The Hands Deserve The Books BY ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE (JR97MH06)
Child Labour is a crime against
humanity. At this juncture I am reminded of a very moving story about one of
the world’s greatest humanitarians Abraham Lincoln. The time, at which this
episode took place, Lincoln was a candidate for a congress seat. And on that
day, he had an important election speech to deliver. But he also had a far
greater task to perform. A noble cause to fight for.
He
cancelled his election speech and entered the jam-packed court, which was
already in session. Unnoticed, he sat down in the last row. The case being
ended, the District Attorney rose and moved the trial of John Wilson for
murder. There was a stir through the courtroom. In the doorway appeared the
Sheriff, leading a childish figure, a boy of ten, dressed in poor homemade clothes.
He was pale and desperately frightened. The judge faced the criminal, paused
pityingly and steadied himself. “Have you a lawyer?” He asked. The lad shook
his unkempt yellow head. “No, I dunno anybody. I ain’t got- Money- to pay”.
The
boy was in tears, his widowed mother was sobbing near him. “Do you wish the
court to assign you a counsel?” In the stillness a boot scraped the floor. The
man in the back seat rose, “May it please your honour” he said. “I am a lawyer.
I should be glad to act as a Counsel for the Defense”. The Judge looked for a
moment at the loose-hung, towering figure. “What is your name?” He asked. The
man answered quietly “Abraham Lincoln”. Lincoln, who gave his life to abolish
slavery, had come that day to re-pay a debt.
Years
back, when he was a struggling non-entity, the family of the then well to do
little boy, then a baby, had given Lincoln solace and succor. Subsequently, the
boy’s father died and the family was in a miserable state of abject poverty.
The boy, John had to work due to force of circumstances, in a farm of one
heartless man who was Shaughnessy by name. He was a cruel tormentor. One day,
he started beating the boy so mercilessly that the desperate defenseless boy
struck his tormentor’s head with a pitchfork. The man died after some time. The
boy was charged for murder. This was the story. It was commonly said that the
boy was doomed; No lawyer, even a smart one could get him off after some
seemingly convincing evidence. But in the courtroom that day was no ordinary
man. It was the great Lincoln, the unique humanist, who had come, jeopardizing
his future career by cancelling his election speech, for a great cause- even
greater than his own magnificence.
“Gentlemen
of the jury,” began Abraham Lincoln. I am going to try this case in a manner
not customary in courts. I shall not call witnesses; the little prisoner over
there is all the witness I want. I shall not argue. You know that at an age
when this boy’s hands should have held schoolbooks or a fishing rod, they held
the man’s tool that was his undoing; you know how a grown man goaded the child
till in desperation he used the tool at hand. All I ask is that you deal with
the little fellow, as you would have other men deal in such a case with little
fellow’s of your own at home. Before the verdict, for a second, perhaps, no one
breathed in that packed mass. ‘Not guilty’ was the verdict.
It
was a momentous Victory for a great cause. The cause of tormented and exploited
‘Johns’ of America.
My
story is an inspiration from the former. It is about the ‘Asims’ of Pakistan. A
familiar figure in the homes of Pakistan. The not so lucky ones in the houses.
I differentiate because cold callous concrete houses consist of ruthlessness.
For
one such house Asim worked. His mother was a widow and she washed dishes and
clothes for her ‘Begum Sahiba’ who had suggested this couple for Asim’s
employment. Asim had formerly tried his hand as a motor mechanic, but as
circumstances would have it his boss had closed his workshop because of lack of
funds.
After
getting the job, Asim worked for Amina and Aslam where he was required to do
all the dirty and hard jobs. To clean the bathrooms, to sweep outdoors in the
harsh summer sun of Karachi. On the face of it everything seemed fine. His
masters bullied him sometimes. They would feed him with leftovers and not give
him new clothes to wear, although he tore his own clothes doing the dirty work.
Maybe, it was because poor Asim had not experienced the luxury of life. He
could not tell that he was being dealt with severely.
Amina
was a frustrated woman. Aslam had two wives and she hated sharing him with his
other wife. Maybe this was the reason for her being so cruel.
One
ill-fated day, Amina entered the house and heard a noise in the kitchen. A
glass had slipped from Asim’s hands and was in splinters.
In
a rage, she ignited a matchstick and placed it on Asim’s hands. Singed he ran
out, followed by Amina who seemed in a frenzy. Luckily, for him, she was heavy
and could not move as fast as he.
In
his mother’s embrace he told his story, to his mother’s mistress who listened
patiently. She could not even think that Amina could do this to Asim. She was
determined to amend the wrong done to him.
She
went to Amina’s house, but Amina completely denied that she had been cruel. She
knew Amina was scared of being blamed publicly. So Asim’s mother’s mistress
threatened Amina to compensate Asim for her ill-doings or she would go to the
Police.
Amina
was asked to pay a handsome amount to Asim for a life-time in lieu of her
attempt to burn Asim’s hand, which escaped several burns because of him not losing
his senses and wrapping up his hand tightly so that no air was left to blow the
flame.
Asim’s
mother’s won the money and with that money Asim joined school with zeal to
become something, and look after his mother.
