, reflecting her outstanding contribution to contemporary Arabic literature.

Fine!

I will bring people out of the locked boxes of my expectations,

But how will I face the world with a barren heart..?

How can I explain, through noise,

That the great machine

Which ran over the garden’s guard

Is innocent of the rose’s blood?!

Fine!

I will re-formulate the map’s awareness,

And draw the forest at the center

In the shape of an anaconda.

I cling to a felled tree,

To a spoiled perfume

Poured over corpses

Too many for the graves to hold,

And I wave a branch of a deformed poem!

I am the sole witness

To the massacres of language.

Isn’t that so?

They said:

The seasoned wolf

Is greater in poetry and conscience,

And that angels have claws and pockets.

Fine!

I will apologize to poetry,

Because I am the only one accused —

The one who left his fingerprint on hearts

And died…

Of love…!

You, my father, must shatter more doors,

Restore to the same threshold

What remains of the names.

Perhaps we will become a family

In a wilderness yet to come.

You must pull me by the ear

From an abyss of utter emptiness,

Where someone keeps repeating

More than once,

A stumble,

A rehearsal,

A rehearsal,

Then turns your coffin with my hands

To find your child’s leg beneath the stage,

And crosses over you,

Moving on without regret.

You, my father, must reassure

The corpse that has finally become a bridge

That I have not died yet.

It is not curiosity, my father,

That makes me now search for my complete death,

Nor the deficiency hidden within revelation.

It is language.

While the fragments were wandering here and there,

I forgot the crutch of mourning,

So we all fell

From the saliva of the poisonous pretender.

And we waited for you,

And we are still waiting,

Even though you have not returned.

You, my father, must find in the abyss

The measure of a merciful absence.

The garment of the journey is loose,

And in the jars of time

There are not enough shoulders

To water the distance.

For those present,

A hump that thirst has deceived into believing

That the neighbor who howls from bending

Has rescued whatever shadows had piled up.

But the neighbor who howls

Is a wolf!

A wolf that ruined the courtyard.

While a cloud was bartering with a roof,

And a scrap dealer

Was stripping the paint from an old door

So it would become more beautiful

For a mourning ceremony,

And more.

You, my father, must raise the gasp

High enough for the fly to pass without hypocrisy.

And these stale words

No longer suit our sky.

And the sea

That draws from your child’s tear

Lies too.

Do not tell it, “Well done.”

Tell it, “I do not love you.”

They must, my father,

Look upon the zero of the beginning

With an eye of mercy.

Before they close the circle,

They must make sure

That emotion behind the fence

Is mute,

Mute,

Mute.

___________________ 

Read: When Evening Comes – Poetry from Algeria

The post Fine! – A Poem from Algeria first appeared on Sindh Courier.

• The province has answered every threat to its boundaries with a resolution. Its own twentieth-century history shows that resolutions alone once weren’t enough — and explains why the fight has never really stopped.

SINDH CIVILIZATIONAL AND HISTORICAL RESEARCH SERIES

Dr. Nisar Ahmed Solngi 

Every few years, someone in Islamabad raises the idea of redrawing Pakistan’s provincial map, and every few years, the Sindh Assembly answers with a resolution. It has now happened five times — 1948, 1954, 2014, 2019, and most recently in February 2026 — and each time the language has been almost identical: Karachi is inseparable from Sindh, the province’s boundaries are not open for negotiation, and any attempt to divide it is a betrayal of the compact under which Sindh joined Pakistan in the first place.

What gets lost in the retelling is that this is not simply a proud, unbroken record of a province defending itself. It is also the record of the one-time Sindh’s resistance was not defeated by argument, but by force — and it took fifteen years to undo.

1948: A Warning Ignored

Ten days after independence-era euphoria had barely settled, word reached the Sind Legislative Assembly that the central government intended to strip Karachi from provincial control and administer it directly as the new federal capital. On 10 February 1948, a member moved a resolution on behalf of his member colleague, seconded by another member, recording the House’s “apprehension and alarm” and warning that the move would cripple Sindh economically and politically. It invoked the 1940 Lahore Resolution’s promise that the units joining Pakistan would remain sovereign and autonomous.

The Assembly’s alarm changed nothing. Karachi was separated from Sindh and declared a federal territory regardless.

1954: Resistance, Then Removal

Six years later, with Karachi still under federal control and no compensation ever paid to Sindh for the lost capital and its revenue, the Leader of the Opposition at the time, moved a second resolution — in the year 1954 — asking the Sindh government to press Islamabad for Karachi’s return. An amendment, added on the floor by a member from Hala’s, spelled out exactly what Sindh felt it had been promised and denied: protection for Sindhi employment in Karachi’s administration, protection of local interests, and financial compensation. None of it, the amendment noted, had materialized.

This is where the story usually stops in the retelling — a second resolution, passed, on the record. What it leaves out is what happened eight months later, and why it happened in the same year.

Through 1953 and into 1954, the federal government was quietly finishing the design of a much larger scheme: merging all of West Pakistan’s provinces — Punjab, Sindh, NWFP, and Balochistan — into a single administrative unit, eliminating Sindh as a province altogether. Sindh’s Chief Minister at the time, fought it directly. By early November 1954 he had secured written commitments from seventy-four members of the Sindh Assembly opposing the scheme — a clear majority in a house of little more than a hundred.

Two days later, Pirzada’s ministry was dismissed. His replacement delivered Sindh’s vote in favour of the very scheme he had been removed for opposing.

On 8 November 1954, the Governor dismissed Pirzada’s government. Ayub Khuhro was installed as Chief Minister the following day — and within weeks, the province’s position had reversed. Sindh’s resistance to One Unit was not voted down. It was removed from office and replaced.

The scheme went ahead. On 14 October 1955, One Unit was formally enforced, and Sindh ceased to exist as a separate province. It would not exist again until 1970.

Fifteen Years, not a Footnote

What followed those fifteen years is usually compressed into a single sentence in accounts that move quickly from 1955 to restoration in 1970, as though the interval were empty. It was not. The Sindh Hari Committee organized against both One Unit and the feudal structures it entrenched. The “Jeay Sindh” movement, born in this period, became the defining current of Sindhi nationalist politics for a generation. Sindhi literature — prose and poetry alike — turned into a vehicle for a grievance the province had no legislature left to voice through ordinary politics. When restoration finally came in 1970, it came after a decade and a half of a province arguing, in every forum still open to it, that its erasure had been wrong.

This is the part of Sindh’s history that the language of the later resolutions — “unbroken legacy,” standing “beyond party lines” — tends to smooth over. The legacy is real. It was not, in fact, unbroken. It was interrupted for fifteen years and had to be fought back into existence.

2014, 2019, 2026: The Fight Resumes in a Different Constitution

The three most recent resolutions were passed under a different constitutional order — one built, in part, precisely because of what happened in 1955. The 1973 Constitution’s Article 239 requires a two-thirds vote of a province’s own assembly before its boundaries can be altered.

In 2014, when smaller-province proposals circulated nationally, the Sindh Assembly passed a unanimous resolution arguing that Talukas, Districts, and Divisions already provide the administrative decentralization such proposals claim to want.

In 2019, after a federal minister floated invoking emergency powers to place Karachi under central control, the Assembly rejected it as an unconstitutional end-run around the same provincial autonomy Article 239 was meant to protect.

The fifth resolution, tabled by the Chief Minister on 21 February 2026, was the most elaborate — and the most contested. It grounded Sindh’s claim in the fullest version of its own history: separation from the Bombay Presidency in 1936, the province’s role as the first in British India to pass the Pakistan Resolution in 1943, resistance to One Unit in 1955, and restoration in 1970, layered over the older civilizational claim running back to Indus Valley Civilization. But unlike the resolution of 2014, it did not pass unanimously. MQM-P’s MPAs opposed it on the floor — consistent with the party’s public campaign, led by Mustafa Kamal, for Karachi’s separation from Sindh, a campaign the party itself had not pursued when it supported the equivalent resolution in 2019.

The Lesson Article 239 Cannot Fully Answer

Article 239 is a real safeguard, and a considerably stronger one than anything available to Pirzada’s government in 1954. A governor today cannot simply dismiss a resisting chief minister and manufacture a two-thirds vote from a reconstituted assembly with anything like the speed the center managed in November 1954. That much has genuinely changed.

But the deeper lesson of 1954–55 is not really about the specific mechanism used against Sindh. It is that a province’s resistance is only as durable as the political conditions that let it stand. Pirzada had the numbers — seventy-four members on record — and it did not matter, because the numbers were not the thing that mattered. What mattered was who had the power to remove the government holding them. Sindh’s assembly has passed five resolutions asserting that its boundaries are settled. Its own history is the clearest evidence available anywhere of why that assertion has needed to be made five times.

This article draws on the original texts of the 1948, 1954, 2014, 2019, and 2026 Sindh Assembly resolutions, on contemporaneous reporting of the 2026 resolution and its aftermath (Dawn, Geo News, The Express Tribune, Pakistan Today, Dunya News), and on historical sources for the One Unit period including The News on Sunday, The Friday Times, the South Asia Journal, and Sindh Assembly Debates. Two details await primary-source confirmation before further use: the full text of the 1954 amendment and speaker list, and the reported vote count by which the Sindh Assembly ultimately endorsed One Unit.

Read: Lessons from the Indus Valley Civilization

_______________

Dr. Nisar Ahmed Ali Nawaz Solangi is a distinguished Public Health Specialist with over 28 years of experience in primary healthcare, health management, and policy development. Throughout his career, he has served in leadership capacities, He holds MBBS from the University of Sindh and a Master of Public Health from Griffith University, Australia. He is a dedicated polymath committed to the intersection of ancient civilization and emerging technology. He is deeply engaged in the study of the Indus Valley Civilization—focusing on its maritime history, trade networks, and egalitarian governance. Currently based in Saudi Arabia, Dr. Solangi is a tireless advocate for the digital preservation and global dissemination of the Sindhi language and culture. He is actively involved in pioneering initiatives on social media” Our Digital World”. By bridging the gap between historical heritage and digital innovation, he aims to create a new paradigm for cultural representation in the AI era.

The post Sindh’s Fight Against Division: Key Lessons first appeared on Sindh Courier.

• The map of modern South Asia was forged on the anvil of imperial decline. In their rush to relinquish a burden they could no longer carry, the British drew arbitrary lines through a continent, handed over power, and sailed away

By Noor Muhammad Marri Advocate | Islamabad

Ask anyone across South Asia how Pakistan came to be, and you will almost certainly hear one of two neatly packaged stories. On one side, standard textbooks will tell you about the unyielding ideological struggle of the All-India Muslim League, the weight of the 1940 Lahore Resolution, and the intellectual vision of Allama Iqbal. On the other side, conventional narratives frame it as a tragic failure of diplomacy between political heavyweights—a bitter clash of ambitions between Congress and the League that broke a continent.

Both accounts make for compelling national lore, but they miss the real engine driving the events of 1947. If we step past the speeches and the political theater, a far more pragmatic truth reveals itself: Pakistan was not carved out simply by local resolutions or ideological debate, but by the raw, chaotic mechanics of an empire collapsing under its own weight.

To make sense of 1947, you have to look at London in 1945. World War II had left Great Britain utterly broken. Bankrupt, heavily indebted to the United States, and completely drained of resources, Britain could no longer afford the exorbitant cost of running an empire that stretched from the Suez Canal to Singapore. Colonial rule in India had never relied purely on white soldiers; it worked because the native army and civil bureaucracy remained loyal, and because people believed imperial power was permanent.

By 1946, that illusion of permanence had evaporated. When Indian sailors mutinied in Bombay and unrest rippled through the armed forces, Whitehall realized the terrifying truth: the coercive machinery of the Raj had failed. The British did not leave India out of constitutional generosity or high-minded statesmanship. They fled because they were exhausted, broke, and terrified of getting trapped in a massive, uncontrollable civil war they had neither the money nor the men to suppress.

This imperial collapse completely redefines how we must view the creation of Pakistan. While local political parties had mobilized millions, it was the British Crown that held the ultimate legal authority to decide how, when, and where power would be handed over. The decision to divide the subcontinent—and specifically to slice through the living bodies of Punjab and Bengal—was an imperial decree designed to execute a quick, dirty exit before total administrative collapse took over.

Look at how the partition of Punjab and Bengal actually happened. Neither the Muslim League nor Congress had the power or state apparatus to draw an international border. So, what did the British do? They brought in Sir Cyril Radcliffe, a London lawyer who had never set foot in India, knew nothing about its culture, geography, or canal systems, and gave him five weeks to draw a line through thousands of miles of populated land. Then, Viceroy Lord Mountbatten sat on the final boundary maps, hiding them until two days after independence was celebrated. Why? To ensure that when the inevitable bloodshed and massive refugee crisis erupted, the blame would fall on the new successor states rather than on retreating British troops. It was an act of cold, calculated bureaucratic self-preservation.

Yet, this hasty retreat was guided by another crucial factor that standard histories rarely mention: post-war military strategy. As the British prepared to leave, the Cold War was already dawning. British military planners—specifically the Chiefs of Staff in London—looked at a map of Asia and saw the Soviet Union looming to the north. They needed a strategic foothold to guard the oil fields of the Persian Gulf and the entries into South Asia.

When Jawaharlal Nehru made it clear that a unified India would follow a policy of strict non-alignment and refuse to host Western military bases, British defense planners panicked. Conversely, the Muslim League signaled a willingness to remain in the Commonwealth, maintain Western defense ties, and retain British military officers during the transition. Declassified British military reports from late 1946 explicitly argued that if a unified India loyal to the West was impossible, securing a sovereign, Western-aligned state in the northwest—controlling the Khyber Pass, the Arabian Sea ports, and airbases near Soviet Central Asia—was an absolute geopolitical necessity.

When the United States took over leadership of the Western alliance in the 1950s, Washington simply adopted this British blueprint. They integrated Pakistan into Cold War pacts like CENTO and SEATO, operating spy flights directly out of the Badaber airbase near Peshawar. The geographic reality of Pakistan was instantly locked into global superpower rivalries.

Ideologies, resolutions, and political rhetoric certainly gave the era its vocabulary, but cold, hard structural power dictated its actual outcome. Had the British Empire retained its pre-1939 wealth and military dominance, it would have suppressed domestic demands and delayed independence for decades, just as it had done before. It was the total material depletion of the empire, paired with cold calculations of post-war military strategy, that converted domestic political demands into an immediate reality.

The map of modern South Asia was forged on the anvil of imperial decline. In their rush to relinquish a burden they could no longer carry, the British drew arbitrary lines through a continent, handed over power, and sailed away—leaving the people of the region to inherit both the prized reality of independence and the devastating human scars of an enforced partition.

Read: The Architecture of Domination

__________________

Noor Muhammad Marri, Advocate and Mediator, Islamabad

The post History: The Real Story of 1947 first appeared on Sindh Courier.