Mary Jane, Merry Christmas

On joining government service I had undertaken that I would be required to serve anywhere inside or outside Pakistan, I recalled on learning when I was transferred to Balochistan.

I was flying back from Multan, Khadija worked in World Bank, I am transferred to Balochistan, I told her, ‘Remember! when you land in Quetta, Mount Murdar will scare you, but after few days you will start romancing with these mountains.’

I guess she was right. I was fascinated by the beauty of Quetta valley and its surroundings. Bolan is beautiful. British did great work by bringing rail to the area. Gigantic task achieved tunnels and rail infrastructure made in Victorian style. Summit along “Kolpur” is impressive. Kolpur and Muslim Bagh, are railway stations, one of them was believed to be railway station on highest altitude (fact needs to be verified.) Dozan is beautiful railway station before Kolpur. Radha Mal Sri Chand is small grocery store at Kolpur. Sri Chand and his younger brother Sanjay are very friendly. On Eid day, I had no friend but Munir Badini to see and was soon on road; except Sri Chand and Sanjay no one was there to give me company. We enjoyed `Pakorqs’ on Eid Qurban, Sanjay brought cold water from Kolpur Railway Station. Water had tinge of iron tank in which it was stored.

Sri Chand said village would not be complete without Muslims and Hindus.

Mary Jane tunnel is next to Dozan Railway Station. It looks like replica of English countryside railway station. Next to huge rocks meandering railway track double, one track was structure for runway trains.

Platform was survived by steel bench and rockbowl with device to measure rainfall. Quarters were ready to collapse, half dead vine climber moaning ignorance of time.

Windy corner is aptly named tunnel. Wind passes with force through this entrance in Bolan Pass all the year round.

Why tunnel is named “Mary Jane” I was inquisitive, no information was available. I could only learn through chronicle record by one English deputy commissioner that two men, one was Rich ard Steele crossed over to Kwas From Dera Ghazi Khan in 7th century stayed in inn and were overcharged tax. When railway line was being made with the help of local workers it appeared to be a non starter. Two Balochs sitting over rock laughed at the idea, one half carved little tunnels is still overlooking nearby road. Mary Jane was young lady who came from Britain to meet English engineer of railway project, may be her fiance. She died accidentally due to blasting or snake or insect bite. People talked different things.

On Christmas day, I was determined to locate her grave, visit to local cemetery, had earlier revealed she was not there among her community. Someone remarked Mary Jane was laid to rest over the tunnel.

I took green branch and drove to Dozan station.

‘Why ‘Sab’ comes here,’ a levy man asked my driver. He did not object to my climbing of the tunnel. I thought when this tunnel was being made British were also approaching Kandhar from Kabul, marching under General Frederick Sleigh Roberts. They marched on foot. My grandfather was part of that expedition. His heroism won him Kandhar Star. If my grandfather could march from Kabul to Kandhar, why I could not climb these mountains. I did succeed in climbing but could not see grave of Mary Jane. Mission was yet to be accomplished. Green branch was in my hand to be laid on Marry Jane’s tomb on Christmas morning. My prayer was solitary.

 ‘Mary on this day when Jesus was born your family must be celebrating Christmas in England. Somewhere few generations down the line. I wonder someone would be remembering you. You came here, you were young in days and dreams.

Yet your cherished days had to come but death’

I am here to remember you, you are not alone. Souls are immortal, you came to this land, which is mine, I could only bring this green branch to place over your grave, you belong to this land, you belong to us. Merry Christmas, Mary Jane.’

Dal Badin is on Taftan RCD Highway, where Queen Noor Jehan was born at `Yak Mach’. Rukmani Devi was young when she lost her husband, her son was her hope, it was on festivity when he was wearing new clothes, taking sweets, enjoying when he decided to go for a ride with his friend on motorbike and was hit by speeding vehicle. He was no more.

Second shock for Rukinani Devi was in waiting, she fell prey to blood cancer. Nature has her own ways. ‘Puja’ was arranged for her recovery and “Prashad” was to be distributed, when someone realised papers on which it was being distributed perhaps had some sacred inscriptions. Next morning mob attacked the locality.

Rukmani Devi’s deadly disease was too strong to be cured. She breathed her last. She is survived by a daughter, I pray for her life.

Nazima Talib was young educationist imparting education in Quetta, Assistant Professor, mid way professional, life had lot to offer to her, her young son, family, but what happened to her, she just drove one morning on rickshaw but was gunned down.

I have only heavy heart and tears for honourable, Mary, Rukmani and Nazima. I don’t know why these tragedies occurred to innocent ladies and why I am being reminded.

‘I weep for Adonais, Adonais is dead.’