The Gifts Of Wali Dad

By Fizza Ali

In a mud hut on the outskirts of the village called Kahror Pakka lived an old Faqir named Wali Dad. Every day he was visited by dozens of villagers seeking advice on all sorts of problems. He refused to accept any money from them, so they occasionally brought him presents.

One evening Wali Dad received a poetry book with a cover of solid gold.

“What will I do with this finery?” he said to himself. “I have all I need.”

He thought for some time and came up with an idea.

The next evening, when his visitors were leaving, he called aside one of them: a merchant.

“You go all over the country,” Wali Dad said. “Tell me, who is the noblest lady in the country?”

“Without doubt,” the merchant replied, “it is Dr. Firdous Ashiq Awan, the Minister for Information. I often visit her mahal, just an hour’s journey from here.”

“Do me a kindness,” said Wali Dad. “The next time you visit her mahal, give her this book, with my compliments.”

The merchant looked astonished. Who had ever heard of a Faqir sending a present to a lady? However, he agreed.

When the merchant went to visit the infamous Minister, he presented to her the gift from Wali Dad.

“Is the gold real?” she inquired, closely examining the cover of the golden book.

The merchant nodded.

Dr. Firdous called for a servant and whispered in his ear.

“I too have a gift for your friend,” she announced with all the authority of a Minister for Information of PPP. “Wait in the lobby for a few seconds.”

After three long hours of his patience being tested, the merchant was handed a package and allowed to leave.

He returned home and brought the package to Wali Dad. The old Faqir was surprised to see the same poetry book as the one he had sent, albeit with a cover of silver.

“What will I do with this wealth?” he said to himself.

He thought for a moment and then asked the merchant, “Who is the most beautiful lady in the country?”

“Without doubt,” the merchant replied, “it is Kashmala Tariq, the MNA. I visit her fortress often, just an hour’s journey from here.”

“Do me a kindness,” Wali Dad said. “The next time you happen to pass that way, give her this present, with my compliments.”

Once again, the merchant was astonished. Two ladies at once! But he consented.

When the merchant visited the fortress, he presented to the MNA Wali Dad’s gift.

“Has your baba jee never heard of gemstones?” she inquired, running her fingers through her long hair.

The merchant shook his head.

She rolled her eyes, called for a servant, handed him the book and ordered him to “return the favour.”

The merchant was politely asked to wait in the lobby for a few minutes. An hour later, he left with a package for the old man.

“This is growing worse!” Wali Dad declared. “I beg you, brother, take the package to the lady doctor.”

The merchant was amused.

When he visited the castle again, the Minister inquired, “Are those gemstones real?”

The merchant nodded.

“Wait in the lobby.”

When the merchant returned to Wali Dad, the Faqir groaned, “Give this to the beautiful lady.”

The merchant departed, now getting annoyed.

“Doesn’t your baba jee know that I’m allergic to bronze!” the MNA jumped from her seat, sneezing. This man…I must know what he wants with me. Even with my beautiful hair, I’m no Rapunzel!”

Escorted by the rusty Suzuki Mehran of the poor merchant, MNA Kashmala Tariq set out with her contingent of bodyguards on a mission to “disappoint the baba jee.”

As her troops neared the battlefield, the commander shouted, “I sense movement! Double strength! Fast approaching!”

“Oh is this the end?” the damsel in distress said in a nasal voice. “I must brush my hair!”

Both parties halted in front of the Faqir’s open door, face to face with each other.

“Kashmala…” the doctor hissed.

“Firdous…” a plucked eyebrow rose.

Silence.

“You know what this means,” both eyebrows quivered.

“War…!”

An ugly version of a war cry escaped a pretty mouth as noble hands tore at silky hair.

Wali Dad closed the door and slowly walked to his dari.

“Women,” he sighed.