by Eqbal Ahmad
For decades l have regarded him as model Pakistani, a man who broke all the bars – of power, money, and ignorance – to manhood. So when I heard he was in Lahore, I went to see him. The old man lay in bed, his large, bony frame denuded of flesh. I had seen him last summer when he was seventy-nine. The mirth which used to fill up the wrinkles in his strong lined face was missing. His eyes, which had twinkled like a child’s which had when he showed us the houses which poor people had but with his help, were fired.
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