Whether this is fiction or reality, this tale is very famous in my native region of Khushab, Shahpur. At that time, the district headquarters was not Sargodha but Shahpur. Sir Khizr Hayat Tiwana was the Prime Minister of Punjab, and his father Sir Umar Hayat Tiwana was spending his retired life on his Kalra estate. Due to his military service in the 18th Tiwana Lancers, he had received the honorary rank of General from Britain. After retirement, along with focusing on agriculture, he also fulfilled his hobbies. He was an excellent chess player, enjoyed worldwide fame for falconry hunting, and had kept dogs and horses of the finest breeds. Occasionally, he would travel from Kalra to Shahpur.

During one such visit, his eye fell upon a beautiful woman in Shahpur. He liked her so much that he sent a proposal of marriage to the house of this poor woman. After correspondence, the matter was settled. General Sir Umar Hayat Tiwana formally arrived in Shahpur as a groom, accompanied by drums and trumpets and a wedding procession, married the beauty, and took her to his estate. When that woman became Begum Tiwana, she became, as it were, General Sir Umar Hayat Tiwana’s Noor Jahan. Emperor Jahangir had given half his empire to his Noor Jahan; General Umar Hayat surpassed even Emperor Jahangir in love. Every week, on Thursday, he would send his wife to her parents’ home, and on Friday he would go to Shahpur as a groom with drums, trumpets, and a wedding procession, perform the marriage ritual with the same woman again, and bring her back to his home. This happened every week—the same groom, the same drums and trumpets, and even the wedding guests were old, but the ritual was of a new marriage.

Now there are neither estates left nor those Tiwanas and Nawabs who could afford such pastimes. Yet even in today’s world, the citizens of Contradictoria are continuously experiencing the experiment of a new marriage with old wedding guests. Every ruler and every new government, upon arrival, performs a new marriage. Drums and trumpets are played; the guests rejoice, hoping that after the marriage conditions will become peaceful. But when another new government arrives, it is revealed that now the system must be changed—meaning another new marriage must be arranged. Sadly, the wedding guests have grown weary of witnessing new marriages again and again. Now, no one even rejoices at system change, because if it is the same bride being married repeatedly and the wedding guests are also the same old ones, then where will the interest, enthusiasm, and joy remain in this drama?

The rituals of the marriage of the 27th Amendment are still underway, and preparations for yet another new marriage—the 28th Amendment—have already begun. When the drums of the 27th wedding are still beating, why such haste for the 28th? The wedding guests have grown tired of new marriages; after eating one-dish and the same dish again and again, they have lost all interest in wedding feasts. General Sir Umar Hayat Tiwana’s wedding guests were his own tenants and servants; therefore, they tolerated the same food, the same bride, and the same band and music. Now the wedding guests are ordinary people, and they are aware of the outcomes of these new marriages. They no longer have even the slightest interest in them.

Look at the history of Contradictoria: for seven years, there was no agreement on any draft of the constitution. Some success came in 1954, then the Constitution of 1956 arrived. Contradictoria’s marriage took place; drums, dances, and applause followed. The principle of parity was decided—that despite its larger population, East Pakistan would receive seats equal to West Pakistan. The intoxication of marriage was still ongoing, and preparations for the next new marriage—elections—were underway; a new Chief Election Commissioner had been appointed, when politicians were pushed aside and in 1958 Field Marshal Ayub Khan decided to arrange a new marriage.

This new marriage was celebrated with great joy. It is said that in the happiness of marriage, streets were cleaned, drains were whitewashed with lime, grills were installed on butcher shops, the system of Basic Democracies was launched, and instead of a parliamentary system, a presidential system was introduced. This marriage took place with great pomp; the wedding guests were extremely enthusiastic. In Contradictoria, the drums of agricultural and industrial revolutions began to beat. Everything appeared lush and green. But the manner in which the founder of Pakistan’s sister, Fatima Jinnah, was defeated, and the politics that followed, eventually lengthened the shadows of misfortune. Riots, prisons, and movements began to sour the joy of marriage.

During this time, General Yahya Khan prepared himself and, upon assuming power, arranged yet another marriage. This marriage—conducted in the name of parliamentary elections, neutrality, and discipline—met its tragic end in 1971. When the country broke apart, martial law, Yahya Khan, and the marriage all came to an end. With Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the country returned to the hands of politicians. The unanimous Constitution of 1973 was passed. The wedding guests were exceedingly happy at this new formal marriage of Contradictoria. This was a constitutional, democratic, consensual, and equal marriage.

But in Contradictoria, happiness is never permanent; its lifespan is short. In 1977, this constitutional marriage was robbed, and the bride of Contradictoria became part of General Zia-ul-Haq’s harem. Right-wing wedding guests were hopeful that previous marriages were un-Islamic; although they were legally valid, the Islamic spirit was missing from them. General Zia-ul-Haq was declared a man of faith, a man of truth. For eleven years, the old wedding guests suffered oppression and cruelty, while new guests kept chanting “man of faith, man of truth” and feasting at weddings day after day.

Then destiny sent its message to the skies, and everything burst into flames and scattered into the air. Once again, a democratic and constitutional era began. Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto awakened new hope, but in the words of the poet, “before we could even take flight, we were arrested.” Within eighteen months, a conspiracy was prepared and the government was completely uprooted. At least democracy survived; assemblies came back into existence. The 1990 election was marked by both glamour and noise. Nawaz Sharif became Prime Minister, and Mohtarma accepted the election results and chose to sit in the assembly.

Nawaz Sharif’s flight did not please Ghulam Ishaq Khan, and thus his rule too was toppled. Mohtarma returned once again, but this ox too could not climb the hill. In 1996, she was dismissed again, and Nawaz Sharif was brought back in 1997. This era lasted two years, when General Musharraf arrived wielding his stick. Once again, the uproar of a new marriage arose. The system began to change. Apparently, a good local government system was created, but since the intention was political and self-serving rather than for public welfare, General Pervez Musharraf’s “enlightened moderation,” like Ayub Khan’s Basic Democracies and Zia-ul-Haq’s Islamic democracy, could not endure.

Ten years passed under the spell of a new marriage. When General Pervez Musharraf departed, his enlightenment, the local government system, and the Q League all departed with him. Once again, democratic wedding drums were played, but this time the wedding guests were exhausted. They were divided into Nooni and Papli camps. Memo-gate, the capture of Osama bin Laden, and much else happened. Then in 2013, Nawaz Sharif’s wedding procession arrived, but harmony with the in-laws could not be achieved, and this era too departed quickly.

Now Imran Khan became the in-laws’ favored groom. He was brought with great enthusiasm; drums and trumpets were played, foreign wedding guests arrived adorned with flowers. But the in-laws did not like the groom’s manners, and now once again there is a new procession, a new groom—while the wedding guests are the same old ones. This time, even if only the food is changed, the same old taste, the same tablecloth, and the same old rituals will not be digestible.

A new marriage creates excitement; the groom, dressed and adorned in the procession, looks appealing. But repeated marriages to the same bride, and repeated disappointment with the outcomes of each marriage, have exhausted the wedding guests. Now, if the drum of the 28th marriage is beaten, instead of dancing, the guests may begin to wail—and the wedding itself may collapse in grief and sorrow.