Following the Eastern tradition of self-reproach, the classical Punjabi poet and author of Saif-ul-Malook, Mian Muhammad Bakhsh (RA), wrote:

> I know that I am false and God is true; God’s court is truthful.
I have committed countless mistakes, yet God conceals everyone’s faults.

(Meaning: I know that I am false and God is true; I have made countless errors, but God is the One who covers everyone’s shortcomings.)

When one institution refuted my column by saying, “this was false,” I adopted this self-reproach in the tradition of Mian Muhammad Bakhsh (RA) and began calling myself a “certified liar.” For the record, I have always said that history will decide who is truthful and who is not.

I realize that very few people understand symbolism, metaphor, poetry, literature, and Eastern traditions. But it became interesting when my calling myself a “certified liar” pleased both a brave supporter of PTI and a powerful figure in authority. One officially retweeted it, and the other made a vlog—without understanding that Bulleh Shah compared himself to a courtesan:

> “By becoming a courtesan, my honor does not diminish.”

Ghalib called himself a drunkard, useless, and disgraced. Allama Iqbal said, “My soul is an old sinner.” Shah Hussain wrote, “Hussain has gone mad; people think he is insane.” After reading such examples from great figures, has anyone ever attributed their self-reproach to their actual character or actions? Then, respected gentlemen, why do you insist on elevating this sinner to the grand status of a “certified liar”? Instead, try to build the world envisioned by Bulleh Shah and Jhalla Shah. Sing songs of love as desired by Mian Muhammad Bakhsh and this humble writer. Fulfill Shah Hussain’s wish by ending the divide between rich and poor.

This columnist has had political disagreements and will continue to do so, but has never indulged in personal attacks. However, some respected colleagues have started a tradition of personal criticism by interpreting everything in their own way. They neither ask the anchor, writer, or author, nor try to understand the point. At least seek help, read a book, learn from a teacher—or even use ChatGPT—to understand that calling oneself a “certified liar” is satire, humor, and part of a tradition of self-reproach. Remember, history decides truth and falsehood. Only God is true; humans each carry their own versions of truth and lies, and the ultimate judgment lies with the Creator. This is exactly what Mian Muhammad Bakhsh expressed.

Against Bulleh Shah, the Qazi, clerics, and the public of Kasur all united. Jhalla Shah is nothing compared to his dust, yet he found joy when both the powerful and the PTI supporters united against him. What greater sign of truth can there be today than both sides, trapped in ego and stubbornness, standing together against Jhalla Shah? The reason is that both were once cut from the same cloth. These so-called brave fugitives were all nurtured in the nursery of power. They lack the ability to think independently, to read, to analyze impartially—yet consider themselves all-knowing. Whereas the first step of knowledge is to accept one’s own ignorance.

This humble writer generally does not believe in responding to personal attacks; the passage of time and history itself answers many questions. But this two-sided attack has not worried me—it has surprised me. Apparently, the powerful and PTI supporters are at odds with each other. The powerful consider those who write in favor of PTI as enemies, and PTI supporters target those aligned with the powerful. But how have they both united against this writer? Do they not recognize friend from foe? Do they not use reason? Do they derive contradictory meanings from the same matter? Do they even struggle to understand simple Urdu? I have no answers, but I am pleased that two rivals have united against me and revived their past friendship. Bravo indeed.

There was a time when writers, politicians, and readers were refined, cultured, and perceptive. Today, whether it is government propaganda or PTI scandals, everything is tasteless, uncultured, and rude. Opposition leader Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan would poetically reinterpret the word “Zia” (light) as darkness. Governments used metaphors like “thorn and weed” for opponents. In parliament, poetry was used to enjoy satire and humor. Across the world, speech and writing are considered an art—what would those nurtured in nurseries know of such art? They entered journalism like Skylab and fled like fugitives at the first opportunity, yet became “brave.” May God bless them with their status; let them earn dollars—but at least learn the craft through which they earn their livelihood.

This humble columnist, along with other learned and refined journalists, is still learning even after climbing step by step over four decades. But the so-called trained ones neither understand depth, nor satire, nor humor. Allusions and symbolism are far beyond them.

Whether sacred religious texts or Eastern and Western literature, all are filled with stories, metaphors, and allegories. In Western literature, Jonathan Swift wrote about the land of dwarfs; the courtly customs he described were actually a critique of British monarchs and their courts. Rumi’s mentor Fariduddin Attar, in Mantiq-ut-Tair, likened the soul’s spiritual journey to the flight of birds. Nietzsche’s Superman and Iqbal’s Shaheen were also metaphors. Pakistan being called the second Islamic state after Medina is also an example. PTI calling its supporters “cheetahs”—does it really mean turning them into animals? No, it is a metaphor. Similarly, calling oneself false, using birds or animals as examples—all of this has existed in writing for centuries and is considered the beauty of expression. This poor writer is admittedly incompetent and feels ashamed for using this art in such a crude manner.

This humble writer once again repeats: “I am a certified liar.” Those in power and PTI supporters may mock, criticize, and consider me unreliable and false—because “I know I am false, God is true.” Call me whatever you wish; every stone you throw is a flower to me, every accusation a medal, every mockery a source of comfort, every sarcastic smile a balm for the heart, every insult like a prayer. My only request is this: throw as many stones as you like at me, but for the sake of the country, stop personal attacks against each other. Maintain political differences, because personal animosity turns into stubborn ego—and clashes of ego do not uplift a nation, they drag it down.