Coughing wasn’t ceasing at all and she, who was standing right next to his bed, was all baffled up but still in a composed frame of mind because she was unaware of the fact that his prolonged coughing wasn’t just because of a mere throat infectivity. He was holding back something from her: one major secret of his principled living. Secrets are believed to be concealed and buried because upon their revelation some hearts get hurt but in this exceptional case it was not about one or two hearts but about an entire state that was at war. At that era disclosing his secret could simply lay waste to nation’s hardships and all could go in vain.
His work desk was always accompanied by a tin of Craven of which he used to smoke 50 or more a day for the past 30 years of his demanding life, disregarding the cuban ciggars he smoked. As a result his health got worse and worse in coming days. Reluctant to medical treatment still got caught up by a medical doctor who soon discovered the reason behind his prolonged coughing and gravely revealed the secret of his bad coughing to his only much-loved family close to him, his sister. Just as a pre-caution from getting hurt politically he made her, his secret-keeper.
His life was not a bed of roses, as envisioned by his followers. Not a single day in his life was wasted nor taken for granted. It were because of his ceaseless and relentless struggles and intelligent governance that a naïve nation, who had nothing were being accepted and supported by other nations of the world. Being over 70 and frail from lungs ailments still all that he cared about were “Kashmir”, “Refugees”, “Unfair distribution of the armor and wealth”, “Massacre going around in areas of Punjab” and other multifarious dilemmas.
Upon doctor’s request he along with his sister flew to the wintry mounts of Baluchistan, Quetta, which were suppose to give him rest both in mind and flesh. Still he used to toil over there, address from there and visit places fulfiiling the duties of a Governor General of a newly established state.
On the first day of July he had to fly back to his home town to attend a public event,
which stood out to be his last event ever attended, “The Opening Ceremony of State Bank of Pakistan”.Five days later he returned back to Quetta accompanied by his sister, who was always by his side throughout his struggles and triumphs. Quetta wasn’t cold enough to provide him just right milieu, which was required according to his doctor,
for improvement in his health.
Upon the advice of doctor he moved to a little elevated, incredibly chilly and additional peaceful setting, Ziarat.
Upon getting shoddier day by day, the Government of the new state sent the preeminent doctors over there for his check-ups. The tests that were performed confirmed Tuberculosis along with verification of highly developed lung cancer. His sister was now fully aware of the fact that what was behind his deceitful coughing.
His physician, Colonel Ilahi Baksh, felt helpless but still was hoping for a miracle to
happen . “Sir, we have given you an injection to strengthen you, and it will soon have effect. God willing, you are going to live”, assuring to his patient Col. Ilahi said. “No, I am not” were the last words he spoke to anybody before he died about half an hour later. Leaving behind a great legacy, a great nation to be and his all worth just for the people who were dwelling on that soil for which he served his integral existence, his every part of intelligence, his entire struggle and after everything else his own health.
A man’s whole strength, prosperity and family were neglected. His entire life was hectically lived for one nation which today I can proudly label as “My Pakistan”…
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