From the high vantage of my ‘Aerie’—the Eagle’s Nest, perched atop the F-10 Markaz plaza—Islamabad looked like a world preparing to submerge.
A heavy, dusk-filled night was descending upon the city, bleeding deep charcoal tones across the Margalla Hills and stretching long, sharp shadows over the restless commercial square below. The chaotic noise of evening traffic and the distant bargaining of the marketplace rose toward me, softened by the cool air, until the whole city seemed reduced to a distant, rhythmic hum.
Inside my rooftop retreat, however, the approaching darkness felt different.
It was becoming almost tangible.
The last ribbons of twilight were disappearing. The room had fallen into near darkness, save for a faint residue of light filtering through the western window.
And then—
The howling began.
From the eastern wall, where a dying sliver of light still cast a weak glow, two strange shadows appeared.
Wolves.
Their mouths were stretched impossibly wide, their muzzles raised toward the heavens, as though they were howling not at the night but at God Himself.
A cold wave passed through my Aerie.
The little studio suddenly felt too small.
The shadows grew longer.
The howling grew louder.
Fear has a peculiar quality in darkness. It does not need to show you what is coming. It merely needs to prevent you from seeing what is already there.
And just as the unease reached its peak, another sensation arrived.
A familiar fragrance.
My favourite fragrance.
Before I could turn, the name had already formed in my mind.
“BāBā-Tāl” [The Bell-man]!
There he was.
He stepped quietly into the room and reached for the electric switch.
CLICK.
Light flooded the Aerie.
The wolves disappeared.
The monstrous mouths vanished.
The shadows dissolved.
For one fleeting fraction of a second, I saw only a blur—a dark shape darting swiftly toward the edge of the room and disappearing into the night.
That was all.
No battle.
No confrontation.
No weapon.
Just light.
The brass bells sewn into BāBā-Tāl’s navy-blue robe chimed softly as he leaned toward me.
“Bacha!”
The bright electric glare had chased away the darkness, but the adrenaline still raced through my veins.
“Look closely,” he murmured.
His eyes moved toward the empty western corner beside the window.
“No magic. No beasts.”
He paused.
“Just a clever intruder hiding in the blind spot of darkness, using that single ray of western twilight.”
He raised his weathered hands into the fading beam.
Then he began his demonstration.
He pressed the palm of his left hand against the back of his right hand, locking them together. Two fingers rose sharply, becoming pointed ears. The remaining fingers flattened themselves into a long snout.
Then he tilted his wrists toward the ceiling and lowered his thumb.
A hollow gap appeared on the wall.
For a moment, the wolf returned.
Only this time, I could see the truth behind it.
“A simple trick of the hands,” he whispered.
His thumb moved up and down.
The shadow-jaw opened and closed.
The wolf seemed to howl again at the ceiling.
But now there was no fear.
Only understanding.
“They stood right there,” he continued. “Nothing more than fingers, a thumb and a little light. They shaped a silhouette and fed your fright.”
He looked at me.
“They used darkness as their canvas.”
Another tiny movement of his thumb—and the wolf vanished.
“But the moment my finger touched the switch…”
He smiled.
“…the illusion shattered.”
His eyes returned to the empty wall.
“And whatever was hiding behind it scrambled away like a thief caught in the light.”
For a few seconds neither of us spoke.
I kept staring at the wall.
The wolf was gone.
But the lesson remained.
“A shadow can look enormous in darkness,” I said slowly, “without possessing the strength of a wolf.”
BāBā-Tāl nodded.
“And sometimes, bacha, the most frightening thing in a room is not what stands inside it…”
He paused.
“…but what someone does not want you to see.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because suddenly, the little wolf on my wall no longer seemed like a trick.
It seemed like a metaphor.
There exists, in the life of nations, a peculiar form of power that does not always announce itself as power.
It does not necessarily march through the gates.
It does not always seize a parliament.
It may not even need to cancel an election.
Sometimes it simply learns where the switches are.
It learns which institutions can be influenced, which doors open quietly, which decisions can be redirected, which narratives can be amplified and which inconvenient questions can be buried beneath louder ones.
And because the visible machinery of government continues to function, the arrangement may look perfectly normal.
Parliaments sit.
Ministers speak.
Elections take place.
Budgets are presented.
New laws are announced.
The flags still fly.
Yet somewhere behind the visible theatre, concentrated private interests may acquire disproportionate influence over public decisions.
That is the shadow I call the SHADOW-PUPPET.
The term is not an accusation against every wealthy person, every corporation, every political donor or every influential citizen.
Nations need enterprise.
They need investment.
They need successful businesses, organized political parties, competent administrators and people capable of making difficult decisions.
The danger begins elsewhere.
It begins when PRIVATE INFLUENCE becomes stronger than PUBLIC ACCOUNTABILITY.
When wealth can purchase access that ordinary citizens cannot obtain.
When regulators become too close to the industries they regulate.
When public office becomes a revolving door through which influence travels comfortably between government and private power.
When media ecosystems become so concentrated that citizens are offered many voices but somehow hear the same underlying message.
When institutions remain standing—but their independence quietly begins to bend.
That is when the shadow becomes larger than the hand creating it.
But there may be another shadow on the wall.
And this one does not necessarily come from a boardroom.
Modern nations also encounter NON-STATE ACTORS—organizations and networks operating outside the formal machinery of government.
Many are legitimate and indispensable: charities, professional associations, humanitarian organizations, civic movements and community institutions. Their existence is not, by itself, a threat.
But some non-state actors can acquire influence through very different means: clandestine financing, coercion, illicit networks, propaganda, violence or relationships with outside powers. At times, they may operate in the grey spaces between a country’s formal institutions and the interests of those seeking to influence it.
Here the shadow-puppet metaphor becomes larger.
The oligarch may pull the string with wealth.
The clandestine network may pull it through secrecy.
The violent actor may pull it through fear.
A proxy may pull it through a sponsor whose hand remains deliberately out of sight.
Different hands.
Different strings.
Different motives.
But the same darkness.
And this distinction matters.
The problem is not that an actor is rich.
Nor is it that an organization is outside the state.
The problem begins when POWER is exercised without proportionate ACCOUNTABILITY, while the public is denied a clear view of who is influencing whom, for what purpose, and with whose resources.
That is when the shadow grows larger than the hand.
BāBā-Tāl’s fingers suddenly came back to me.
The little wolf on my wall had looked frightening because I could see only its silhouette.
I had not seen the hand.
“Bacha,” I whispered almost to myself, “perhaps the real question is not what is the shadow?”
BāBā-Tāl’s bells gave the faintest chime.
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
He leaned toward me.
“Ask who is holding the hand.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Outside, Islamabad continued its ordinary life.
Inside my Aerie, however, the little wall had become a map.
And I began to wonder:
How many shadows can a nation mistake for wolves simply because nobody has switched on the light?
History has seen this before.
Ancient Rome offers one warning.
The Praetorian Guard was established as an imperial bodyguard, but its proximity to the emperor and concentration of military power eventually gave it extraordinary political influence. At several moments, it helped determine who would occupy the imperial throne.
The lesson is not that every institution eventually becomes corrupt.
The lesson is more uncomfortable:
POWER DELEGATED FOR ONE PURPOSE CAN BECOME POWER EXERCISED FOR ANOTHER.
The British East India Company provides another extraordinary example.
It began as a commercial enterprise but eventually acquired territorial, military and administrative powers in India. It could command troops, control territory and exercise governmental authority on a scale far beyond the ordinary meaning of a trading company.
Again, the lesson is not that commerce is inherently dangerous.
The lesson is that CONCENTRATED POWER rarely remains permanently confined to the box in which it was originally placed.
And then there are the modern examples, where the shadows become more sophisticated.
The Iran-Contra affair demonstrated the dangers of covert policymaking operating outside normal channels of accountability. Investigations found that secret arms dealings with Iran and covert support for the Nicaraguan Contras involved private networks, secrecy and failures of established oversight.
The details belonged to another time and another political system.
But the question remains timeless:
WHO WATCHES THE PEOPLE WHO OPERATE WHEN THE PUBLIC CANNOT SEE THEM?
That is the question every healthy democracy must keep asking.
Not because every unseen hand is sinister.
But because UNACCOUNTABLE POWER is dangerous precisely when nobody is required to explain what that hand is doing.
James Madison understood the problem centuries ago.
In Federalist No. 51, he wrote:
“If men were angels, no government would be necessary.”
Madison’s point was not that government should distrust everyone.
It was that government must be designed with human nature in mind—and therefore must contain checks capable of restraining the concentration and abuse of power.
His answer was institutional balance:
“Ambition must be made to counteract ambition.”
That wisdom remains remarkably alive.
A nation cannot build its political system on the assumption that everyone who acquires power will forever use it perfectly.
It must build safeguards.
Checks.
Balances.
Transparency.
Independent scrutiny.
A free press.
An informed public.
Institutions strong enough to say NO even when saying no is uncomfortable.
And here BāBā-Tāl’s wolf suddenly returned to my mind.
The answer to hidden power is not another hidden power.
It is LIGHT.
The Qur’an gives that idea a dimension far beyond politics.
In Surah An-Nur, Allah says:
“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth…”
And the verse continues with the magnificent image:
“Light upon light.”
— The Holy Qur’an, Surah An-Nur 24:35
The verse is not a political slogan, nor should it be reduced to one.
But its imagery speaks profoundly to the human struggle between what is revealed and what is concealed, between clarity and confusion, between guidance and darkness.
Light makes things visible.
And what becomes visible can be examined.
What can be examined can be questioned.
What can be questioned can be challenged.
And what can be challenged cannot easily pretend to be invisible forever.
That is why JOURNALISM matters.
Not because a journalist possesses some magical authority.
Not because every journalist is automatically wise or impartial.
But because journalism, at its best, turns on the light.
It asks:
WHO DECIDED?
WHO BENEFITED?
WHO PAID?
WHO LOBBIED?
WHO WAS PRESENT?
WHO WAS ABSENT?
WHO SIGNED?
WHO GAINED?
WHO LOST?
And perhaps the most dangerous question of all:
WHO WANTED NOBODY TO ASK?
These questions are not weapons.
They are switches.
A citizen can carry one.
So can a teacher.
A student.
A judge.
A civil servant.
A parliamentarian.
A whistleblower.
A researcher.
A voter.
An ordinary country-lover who refuses to accept that something is true merely because powerful people have repeated it often enough.
The Prophet Muhammad [Peace and blessings be upon him] gave this principle a remarkably direct form.
Abu Sa’id al-Khudri reported that the Prophet said that whoever sees something wrong should change it with his hand if able; if unable, then with his tongue; and if unable even to do that, reject it in the heart—and that is the weakest level of faith.
Sahih Muslim 49a; Book 1, Hadith 84.
Notice the sequence.
Hand.
Tongue.
Heart.
It is not a charter for reckless confrontation.
It is a moral demand not to become comfortable with wrong simply because confronting it is inconvenient.
In the modern civic world, the hand may be lawful action.
The tongue may be a question.
The pen may be documentation.
The courtroom may be accountability.
The vote may be judgment.
The newspaper may be illumination.
And public memory may be the light that refuses to go out.
This is why the battle against shadow-puppets cannot be reduced to personalities.
Remove one powerful individual and another may take his place.
Expose one network and another may form.
Replace one government and the underlying machinery of influence may remain untouched.
The real objective is not to hunt every shadow.
It is to STRENGTHEN THE LIGHT.
That means transparent political financing.
Accessible public records.
Clear lobbying rules.
Independent regulators.
Conflict-of-interest safeguards.
Strong parliamentary oversight.
Professional journalism.
Protection for legitimate whistleblowing.
And citizens educated enough to distinguish evidence from theatre.
It also means something much more difficult:
WE MUST RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO CREATE OUR OWN SHADOWS.
Every political camp is capable of loving transparency when it is in opposition and fearing it when it gains power.
Every faction can denounce oligarchy when another faction benefits from it and quietly excuse concentrated influence when its own people receive the advantage.
That is not reform.
That is merely changing the puppeteer.
The motherland deserves better.
A country is not a private estate.
Its institutions are not family property.
Its natural resources are not inherited privileges.
Its laws are not instruments to be bent according to the convenience of whoever happens to possess influence.
The state belongs neither to the richest nor the loudest.
It belongs to its citizens.
And citizens have something that shadow-puppets fear more than anger.
ATTENTION.
Anger burns quickly.
Attention remains.
A furious crowd may be distracted.
An attentive citizen reads the document.
A slogan can be drowned out.
A documented fact can survive.
A manufactured narrative may dominate for a day.
A well-recorded truth can return years later and knock on the same door.
That is why darkness must never be confused with strength.
Darkness can conceal weakness.
It can enlarge a small hand until it appears to be a giant wolf.
It can turn fingers into claws.
A thumb into a jaw.
A wall into a battlefield.
And fear into obedience.
But switch on the light—
And suddenly the monster has only five fingers.
This is perhaps the most important lesson of the little wolf on my wall.
The shadow did not disappear because it was defeated.
It disappeared because THE CONDITIONS THAT ALLOWED IT TO EXIST WERE REMOVED.
That distinction matters.
The purpose of transparency is not revenge.
It is not humiliation.
It is not the destruction of opponents.
It is simply to make the invisible visible.
Once visible, power can be measured.
Once measured, it can be questioned.
Once questioned, it can be restrained.
And once restrained by legitimate institutions, it returns to where legitimate power belongs:
UNDER LAW, UNDER SCRUTINY AND ULTIMATELY UNDER THE PEOPLE.
BāBā-Tāl had been silent for several minutes.
The city outside my Aerie was now almost completely dark.
But Islamabad did not frighten me anymore.
Its lights were appearing one by one across the horizon.
A window here.
A street there.
A vehicle moving through the darkness.
Then another.
Then another.
Tiny lights.
Millions of them across a nation.
I looked once more at the wall where the wolves had howled.
Nothing.
Only paint.
Only a wall.
Only an ordinary wall that had briefly become frightening because darkness had allowed two hands to tell a story.
And suddenly I understood.
A nation, too, can become frightened by shadows.
It can be persuaded that certain people are invincible.
Certain networks untouchable.
Certain interests inevitable.
Certain decisions beyond question.
But perhaps the shadow-puppet’s greatest weapon is not its power.
Perhaps it is our willingness to remain in the dark.
So let us switch on the light.
Not with violence.
Not with hatred.
Not with another secret network.
With documents.
With questions.
With institutions.
With journalism.
With law.
With citizens who refuse to look away.
With the courage to say:
SHOW US THE STRINGS.
Because the moment the strings become visible, the puppet loses some of its magic.
And when enough citizens carry enough light, the darkness loses its stage altogether.
The wolves disappear.
The hands are revealed.
The wall becomes only a wall.
And the shadow-puppets?
They do not need to be destroyed.
They simply become what they always were:
SHADOWS WITHOUT SUBSTANCE,
Waiting helplessly for the darkness to return.
But it need not.
Not if we keep the light burning.
Not if ordinary country-lovers refuse to surrender their eyes.
Not if journalists keep asking the questions.
Not if institutions remember whom they serve.
Not if citizens understand that democracy is not merely the right to choose rulers.
It is also the responsibility to WATCH POWER AFTER CHOOSING THEM.
The night outside my Aerie had become complete.
Yet Islamabad was glowing.
And somewhere in that glowing city, perhaps another citizen had just switched on another light.
One small light.
Then another.
Then another.
And perhaps that is how darkness finally ends.
Not with one enormous sun descending upon a nation—
But with millions of ordinary people refusing to live permanently in the dark.
■□■□ POETEARS □■□■ [ coined by T. Hejazi- where the tears become poetry and poetry becomes tears]
The shadow grows where fearful eyes retreat,
The hidden hand grows bold where silence sleeps;
But light needs neither sword nor marching feet—
It shines, and every borrowed darkness weeps.
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