C O L U M N S

In a country in which animals are treated and regarded as inanimate objects for the use and abuse of human beings we must marvel at the penchant of some of our politicians for acquiring exotic animals purely as symbols of their power and standing.

The Mian of Lahore, now in some form of hibernation, waiting in the political power wings for his turn to come around once again, is famed for his obsession with tigers, with which he identifies himself. He apparently has life-sized statues of these noble beasts adorning his grandiose houses and their extensive grounds, as well as keeping a number of them in his private zoo at Raiwind. Whilst electioneering, his loyal worshipping followers were wont to drag around the hustings an unfortunate, obviously suffering, live tiger in a restrictive cage.

Nawaz Sharif’s nephew, Shahbaz’s son Salman, lately took it into his head to keep up with, if not do better than, his uncle. Despite the current ban on the import of tigers by the private sector, he arranged to import from Canada two tigers for the family zoo, but not any old tigers, two of the rare species of Siberian tigers, a critically endangered and protected breed. He perhaps wanted to go one up on Uncle Nawaz as the Siberian (or Amur) tiger is the world’s largest cat. As can be gleaned from its name, this rare endangered animal inhabits areas that are cold, or at least cool, and is hardly inured to the temperatures prevailing on the plains of Punjab.

Young Salman reportedly illegally managed to wangle an import licence for two such tigers — and the seller must be held equally guilty of lacerating the law for selling the tigers and consigning them to a habitat eminently unsuitable for them. One tiger reportedly arrived in Lahore to a royal official welcome — there is no further news of the second tiger. Hopefully sense has prevailed.

According to a news report in the national press, father Shahbaz was rightly displeased with his son for his disregard of international laws and, at this point in time with the country in the state it is, for purchasing and importing highly priced and endangered wild animals. This was obviously seen to be a most non-politic move — and it was. The press latched on to it, unfavourably (this newspaper did well to editorialise on the subject on July 28).

The tiger has now been gifted by a chastised young Salman to the government of the NWFP which, we can only hope for the sake of the unfortunate beast, will be sent to and kept in an area climatically and otherwise suitable for its survival.

In glaring contrast, we read on July 30 that livestock worth Rs61.6bn was destroyed in the Malakand area during the military operation, which it seems is ongoing. Thousands upon thousands of cattle, sheep, goats, horses, donkeys, camels and fowl have been wantonly eliminated and their owners left bereft of a livelihood.

Shahbaz Sharif was right. Importing tigers illegally and for fun does not go down well under such circumstances.

This politician-animal act took me back to the far-off 1960s, to the time when a more or less law-abiding Pakistan that did recognise the rule of law was under the thumb of our first ‘military dictator’, Gen Ayub Khan. The minister in charge of communications and shipping, one of the general’s subjects from East Pakistan, was Khan Sabur Khan (‘Shobur’ as he was called by his compatriots), and he was the minister we dealt with when the family owned and enjoyed building and operating ships. (Sabur deserves an entire column to himself which one day I will write.)

Sabur’s office and home were in Rawalpindi (Islamabad was not even built). He would very often telephone, much to my discomfort, and say “Aajao, array bhai kya musibat hai!” This meant that I had to trudge all the way from Karachi to meet him.

On one particular occasion, Sabur’s principal secretary, Hafeezjee, received me in an agitated mood. 'The honourable minister is very distressed. He is waiting for you.' Sabur opened up: 'What a useless chief controller of imports and exports we have. I sent him a handwritten note asking him to issue an import licence for two chimpanzees and the stupid man, after a long delay, has just given me a permit allowing me to import two Chevrolets.' I laughed, and he continued 'Just look at our civil servants’ priorities — Chevrolets rather than chimpanzees.'

Not wishing to waste an import permit, Sabur, in true politician style, decided to import the Chevrolets which would make him richer and in addition have another permit issued for the chimpanzees with whom he could communicate and who would make him a very happy man. Could I help? At least, way back in those early days, there was less pretence. One could move — and work — faster.

Unlike his master, principal secretary Hafeezjee (Hafiz Muhammad Ilyas) was a God-fearing man. He was a numerologist and would calculate an action according to the movement of his star, the mighty Jupiter. He would act only when Jupiter, overriding all other stars, was in orbit.

He had been the principal secretary of communication ministers since the times of Mohammad Ali Jinnah, when Abdur Rab Nishtar was the first to be appointed, and he considered it to be his bounden duty to protect all his recalcitrant ministers. Hafeezjee was of the confirmed opinion that the eminently likeable Khan Sabur Khan was irredeemable.

In earlier days, those of our second governor-general, Khwaja Nazimuddin, we had stories about Khwaja’s pet rooster which caused quite a stir on occasions — but more about them another day.

By Ardeshir Cowasjee