by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal
Every human being cherishes a dream—an aspiration to possess a home of his own. A dwelling not merely of brick and mortar but of security, joy, and permanence. A sanctuary where his family may live with dignity, free from external threats, sheltered from the storms of nature, and protected from the unpredictable hand of fate. The head of the household, armed with his determination and sustained by the cooperation of his loved ones, sets out to build his home. He spends his lifetime earnings, his sweat, and his energy upon it. His resources may fall short, his desires may exceed his reach, yet he does not despair. Instead, he prepares a roadmap with his family; today, we shall lay the foundation; tomorrow, as fortune improves, we shall raise its walls higher, polish its beauty, and strengthen its roots.
But the laws of life are immutable. Every man who comes into this world must one day depart, leaving his dreams and his labors to his heirs. The father who built the house must one day return to his Almighty Allah. Then, the responsibility of the house falls upon the shoulders of the surviving family. The vital questions arise; what gaps remain, what weaknesses must be filled, and which member of the family will bear which responsibility to preserve and enhance the legacy of the father?
Such was the role of Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the Father of the Nation, in the creation of Pakistan. He was not an ordinary leader; he was the master architect of a homeland for the Muslims of the Sub Continent. He sacrificed comforts that most men would have jealously guarded. The most successful lawyer of his age, who could have spent his life in affluence either in India or in the grandeur of England, forsook personal ease and plunged into the raging storms of politics. He stood alone against two formidable adversaries—the British Empire and the Hindu majority leadership—and wrested from their unwilling hands a separate homeland for the Muslims of India. On August 14, 1947, after relentless struggle, sacrifices, and an unyielding determination, Pakistan came into existence.
But what a fragile birth it was! This nation was not born into luxury but into chaos and bloodshed. Millions of Muslims migrated across burning plains and hostile frontiers. Countless were slaughtered, abducted, or left destitute. Resources were scarce; industries, banks, and administrative structures were absent; the new state received only 750 million rupees as its share of the treasury, staggered in two installments, while India deliberately withheld essential equipment and resources. Refugee camps overflowed, epidemics spread, and the fledgling government struggled to find offices in makeshift buildings. Yet, despite these insurmountable odds, the Quaid gave us confidence. He reminded us that Pakistan had come to stay, that it was the fulfillment of destiny, and that if we followed discipline, unity, and faith, we would rise as a great nation.
Alas, destiny was harsh. The Quaid lived to see his dream take shape but was not destined to nurture it for long. Barely thirteen months after the creation of Pakistan, on September 11, 1948, he departed from this world, leaving the nation orphaned. He had built the foundation of the house and handed us a clear roadmap. His speeches, his words, his writings—all outlined a future where Pakistan would stand as a modern, progressive, and Islamic democracy, a state that would embody both the spirit of Islam and the practical needs of governance.
The question that haunts us to this day is: did we, the inheritors of his legacy, honor the vision of our father? Did we strengthen the house he built, or did we allow it to weaken under neglect, selfishness, and discord? If we measure our progress by his vision, we cannot help but see the gaps that remain unfilled. Our politics became embroiled in personal rivalries; our institutions weakened under the weight of corruption; military interventions disrupted democratic continuity; and national resources were squandered without thought of posterity.
Even today, when we reflect upon the Quaid’s roadmap, we are confronted by uncomfortable truths. He urged us to rise above sectarianism, yet divisions based on language, ethnicity, and faith continue to haunt us. He emphasized discipline, yet disorder has repeatedly plagued our political and administrative structures. He dreamed of Pakistan as an economic powerhouse, but decades of missed opportunities, poor governance, and unstable policies have left us struggling with debt, inflation, and dependency on foreign aid.
And yet, all is not lost. Nations, like families, may falter, but they can also redeem themselves. The house that Quaid built still stands. Its foundation is strong, for it was laid with sacrifice and with blood. The roadmap remains before us; the question is whether we have the will to follow it. Can we summon the unity of purpose, the discipline of action, and the faith in ourselves that the Quaid demanded? Can we rise above our petty quarrels and commit ourselves to the greater good?
History teaches us that nations are not destroyed by challenges but by their failure to respond to them. Pakistan has survived wars, refugee crises, natural disasters, and economic hardships. Its people are resilient; their spirit remains unbroken. If we choose to rekindle the vision of the Father of the Nation, to draw strength from his sacrifices, and to carry forward his unfinished mission, there is no reason why Pakistan cannot claim its rightful place among the great nations of the world.
The father built the house. He entrusted it to us with love and hope. It is now for us—the children of Pakistan—to decide whether we shall preserve it, adorn it, and make it shine as he dreamed, or whether we shall allow it to crumble under our negligence. The choice is ours, and the time is now.
