16: Maqbool Bhat to Muhammad Arif
Central Jail, New Delhi 3rd December 1980
My dear Muhammad Arif,
Assalamu Alaikum,
I received your letter dated 24th November a few days ago. Thank you very much for remembering me. Your assumption is correct—your previous letter never reached me. Why? The answer, though understandable, is hardly worth writing down. As someone once said, “What cannot be cured must be endured.” Given our circumstances, what recourse do we have against those who, in their show of dominance, find satisfaction in erecting barriers even between the most innocent of human connections? Nevertheless, I am reassured to learn of your well-being and that of our mutual friends through you. I hope you will continue to write and keep me informed.
The sincerity and warmth of the emotions you have expressed are, for me, no less than a priceless treasure. The truth is, bonds of the heart, adorned with such sentiments, can never be erased by any force in this world.
Even under the severest constraints on body and soul, such relationships not only compel hearts to beat in unison across distances but also illuminate the hearts of the steadfast with an unyielding light of hope and reassurance, even in the face of the darkest onslaughts of tyranny. Wherever such bonds exist, the barriers and restrictions imposed by men become meaningless. And those who, in their delusion, believe they can sever these ties by subjecting bodies to trials of the gallows and the noose—what can one do but mourn their folly?
Regarding the matters you inquired about—yes, I do have the opportunity to read in prison, and in principle, there is no restriction. However, reading material can only be obtained from the jail library. Over the past years, with a few exceptions, the only books available have belonged to a kind of crime fiction that, in the West, is often dismissed as trash. Since I do not have direct access to the library, the warders bring me whatever English books they come across. I read them—somewhat willingly, somewhat grudgingly—merely to pass the time. I do not know Hindi, and the warders know neither English nor Urdu, so book selection often turns into a classic case of “Zaban-e-yaar-e-man Turki, wa man Turki nami daanam.”1
However, after filing a petition in the Delhi High Court last January, I have at least been granted permission to read an English daily newspaper. Before that, I was deprived of even this small luxury. Correspondence, too, is not officially restricted, but letters must endure long and complicated journeys before reaching their destination—sometimes as arduous as drawing water from stone.
While MISA2 was in effect in India, I was denied all visits. Later, after permission from the Delhi administration, visits resumed. But last year, the High Court abolished this condition, and now I receive visitors like any other prisoner. My younger brother, Ghulam Nabi Bhat, travels from Kashmir two or three times a year to see me. Last February, a dear friend from Britain, who was on a pilgrimage to the sacred sites, also came to visit me.3
By the grace of God, my health is perfectly fine, and everything else remains unchanged. With the prayers and goodwill of friends like you, I endure the days of imprisonment with patience and gratitude. As long as your prayers accompany me, I remain hopeful that even in this trial, divine justice shall prevail.
I trust you will convey my well-being and regards to all our mutual friends.
Yours sincerely,
Muhammad Maqbool Bhat
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- “My friend’s language is Turkish, but I do not understand Turkish.” The Mughals would use this phrase when meeting their Turkic friends.
- MISA (Maintenance of Internal Security Act) was an Indian law enacted in 1971, granting the government extensive powers to detain individuals without trial. It was widely used to suppress political dissent, especially during the Emergency (1975– 1977).
- Malik Ghulam Sarwar Bhat travelled from Britain to meet Bhat Sahib at Tihar Jail on 18th January 1980.