A Civil Service Apprentice in Abbottabad- Part II

Ziauddin Choudhury-from USA

Sitting in the courts as a magistrate 2nd class were only one part of my apprenticeship at
Abbottabad. A large part of the three month long period that I stayed in the district was
spent touring the hills and dales of Hazara, learning the intricacies of revenue
administration, the powers of a Sub Divisional Officer (Assistant Commissioner in
Charge of a sub-division), and his wily subordinates, the Tehsildars and the village
potentate—the Patwary. In this period I also did undertake the tour of the village in
Haripur whose inhabitants had urged the District Officer’s intervention to improve their
drinking water supply.

First was the mission to a village in Haripur Tehsil. The place was about fifty miles from
Abbottabad, much of which I covered in my government issue second world war vintage
jeep driven by one of a dozen government drivers. I was deposited at the base of a hill by
my rather reticent driver who pointed a finger at the hill and indicated that my destination
was up there. When I looked askance at him wondering how I would reach there, he
turned around and showed me a band of turbaned people who had already assembled
there. I recognized one person from among them, the local UP Chairman who had met
me the day before in the district court after he was informed by the District Nazir of my
proposed visit to the village. Standing nearly a foot above me he greeted me with a
salaam and a firm handshake. We spoke in Urdu, which, happily for me, he also spoke.
(Normally the population spoke Hindko, a Punjabi dialect spoken in Hazara.)

Nawazesh Khan (that I recall was the Chairman’s name) led me to the attending group,
which consisted of his council members and a few local farmers. The problem, he
explained, was a canal that brought drinking water to the village from a natural spring
high on the hill, which was silting fast now. The spring was the only source of drinking
water for a village that was inhabited by about 100 families. To a question whether an
alternative source of drinking water such as a deep tube well was explored, the chief
answered that it was tried but no under ground water was found. My challenge was to
physically examine the entire canal route from beginning to end, find the state of
siltation, and offer government help to resuscitate the canal by digging it deeper, and
constructing a wall to protect it from further silting.

To climb up to the source of the canal I was offered a horse, while the others would
follow me on foot. When I protested this unequal arrangement, the chief replied that it
would be unfair since I was representing the district head, and local custom demanded
that an “Afsar” (officer), be shown proper respect. I could not be seen trekking the hills
on foot. Moreover, the up hill walk was a day to day task for the villagers. I would be
tired. I accepted the arrangement and mounted the horse.

The ride along the water supply line was unique. The Chairman with his long legs led the
way up with me trudging on a meek horse and a band of followers behind. The canal
meandered through the village as we went up. At its widest point, the canal was about
four feet in breadth and perhaps two feet in depth. There were water collection points
marked by circles near the canal where women gathered and dropped buckets in the canal
to take water. As we climbed up I saw places where the canal had narrowed to almost to
a width of less than two feet with the sides filled by sand. The whole canal was left to
nature as it had no walls to protect it from intruding sands.

Lack of maintenance and protection along canal bank had resulted in narrowing of the
canal, and it hinted a possibility of total silting if no action was taken. The Union Chief
wanted government help in constructing a cement wall along the canal bank. I assured
him that I would recommend this in my report to the Deputy Commissioner on my return
—which I did. (I had no way to confirm if the canal work was undertaken by the District
Council, which I had recommended, as I had to leave Abbottabad at the end of my three-
month training period.)

The story of my maiden trip to a Hazara village would not be complete without the
description of an unusual village meal that I shared with the village elders under a
Shamiana (Canopy) at the front of the Village Chief’s house. I sat on a wooden folding
chair under the bright red Shamiana with the turbaned Union Council Chairman and few
other village elders. The food spread on the table consisted of baked flat bread made of
cornflower (makki-ki-roti), a dish containing butter made of buffalo milk to spread on the
bread, a vegetable curry made of mustard-greens (Sarson-ki-sagh), and daal made with
black lentils. For drink we had lassi (a kind of milk shake), also made from buffalo milk.
Simplicity of the food blended with the generosity of the village people simply
overwhelmed me. At the same time I was very uncomfortable realizing that the village
people could have overestimated my ability to help them with their request for help. All I
could do is offer some recommendation to the DC, and let him decide.

Part of my three-month training was also to learn the intricacies of land revenue
administration, which used to be core of district administration in the British days. The
Deputy Commissioner had two roles rolled into one, District Magistrate and District
Collector. As District Magistrate he headed the district’s magistracy, which was
responsible for maintaining law and order, and trial of non-serious criminal cases. As
District Collector he was responsible for collection of land revenues, administration of
government lands and property in the district, settlement of land disputes, and periodic
survey of land and establishment of land ownership. Even though land revenue
accounted for a tiny portion of overall government income, the importance of land
administration and settlement of land dispute (ownership rights and records) was such
that this part of a district’s management required a large staff going down to village level.
In Pakistan that time land revenue administration had a hierarchy that consisted of the
Deputy Commissioner in the district (as Collector), followed by Assistant Commissioner
in a sub-division (also known as Sub-Divisional Magistrate) who supervised several
Tehsilders (in charge of a Tehsil), and who in turn managed the Patwaries—the village
potentate for land related matters.

In my second month of training I was required to spend two weeks in a sub-division

under the tutelage of the Assistant Commissioner mainly learning the ropes of revenue
administration at local level. There were three sub-divisions in Hazara that time—
Abbottabad, where I was already having my district training, Haripur, and Mansehra—a
most picturesque place in Pakistan, home to the gorgeous Kaghan valley.

In a beautiful sunny morning I packed and drove in a government jeep to the valley of
Mansehra. It was about 2 hours drive through mountainous roads. The Assistant
Commissioner that time to whom I had to report was also a CSP couple of years senior,
who later left civil service to pursue academic interests.

The AC received me very cordially, and as was the custom among civil servants that
time, he asked me to put up with him in his beautiful government bungalow. In the two
weeks that I spent there I was required to visit two Tehsils, and two Patwar Circles. This
meant meeting two other important revenue administration functionaries in a district—the
all powerful Tehsilder, and the Patwari.

Pakistan’s western part had a different revenue administration system from then East
Pakistan. The Tehsilder was responsible for preparation and maintenance of Tehsil
Revenue Record and Revenue Accounts. He was also responsible for recovery of
government dues under various Acts. He had the powers of Executive Magistrate,
Assistant Collector and Sub Registrar/Joint Sub Registrar. The Patwari was an important
and effective official of the lowest ebb in the Revenue Agency. He was responsible for
maintenance of record of the crop grown at every harvest; keeping of the record of rights
up to date; and preparation of statistical returns embodying the information derived from
the harvest inspections, register of mutation and record of rights. The inordinate amount
of influence these officials had on the everyday life of a land owning inhabitant in every
Tehsil and Village was stuff of legend in Pakistan.

My first Patwar Circle visit was the town of Baffa—about 20 miles away from Mansehra.
Baffa also hosted two other important offices—the Tehsil Office of the area, and the
Union Council Office. On a hot August morning I set out with my mentor, the AC in a
government jeep for Baffa. Besides growing corn, and a variety of fruits, Baffa was also
known for its dairy farms. People in the region swore by a sweet made in the area,
known as “Khoya”—a milk product made with cream and sugar. The Tehsilder of the
place, who received us, was a portly gentleman of about fifty. In Pakistan those days the
Tehsilder was a mighty powerful local bureaucrat. The common perception of a
Tehsilder was of a wily, shrewd individual who lived by his wit and power over the area.
He was also an extremely resourceful person on whom everyone depended, including the
political overlords of the area.

Our visit to Baffa Patwari Office was rather comical. The office was located in one
corner of a down-at-heel building in the local bazaar. The office had one large table with
some antique chairs by the side. There were countless binders in red cloth adorning the
shelves, which were records of crops, and registers of land owners. The AC asked that
the huge volumes be brought down for his inspection, which the portly Patwari hefted
with some effort. From their looks I could say that most of the red binders went back to
the British period, many of them showed signs of wear and tear.

The drama began when the books were opened. The records were all written in Urdu,
and the AC could not read Urdu, nor could I. The AC knew better than to give out this
secret. He leafed through the pages, hummed, and then fired a blind shot commenting
that the records were not up to date. The Patwari who had seen a dozen ACs come and
go also knew very well how to play this game. He replied that the records were updated
with each crop cycle, but if the “honorable AC saab” would so desire he could update the
records even before the crop cycle, but would it be right? A somewhat daunted AC
replied that in that case the Patwari would do better by at least re-binding the registers.
The Patwari agreed with a broad smile. We left Baffa with perhaps the Patwari grinning
behind.

_____________________________________________________________________