Rendezvous with Anchar: The Battlefield of 'brothers'

In the tapestry of my existence, woven from the threads of time itself, I have inscribed countless words, each imbued with a symphony of emotions - some finding release upon the parchment, while others lingered, elusive and untamed. Through this odyssey, a constant companion has walked beside me, a silent sentinel whose presence has been the very essence of inspiration. Much like Nietzsche's shadow, this ally of mine has been the conduit through which my emotions flowed, a pristine mirror reflecting the kaleidoscope of thoughts that dance within my soul. Yet, in my journey, I have often neglected to offer due gratitude.

I have meticulously crafted the silent symphonies of our rendezvous upon the canvas of paper, yet rarely have I acknowledged the silent partner that stands beside me. It has borne witness to my evolution, from the exuberant innocence of childhood, careening down snow-clad slopes in my garden upon a makeshift sled, to the contemplative reverie of adolescence, gazing skyward at the celestial tapestry and pondering the mysteries that lie beyond, wondering at the enormous temporal chasm between the observer and the observed. It has accompanied me through the tumultuous terrain of youth, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of blooming spring floras and the verses of Ghalib and Mir, as I sought to unravel the enigmatic depths of existence; through the beginnings of manhood seeking to engage in Whys of life. Like a steadfast friend, it has absorbed the echoes of my innermost musings without a whisper of reproach. It has been the silent fulcrum upon which the panorama of my life pivots, allowing me to trace the contours of each emotion that has coloured my past. Truly, it warrants more than a passing mention in the annals of my narrative – an opening paragraph, a full-length blog, or even a separate book - for it is more than a mere lake to me; it is the embodiment of my imagination, the custodian of my innermost truths. Anchar Lake, I offer you my sincerest gratitude for the incessant rendezvous we have had. Your silent presence has been the cornerstone upon which the edifice of my being stands.

Just a few days back, I found myself standing on my bedroom balcony, gazing out at the serene waters of Anchar Lake. It was one of those sunny winter afternoons that just make you pause and take it all in. As always, my trusty companion reflected the sun's rays right back at me, almost blindingly bright. But I wasn't fazed; instead, I found myself asking, "Can we really unlearn life lessons?"

"Life often requires unlearning to move forward", my companion spoke.

"Then why bother learning in the first place?"

"For the wise, there's value in both learning and unlearning. But what sparked this inquiry of yours?"

Despite growing up as an only child of my parents, although in a bustling joint family, I was never short of company. With cousins galore, our days were filled with squabbles over trivial matters – from who got the last piece of chocolate to who called shotgun in the car. We even had disputes over who got to lead our makeshift "Golden Falcon" team and, oddly enough, who got to use the bathroom first when coincidentally nature called all of us together (which often led to hilarious chaos). But amidst everything, there was one unspoken rule, a sacred pact: the bro-code.

                                                        You always had your brother's (or sister’s) back when it came to outsiders.

Touch any one of us or launch a diatribe, whether within the neighbourhood or beyond, and we would all rush to defend our own, momentarily setting aside any disagreements we might have. Once the outsiders were dealt with, normalcy would likely resume. It was a fundamental code of conduct ingrained in me over the years, one I assumed others had also imbibed during their formative years.

Reflecting on numerous instances where my cousins and I had unconditionally shielded each other, I murmured, "When faced with an external threat, brothers never abandon one another. I learned this as a child. Who hasn't?"

"Every rational being does, at some point, whether through revelation or experience," my companion replied succinctly.

Revelation. Yes, indeed. Islam preached extensively about brotherly love transcending consanguineous bonds. The brotherhood of faith, of Imān, in Islam transcended barriers of caste, colour, country, or race. In Islam, a Muslim living ocean away was considered a "brother" to another, despite never having met or known each other. The Quranic proclamation, "The Believers are but brothers," cast a profound influence over cultural complexities. Prophetic teachings consistently emphasized this bond, intertwining it with the very fabric of faith. There was no denying the existence of this bond within Islam's domain; even newcomers to the faith were familiarized with it, leaving the learned with no excuse to shun its practice.

"So, do we, Muslims, have each other's backs?" I inquired.

"Ironically, the one behind you is there to either defend or backstab you," came the chilling response.

In recent times, social media had emerged as a crucial platform in bringing various issues to light. The religious populace, in particular, found themselves embroiled in interfaith debates, appearing faithful on the surface yet devoid of true faith at its core. In the battlefield of 'brothers,' preachers lined up, armed with fatwas, rallying people to their causes, launching emotional tirades and venomous rhetoric that ate away at one's conscience. Feeding off age-old disagreements, each preacher staunchly declared allegiance to the Ahl al-Sunnah wa al-Jamā'ah, akin to empty threats of the war-ending nuclear arsenal, branding opposing sects as heretical. However, the following couplet laughed meekly in their faces,

وَكُل يَدَّعِي وَصلاً بِلَيْلَى **** وَلَيْلَى لَا تُقِرُّ لَهُمْ بِذَاكَا

Each claims a connection with Layla, but Layla acknowledges none of it!

Amidst this eternal, chaotic battlefield, they neglect crucial matters that warrant attention. In this cacophony of discord, they brutally sever the unanimously agreed upon ties of Islamic brotherhood. They fail to realize that while they are consumed by infighting, a seasoned assassin, lurking in the shadows, awaits the opportune moment to strike. The moment when they shall all be vulnerable, the last men standing.

"The brotherhood…" I paused, recalling unsettling incidents of mutual discord, "appears to be failing. Unfortunately, the allegiance to groups and sects has overcome the allegiance to Islam itself.”

“Certain degrees fail to transform the intellect.”

As the sun cast its final, fiery tendrils across my face, the encroaching darkness seized the surroundings, reminiscent of an assassin lurking in the shadows, biding his time for the opportune strike. The looming spectre of impending doom threatened to overwhelm me, until my companion's voice pierced through the silence, reigniting a flicker of hope:

ہے کس کي يہ جرات کہ مسلمان کو ٹوکے***** حريت افکار کي نعمت ہے خدا داد

چاہے تو کرے کعبے کو آتش کدہ پارس***** چاہے تو کرے اس ميں فرنگي صنم آباد

قرآن کو بازيچہ تاويل بنا کر ***** چاہے تو خود اک تازہ شريعت کرے ايجاد

ہے مملکت ہند ميں اک طرفہ تماشا ***** اسلام ہے محبوس ، مسلمان ہے آزاد