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I had agreed to lecture in Pakistan because I wanted to visit the Kalasha people in the Northwest Frontier Province, in the high mountains at the Afghan border outside Chitral. This was not an easy trip; and my host sent one of his employees with me, a very kind man who quickly became a good friend, although he stoutly maintained that I was insane to want to visit the Kalashas. The Kalashas are Indo-Iranian pagans: neither Zoroastrian nor Hindu and predating both, they practice a polytheistic, shamanistic religion. The region across the Afghan border where their co-religionists used to live was called Kafiristan, “Land of the Unbelievers”, and Rudyard Kipling wrote a Masonic fantasy novel, “The Man Who Would Be King”, set there. The heroes are two British soldiers. The Afghans forcibly converted the Kaffirs (Kalashas, that is) to Islam and renamed the place Nuristan, “Land of Light”. I taught and researched that stuff once upon a time, and although it all seemed terribly interesting, my poor guide and I became deathly ill and barely made it out of the mountains to Peshawar. Where I would have died, if not for the laughing cure. And what is that, you may ask?
I was lying in bed in the hotel bungalow at Peshawar sweating, with no energy left save to read the newspaper and listen to the radio on my Walkman. The newspaper, the Frontier Post, had a Friday supplement which that day featured an article on how Islamic punishments are good for you. To explain, these were the days of the benevolent rule of General Zia al-Haq (soon to be blown up, if I recall rightly, in a standard transfer of power), and various acts deemed offensive by Sharia law were punishable by public flogging on one’s backside. This was a great entertainment, and delighted citizens flocked in their tens of thousands to stadiums to relish the spectacle. The author of the thoughtful piece, which if memory serves me right was the lead article on the science page, informed his learned readers that getting spanked on the butt is, ah, stimulating, which just proves that Islam is scientific and humane even in matters of criminal justice, etc. Like any red blooded gay male I hugely enjoyed this unintentional BDSM classic (the Folsom Street fair, Muslim-style), but my chuckles turned to hysterical laughter as Radio Pakistan launched into its daily afternoon program, Melli naghma– “Nationalistic tunes”. Number one on the charts that day was a song called Pakistan hemara hai, “Pakistan belongs to us”. The lyric quatrains in Urdu were the predictably noxious, hate-filled, anti-Indian fare; but what reduced me to helpless mirth was the refrain: an artillery barrage! Pa-ki-stan he-ma-ra hai! La la-la la-la la LA! BOOM! Boom! Boom! I laughed so hard that whatever was ailing me exploded out every bodily orifice, and by the next day I was just fit enough to fly on to Karachi.
I almost didn’t make my flight the day after that back
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