Before the Taliban: Memories of Peshawar
By Farzana Versey
12 May, 2009
Countercurrents.org
As the city is on edge, and friends are being seen as enemies, I want to share recollections of the times I spent in the capital of the frontier province on the trips I made to Pakistan since 2000.
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We were hungry. I told Salim, my guide, I wanted to eat at an authentic Kabuli restaurant. Breads were being baked on upturned woks. The place was packed. I was the only woman in there. A scraggly-looking man came up to us and parted a curtain; the few men having their meal immediately got up and moved out without a word. Chivalry was unspoken and not brandished with a flourish.
The sofa felt wonderfully comfortable after the long drive. The moment I raised my eyes I found (Indian film star) Ajay Devgan staring at me. Stuck on the wall, his photograph typified the Afghan obsession with Hindi films.
We had a hearty meal. There was a stew, some barbequed meats and sautéed vegetables. The food did not leave you feeling full, cooked as it was with a touch so light that even flesh had a feathery texture. Bowls of yoghurt served as dessert.
Driving back to the city, we passed another route. This was Hayatabad; it was called the mini Islamabad due to its well-structured houses, trees peeping out of high walls, bursts of floral colour in the balconies. The inhabitants were invisible. Who were they? Salim explained, ‘Mainly Afghans, the ones who have made it big. But they can only rent the houses, not buy them. There are two million Afghan mohajirs here, so they say Peshawar should be theirs.' But what about the guns and drugs? ‘The problem is that Pakistani laws do not extend beyond Torkham, so our government can do nothing. If they commit a crime, our rules do not apply.' Yet there is sympathy for them in many quarters. ‘Our hearts are with them, though our minds may not be.'
It was difficult to understand how the Pathan heart could even fathom a jihad against the Russians – was it an Islamic jihad they were supporting or an American one? Salim sounded genuinely concerned: ‘The Afghans do not have it easy. They have to work hard to make money. They may be a burden for the rest of Pakistan but not for the Pathans.'
Next day I promised myself I would explore the question that had been left unanswered.
* * *
When you enter the smuggler's market in Bara – the other being Jamrud – it is not glitzy. Alleys lead to pale buildings greying at the edges; flies squat on plump fruits in so relaxed a fashion it might seem as though a durbar was being held to squeeze out every drop of juice You get everything here, except maybe cars, said Salim. When we arrived, it was fairly early in the morning, people were still getting their shops ready. Some were fanning the dhuan (thick incense sticks and coal pieces burning in a small copper pot) to ward off evil, even as under the table there might have been some devious items they would sell.
There were carts outside with Korean toys, Japanese gizmos, sweets, green tea, spices, but it was essentially a cover-up. The real stuff was what could not be seen. I tried to understand the gun culture. Was it so easy to get arms? Apparently, it was. If the Pakhtoons have benefited, it is by getting weapons, corroded rifles left by the Russians. Interestingly, the Afghans want to appear more respectable and are preoccupied with beautifying their homes and fitting them with the latest amenities.
The mujahideen , as they came to be called assuming they were ‘holy warriors', were above the law. Primarily because they came in handy for Pakistan's Inter Services Intelligence, the ISI, that trained and armed them. It must be remembered that the country had to deal with a huge refugee problem after the Afghan War. Most of those who crossed the border chose to stay in the frontier regions even after the war was over. And this was seen as an ideal give-and-take deal. Besides, the drug trade of the Afghans is diverted via Pakistan so again there is a mutual need. There are several contradictions. While Pakistan has to keep an eye on the Pathans in its armed forces, it got caught in the Afghan problem. Salim mentioned how some youngsters would go back home to avenge the death of a family member or a rape or the destruction of property and return to Peshawar to work and make money, often to sponsor another vendetta. It is said in these parts that every Afghan is a mujahid .
Salim's family is an old one, where things like education matter. There are others who have homes in Peshawar but choose to live in the more mainstream cities.
This is in sharp contrast to the widely-travelled and suave Waquar's brother who retains the Pakhtoon stamp, choosing to live in the village. In a sense, the tribal identity was a cocoon against a communist Afghan regime next door. For the Pathans, military rule in the rest of Pakistan does not count; they feel they are on a cusp.
* * *
We enter the university town with its neat avenues. The red brick façade of the 70-year-old Islamia University is awe-inspiring. Water fountains and perfectly-lined trees, like obedient students, dot the landscape. Salim is doing his post-graduate studies here. He looks like a nerd. A small, built-like-a-boy Pathan, he wears steel-rimmed glasses. What would education mean to him in the given context? ‘It is a personal choice. This car too is mine, it does not belong to the hotel. I work as a tourist guide because that too is knowledge for me. I try to speak in English to improve mine. And this broadens my world. I don't want to go out and earn big money, but I want to be equipped to improve things here. I will marry the girl chosen by my parents and it will be early, but it will also give me a sense of security.'
He takes me to a bookshop where there are volumes of Osama Bin Laden's biography. This was pre 9/11, so that is the only place I saw his face. I picked up a copy and was riffling through it when the shopkeeper came up to me and said, ‘It is okay only if you are interested in the man. Otherwise it is useless.' This was in the heart of Pathan territory, which was to later display complete loyalty to this man. I was told instead to look for books by Khushal Khan Khattak. He and Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan are the true representatives of Pathan culture, Salim tells me. One is at the traffic signal, a statue in bronze, the view impeded by a lamp-post, the other ‘not available'.
The Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan factor is more complex. In India he is remembered as Frontier Gandhi. How did a man who founded the Khudai Khidmatgars, in the spirit of a Sufi asking men to serve god to quell the religious fundamentalism that was becoming politics, fit in here?
He did not. His politics was probably as divisive as that of many other mainstream leaders. ‘God's servants' tried to emulate Communism and brought the Afghans in. For him, Partition was not about India and Pakistan, but ‘Pashtoonistan'. His eldest son Wali Khan had once said, ‘We have been Pathans for 3,000 years, Muslims for 1,000 and Pakistanis for 40.'
Until almost a decade after Partition, Peshawar remained a fortress enclosed behind sturdy walls and 16 gates. The Afghan War, ironically, made ‘Pashtoonistan' a forgotten dream recalled only when Ghaffar Khan, died having left instructions to be buried in Jalalabad, not Peshawar.
Salim does not know that a map had been drawn, flags been designed for this separate state. But even to an outsider, he introduces himself as a Pathan, not a Pakistani.
* * *
(This is an extract from A Journey Interrupted: Being Indian in Pakistan , Harper Collins-India.)
Farzana Versey is a Mumbai-based author-columnist. She can be reached at [email protected]
