It was in a year in sixties after 1964 that by chance I met Wasif Ali Wasif. I was a research investigator in the service of West Pakistan Auqaf Department Lahore, (Pakistan) and walked daily from Shahdarrah to my office in Shah Chiragh Building, and then walked back to Shahdarrah where I lived. A little distance from Shah Chiragh on my way was situated the Lahore English College, run by Wasif Ali Wasif. I do not remember how, but one day coming back from Shah Chiragh I found myself in the Lahore English College where I met Wasif. I found him very sweet, very sincere, endowed with remarkable excellence of a mind, and endued with strong and keen intellect, very friendly a friend in need. In short to me he appeared something like a paragon. And thereafter it became my routine to visit Lahore English College on my return from Shah Chiragh where in a room, that is a room in Shah Chiragh Building, still stood a writing on a blackboard written some years ago by the hand of Allamah Allaudddin Sidiquee, who perhaps used to deliver honorary lectures to some particular audience there.
There in Lahore English College of Wasif, I found a small literary circle, engaged every day in some literary discussion. In those days I had composed poetry and was very zealous about that. It was a poetry about which Dr. Javed Iqbal, the son of famous Allamah Iqbal, had given a written review which read, “The style of thought is like that of Allamah Iqbal. In a way it appears as echo of Allamah Iqbal. The Purpose for which the poet has expressed his views, it is my prayer to Allah, that the possibilities of its achievement might appear". I also was generally asked in Lahore College to read my poetry, and I complying with their wish, would read some part of my poetry. And whenever I read my poetry Wasif appeared as if he was lost in a reverie. My poetry was based on a particular purpose whose ultimate end was to save this present mankind from the dreadful materialistic end which overshadows its future. My poetry was aimed at human reform, to curtail the miseries of mankind in this world and to provide a better future in the next world after death. And when for example I read the following passages from my poetry, the agitation of Wasif's mind could well be read in his face.
Loosely rendered in English these verses would appear as follows:-
1. In the gathering clouds of materialism blow the winds of worldly freedom amidst the lightenings of atheism and the shadows of infidelity. Calamities and woes in the guise of your welfare. The witches indeed they are that you take them as a bewitching fairy. Ravens and vultures are these that appear in your sight like a lovely pheasant.
2. The deception of the simulating Anti-Christ is at its height in the world. The mankind is proud of the worldly abundance of this age, rejoicing at the universal prevalence of knowledge in these days. But the heavenly judge scorns their folly. Lightening is restless to consume this house, in order to annihilate the existence of humanity.
3. Would to God, I see the benediction of Islam in this age of darkness. Would to God I see the lock on the door of infidelity. And see this world illuminated by the heavenly light of Islam. And see the mantle of honor on the shoulders of Gabriel. This prayer has issued from my lips at midnight. It depends now on the Mercy of God to accept it, whenever it has been issued.
The verses quoted above have been quoted at random. There is no speciality about them. The whole of my poetry was equally appreciated by the audience. It indeed did work on the mind of Wasif. And his ready mind was ignited. He had found a line and a purpose. Soon his mind began to give production. I left Lahore. After some time I received a book containing a very long and forceful poem in Urdu composed by Wasif Ali Wasif. The book is not with me now. But Wasif's line and purpose was the same as was mine. That was the tree that I had planted. It produced excellent fruit.
After that I received Wasif's works one after the other at intervals. One of them contained a note of dedication written by the hand of Wasif himself. Yeas after that one day I found Wasif before me. He had come to see me. He also brought one of his works for me. All the time that he was with me he lay on the Bed gazing continually upwards toward the roof, and talking very little. There was a sadness in his face as if he knew that He had come to say last good-bye to me. He returned to Lahore. It was his last meeting with me. After some time he died. His heart must have wept at the state of my affairs when he met me. My dear Wasif with whom I had no contact after I left Lahore. I had contact with no body all those years. I was myself engrossed in my painful intellectual, religious, scientific, philosophical ordeal in an endeavor to save this world from the tragic end in the flames of Hotama that is the atomic hell. In my efforts to save others from the atomic hell, I found myself encompassed by the tortures of atomic hell.
The people of Lahore had recognized Wasif's merit. At times I read about him in the Newspapers, and even therein. I do not know how Wasif met his end. How were his last days of life passed on earth? But I had seen in Lahore that last days of two famous men. One of these was Salahuddin Ahmad the well-known patron of Urdu. With a view to having some help for the publication of my Urdu poetry, I went to see him. And there I saw an old man of majestic appearance sitting in a shop of books. The bundles and bundles of books lay around him. Holding a book in his hands his mind appeared to be somewhere else. His sight looked forlorn. And when standing before him I made a request of his help. Then without looking towards me, or making a movement his lips moved, and I heard the word "no" that was steeped in agony. I left him and he sat in the same posture which I remember even to this day. His "no" was an eye opener to me. It was the "No" of a person who had realized the end of fame, name and zeal. Indeed he had recognized the truth. He was in a state where, this world was disappearing and the next world was appearing before the eye of his mind. I deeply felt for him, but could not forsake my own path. I was bound to move on the thorns towards my object, that was the destination of mankind and the destiny thereof. The other man was well-known Dr. Syed Abdullah also a great patron of Urdu. During my last days in Lahore, I happened to visit the Punjab University and there I passed by the room in which Dr. Syed Abdullah sat on a chair with his back to the door. He sat there motionless in a way that to me his head, and neck and the upper part of his chest appeared just like the back of a burst of a statue kept in the chair. So deeply engrossed was he in some point of philosophy. I stood gazing at this posture of the respectable Sayed Abdullah for a time and I silently left. I could not have dared to disturb him in his Reverie. That also was the last sight of my most respected Sayed Abdullah. I left Lahore and years after I read the news of great Sayed Abdullah death in the newspapers. Love and honors were bestowed on him. About my dear Wasif I used to read in the papers, and feel a sense of gratitude towards the people of Lahore who treated Wasif with respect, but the real situation and the actual state of the mind of such sensitive souls, particularly in their last days of their lives is known either to themselves or to Allah. How Wasif lived in his last days and in what state of mind he died is known only to Allah. May Allah grant him a place in paradise? He left as a product of his mind a treasure invaluable of the wisdom of the Muslim cast in his books. Wasif lived a very pure life. He was a truthful man. His mind, soul and self were all pure and shining. He was a true friend. He was simple, innocent and had a very friendly demeanor. In short he was bestowed with abounds excellence. His writings could be called as essays. This world has seen many great essayists, but the essays of Wasif have their own distinctive quality that could be easily differentiated from the works of other stalwarts.
Wasif had written four books in Urdu prose. Their names are (Dil Darya Samundar), and (Kiran Kiran Suraj), (Qatra Qatra Qulzum) and, (Harf Harf Haqiqat). All these are wonderful works and marvelous, having a touch of mysticism, and judging from the merit of these works. It will not be a miss to say that these works could be placed in the line of great Islamic mystic writers of the past. Numerous topics are treated therein, and truths are revealed. Treasuries of knowledge and wisdom are dispersed like gems and jewels. Remedies for the ills of human mind are suggested. The writer appears to be a man inspired, and the writings cast a spell on the reader. Adage after adage, mostly coined by the writer himself, and the metaphors, allegories, and parables appear in sparkling brilliance, to illustrate the reality of ethics, religion, philosophy, and the good both of this present world and the other world. The temporal and the spiritual, the real and the illusive are discussed, all in the eastern set up in an eastern atmosphere, in eastern and Islamic mode of thought, never losing sight of the past Islamic culture. The writer has treated hard facts and cruel realities that lead to the ultimate reality in a manner that the reader never feels the hardness or cruelty of the facts and realities.
The line of thought basically is the same as mine. Spiritual feelings, sincerity, contentment, peace, honesty, the safety and welfare of humanity, and indeed the preference of revealed religion commandments to the man-made statutes. During my meetings with Wasif, his intellect was ignited, and when I left him a storm of intellect burst upon his mind, and he produced as the product of his mind four illustrious books. Wasif who had no malignity and no jealousy, and was sincere and truthful deserved it. I myself underwent the similar experience. After a thirty years storm in which I acquired universal knowledge, ancient and modern religious and secular, scriptural and scientific, without a teacher or a school, the storm for ten years afterwards assumed a maddening fury during which period I wrote fourteen volumes in English and equal number in Urdu in an endeavour to save this world from the flames of the atomic hell, in this present transient world and the next eternal world.
And now at last let us call our friend Wasif together the peeloon. He had quoted this sad and popular song of the past days in one of his works. {Come friends let us go together to pick the peeloon. (A wild seasonal fruit which is generally picked in teams). They all came together to pick the peeloon, but eventually became dazed like Freedom (The poet). O Friend come let us go together to pick the peeloon}.