Whether anyone knows it or not, I know that I am the blind man of Sawan. Decades have passed since I last experienced the monsoon. Earlier, the Sawan (monsoon) used to be short and brief; now, the Sawans are becoming longer. The rains once brought cool breezes and pleasantness, but now, like the people of Europe, I am afraid of rain. When it rains, it does not stop; rivers overflow, cities and villages are flooded. When such is the condition, then blindness is bound to come upon those who endure Sawan. Many, even after knowing their ailment, refuse to admit it but I know that, like the blind man of Sawan, I see only greenness everywhere.

Everyone around me is also a blind man of Sawan one-colored, one-sided. They neither know the other perspective nor do they wish to know it. When Sawan keeps pouring endlessly, when all around are blind men of Sawan, when no color other than green is visible, then one should realize that the disease of blindness has spread.

The Nobel Prize–winning American novelist Ernest Hemingway made rain a symbol of destruction in his famous novel *A Farewell to Arms*, written in the context of war and peace in the novel, whenever it rains, destruction follows. In the Eastern tradition, rain is a sign of fertility, freshness, and greenery. But the change of seasons has made Sawan terrifying. In the past, people used to take holidays during Sawan to celebrate romance, but today’s Sawan brings not romance but floods and turbulence. And above all, its effects are falling upon the human psyche.

When I first began to suffer from blindness, I restlessly sought peace by searching for the “perfect spiritual guide” of this ideological disease. I realized that to exorcise the demon of blindness, I needed such a healer who, even with eyes closed, would not see only green in Sawan who could also clearly see other colors, who would not be one-sided or one-colored, but multicolored and many-sided. After years of penance, I finally found such a person in S. M. Zafar, who, despite having his own personal beliefs, could also understand opposing viewpoints. He was not obsessed with proving himself right; he did not wish to label others as false, but rather believed that even in his opponent’s viewpoint, there existed truth.

In 1997, when *Daily Jang* decided to celebrate Pakistan’s Golden Jubilee the completion of 50 years special pages were published highlighting every aspect of the nation’s ups and downs. As a journalist, the issue we faced was that everyone was biased, prejudiced, and a party to some side. Some opposed Iskander Mirza, some refused to forgive Ayub Khan. To some, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto possessed all virtues while General Zia-ul-Haq possessed all vices. But our purpose was to present the strengths and weaknesses of every era. In this context, I conversed with S. M. Zafar about the positive and negative aspects of all Pakistan’s rulers. Without any personal prejudice, he separated each ruler’s good and bad qualities in such a way that, for the first time, I understood why the blind man of Sawan cannot see other colors.

I used to treat my blindness with his therapy. But since he departed to the other world, I have found no doctor who understands this ailment or can cure it. When everyone is blind, then the blindness must be cured on a national level. For that, not one thinker or doctor is needed but a great leader, who can treat all the blind men of Sawan on a national scale, so that they may begin to see colors other than green.

The Sufi poet Bulleh Shah used to say:

*”Chal Bulhia chal othe chaliye jithe saare anhe”*

(“Come, Bulleh, let us go where everyone is blind.”)

He wished that no one should recognize him, nor should anyone call him the patient of Sawan’s disease. Perhaps he, too, understood the society of his time and reached the same conclusion that even then, people were spiritually blind. Maybe Sawan was not as stormy then, but in the realms of justice, power, and religion, the blind men of Sawan were seated. He likely preferred those who were physically blind over those who were blind in spirit.

Today, the problem is that I, the self-proclaimed blind man of Sawan, am lost in my own self. This mad “Baba Jhalla” (crazy sage) considers himself the source of all intellect and wisdom regards his own opinion as authentic, correct, and true, while considering every other opinion unreliable and false. This madman believes that the green he sees everywhere in the universe is the only real color. He neither perceives other colors nor recognizes the diversity and vibrancy of creation.

Not only I here, everyone is a blind man of Sawan, everyone is mad, everyone considers himself truthful, everyone considers himself honest. And these madmen want to erase all other colors from the universe they wish to destroy every differing point of view, suppress and silence every voice of dissent.

The blind men of Sawan breed conflict, war, destruction, and discord because they want only their own color to prevail everywhere. It is these blind men of Sawan who have made today’s world the center of fanaticism, extremism, destruction, and terrorism. In Bulleh Shah’s time, this disease mostly afflicted those seated in the halls of power; but now, every beast wears a crest, every jackal dons the lion’s skin and all these blind men of Sawan wish to run the nation according to their own will, erasing every other color and imposing their own.

In the past, such destructive Sawans have come and gone. But now, the Sawan is long so the intellectual battle against this “Sawan-ness” will also be long.

I, the blind man of Sawan the madman, the black-faced, the self-obsessed fool believe that this world is mine, will remain mine, and whatever I wish will happen here. My command, my ideology, my politics will prevail. I, under the power of Sawan, wield my whip but the rays of the sun frighten me. When they appear, the greenness of Sawan fades, and the blind no longer see only green. Then the colors of the rainbow begin to emerge.

Throughout history, the blind men of Sawan have dominated for long periods eras of oppression and tyranny have lasted decades. The rain of Sawan has symbolized Hemingway’s destruction; the springs of intellect and wisdom have dried up; ignorance has ruled. All this has happened before but no matter how long Sawan lasts, it must eventually end. No matter how much the blind may win, ultimately the sighted will prevail over the blind. Insight and vision will overthrow ignorance and oppression.When the green of Sawan is stained with the red blood of the oppressed, then neither Sawan remains, nor the color green. Then the color of blood devours every other color. I, the blind man of Sawan, fear only this blood-colored hue it breaks suffocation, tyranny, and injustice. Call it revolution, the freedom of democracy, or the surge of thought and vision by whatever name you call it.

Someone must cure the blindness of Sawan or some new S. M. Zafar must arise, who can show colors beyond the green.