The legendary Speaker of India, Prem Shankar Jha, is quoted as saying that the Speaker of an Assembly wears a garland of thorns around his neck; whether he bends this way or that, there are thorns on both sides. Prem Shankar Jha narrated this saying during an interview with Frontier Post in 1990, as recounted by Mian Manzoor Ahmed Wattoo. This saying became etched in my mind. It seems that Mian Manzoor Wattoo spent his entire life carefully avoiding thorns, constantly removing the thorns from his path and moving forward. This writer’s association with Mian Manzoor Wattoo spans forty years. During this period, I have been an eyewitness to moments of his rise and hardship, and also a beneficiary who learned from his patience and forbearance.

Mian Manzoor Wattoo did not achieve any success easily. Obstacles and mountains of difficulties kept appearing in his path, yet like Farhad, he kept removing stones one by one and carving out his own way. Just imagine how a middle-rank landlord from Haveli Lakha, whose father was openly Ahmadi, managed to advance in a religiously extremist society like ours. His father was neither a political leader nor ever contested elections. Around him stood political banyan trees like Mian Yaseen Wattoo, and influential figures like Ghulam Muhammad Ahmed Khan Maneka. In such circumstances, how did he establish his own political standing?

In provincial politics, Nawaz Sharif and Chaudhry Pervaiz Elahi were far bigger names than him—more powerful, more influential, wealthier, and more popular—yet he defeated both, attained the Chief Ministership of Punjab, and then ran it resolutely. Was this victory the result of his intellect, understanding, and political acumen, or was he merely a product of circumstances? When grand alliances were formed, he had to negotiate with Benazir Bhutto, Hamid Nasir Chattha, and Maulana Fazlur Rehman. To increase weight against Benazir Bhutto, he placed the weight of Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan and Maulana Fazlur Rehman in his own scale and stood firm.

He became Speaker of the Punjab Assembly three times, Chief Minister of Punjab three times, and then a Federal Minister. Alone, solitary, middle-class, and rural, he conquered every peak. Whether obstacles or thorns appeared in Wattoo’s path, he kept picking them with his eyelashes and moved forward, eventually descending into the valley of death—where there will be no thorn and no obstacle, and where his eternal sleep will be peaceful.

When Punjab Governor General Ghulam Jilani Khan cast his eye on Mian Manzoor Wattoo, just as he preferred a new face like Nawaz Sharif over Malik Allah Yar Khanda, Makhdoom Hassan Mahmood, Chaudhry Pervaiz Elahi, and several old acquaintances, he also nominated Manzoor Wattoo—an old worker of Tehreek-e-Istaqlal who had been elected to the Assembly for the first time—as Speaker of the Provincial Assembly. General Ghulam Jilani spent his entire life associated with the intelligence services. He was a Pathan from Jandiala Sher Khan, yet keen-sighted and perceptive. Both individuals selected by him shone in future politics in such a way that one must applaud General Jilani’s discerning eye.

Manzoor Wattoo had been a member of the Provincial Council and an active and effective representative of local government institutions. Perhaps this was what proved his qualification for becoming Speaker.

Great men have great problems as well. Manzoor Wattoo had two marriages. When there was a delay in having children from the first marriage, a second marriage was arranged according to rural custom. An interesting incident occurred: after the second marriage, the first child was born from the first wife. Often, men with two marriages become entangled in domestic disputes, rivalries between co-wives, and issues of biological and step-children, and fall far behind in the race of life. But Manzoor Wattoo removed this family obstacle just as gracefully as he removed religious obstacles.

Each of his daughters was assigned, for one week at a time, the responsibility of caring for their father—tidying his room, giving medicines, and managing his meals. This duty was assigned to each daughter in turn. Through this, they gained closeness to their father and also received proper upbringing. The days and duties of the wives were also fixed. For a long time, one wife lived in the village and the other in the city. All the children stayed with the city wife for education, while the village wife sent milk, butter, flour, and honey. The upbringing of the sons was very strict. When guests came to the house, the sons themselves served the food. While the guests ate, all the sons stood with their hands folded, waiting to see if anyone needed anything, so they could render service and please their father.

Wattoo Sahib was politics personified. He had a passionate, almost obsessive love for politics. Forty years ago, his Tehreek-e-Istaqlal companion and my benefactor, Munir Ahmed Khan, introduced me to him. A writer’s bedding and covering is the pursuit of knowledge and the knots of politics; therefore, over forty years, our conversations remained centered on politics alone. Sometimes, as Chief Minister, I had the opportunity to walk with him in the lawns of Club Road; sometimes I went to his village and whispered political confidences with him.

In short, I witnessed both his grandeur and pomp as Chief Minister and observed his most difficult political moment as well—when a no-confidence motion was moved against him and he reached the PML-N’s Model Town office stripped and looted. Instead of being received with open arms, he was deliberately made to hear: “Allah grants honor to whom He wills and humiliation to whom He wills.” After this cold reception, it was decided that there was no place for Wattoo in the N-League. He was already displeased with the People’s Party—so where was he to go now?

I remember once, while walking in the lawn of the Chief Minister’s House, I tried to give advice beyond my age and suggested that he should become President of the Punjab People’s Party. The Chattha League or the Wattoo League was a paper boat; its vessel could sink any day. At that time, power and authority were at their zenith. The Chief Ministership felt stronger than the Prime Ministership, and it was only a matter of waiting for something to happen by divine intervention that would seat him in Islamabad from Lahore—because Nawaz Sharif had already taken that route.

In response to my advice, Wattoo Sahib said: “Right now I have 18 MPAs. In the next election, there will be 50. Then neither the N-League nor the People’s Party will be able to form a government without us.” Wattoo Sahib removed the thorns of life, cleared the stones and obstacles from his path, yet many of his dreams remained unfulfilled.

At one time, he published his assets in newspapers and challenged anyone to raise a finger at his honesty. It was the era of General Musharraf; NAB’s teeth were sharp. Wattoo Sahib was sent to jail. He vented his anguish by writing “Jurmm-e-Siyasat” (The Crime of Politics), but eventually he became a companion of General Musharraf. The ever-benevolent Chaudhry Tariq Aziz came to his aid, and he became Federal Minister for Industries. This was the last office he held.

Wattoo Sahib’s rise was indebted to his patience and tolerance. Throughout his life, like a good and ideal Speaker, he carried both the treasury benches and the opposition along with him.

There have been many renowned Wattoos—Ghulam Muhammad Ahmed Khan Maneka Wattoo, Yaseen Khan Thakkar’s Wattoo, Ata Maneka Wattoo, and Khadim Hussain Kalu’s Wattoo—but Manzoor Ahmed Tajika Wattoo came from the weakest background among them and emerged as the crown of the Wattoos in fame and success. He was Tajika Wattoo—so becoming a crown was only fitting…