Serving on the edge

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Balochistan is perhaps Pakistan's most demanding province in which to serve, and even more so in these troubled times when security concerns cast a long shadow over everyday administration. For an ordinary civil servant, the instinct is often to keep a low profile, avoid unnecessary risks, complete the tenure with minimal turbulence and look forward to a more comfortable posting in Punjab, Sindh or Islamabad. Hamood Ur Rehman, a young officer of the Pakistan Administrative Service, chose a different path. He seems to embody Emerson's timeless counsel: not to follow the beaten track but to venture where none exists and leave a trail for others to follow. His tenure as Deputy Commissioner, Ziarat, became precisely such a journey.

Before the first truck ever carried copper from Saindak or geologists mapped the vast mineral wealth of Reko Diq, Balochistan had already produced something far more precious: resilient minds. Yet those minds have too often had to contend with poverty, distance, neglect and, in recent years, the scourge of insurgency. It is easy to speak of the province's buried riches; far more difficult is to invest in the human potential that alone can transform those riches into lasting prosperity. Every once in a while, however, a public servant reminds us that nation-building begins not with extracting minerals but with nurturing minds.

Hamood Ur Rehman belongs to that rare breed of administrators who measure success not by the number of files they dispose of but by the institutions they leave behind. During nearly eight years in Balochistan, he has quietly demonstrated that committed public service can restore hope even in places where hope appears to have taken permanent leave.

His most evocative achievement came in Ziarat, where he discovered that the century-old public library, established in 1907, had remained closed for seventeen years after being converted into the Deputy Commissioner's office. Most administrators would have accepted the arrangement as an inconvenient inheritance. He did the opposite. He shifted his own office elsewhere, painstakingly restored the historic building to its original architectural character and appealed to citizens across Pakistan and overseas Pakistanis to donate books. The response was overwhelming. The reborn Quaid-e-Azam Public Library emerged not merely as a repository of books but as a vibrant centre of learning, rekindling the culture of reading in a region where such opportunities are few and far between.

The restoration of the library revealed something more profound about the man himself. To him, a library is not a building of bricks and mortar; it is a living institution with a soul. He once observed that while the sun, the moon and the stars illuminate our days and nights, it is books that illuminate the human mind. It is a sentiment seldom heard in bureaucratic circles and even less frequently translated into action.

The same philosophy found expression in Gwadar. The Syed Zahoor Shah Hashmi Digital Library had become little more than a neglected building carrying an impressive name. Hamood Ur Rehman transformed it into a modern centre of learning with digital facilities, a children's section, comfortable reading spaces, thousands of books and a literary café inspired by Lahore's legendary Pak Tea House, where writers, poets and artists could gather to exchange ideas. He understood that libraries are not silent warehouses of books; they are nurseries of imagination and citizenship.

His public service, however, extends well beyond libraries. Recognising the hardships faced by poor patients in the coastal belt, he established a free ambulance service between Gwadar and Karachi, enabling deserving patients to receive specialised medical treatment without the crushing burden of transport costs. For many families, it was the difference between despair and hope.

His concern for the vulnerable found expression in another pioneering initiative that created sustainable livelihood opportunities for specially-abled citizens, restoring not only economic independence but also dignity and social inclusion. Equally remarkable has been his voluntary mentoring of young men and women preparing for competitive examinations. For seven consecutive years, he devoted his own time to coaching aspirants across Balochistan, helping many secure positions in the civil services and other prestigious professions. It is difficult to quantify the impact of such quiet acts of generosity, but the dividends will continue to accrue for decades.

His present assignment as Managing Director of the Balochistan Technical Education and Vocational Training Authority reflects the same philosophy in a different setting. After successfully integrating the province's technical and vocational institutions under one administrative umbrella, he has turned his attention to creating employable skills for the youth. Programmes facilitating overseas employment through reimbursement of work visa expenses, placement of IT graduates in productive jobs and district-wise technical training are all part of a larger vision: empowering people rather than merely administering them.

It is therefore hardly surprising that, after completing almost eight years in Balochistan, he was expected to move to Punjab but was instead retained by the provincial leadership because of the confidence inspired by his dedication and performance. Such decisions are rare in the bureaucracy and speak louder than formal commendations.

Balochistan has never lacked natural resources. What it has lacked is a sufficient number of institution-builders willing to look beyond the routine demands of office. Roads can be built, schemes can be inaugurated and statistics can fill annual reports, but lasting change begins when an administrator leaves behind institutions that continue to serve long after he has departed.

Hamood Ur Rehman's story is, therefore, not merely about one conscientious civil servant. It is about the enduring power of imagination in public office. It reminds us that the richest mines of Balochistan are neither of copper nor of gold but the minds of its young people. Give those minds a library, a teacher, a skill and a fair opportunity, and they will illuminate the province far more brightly than any mineral ever could.

Majrooh Sultanpuri captured the spirit of such journeys in words that seem singularly apt:

Mein akela hi chala tha janib-e-manzil magar

Log saath aate gaye aur karvan banta gaya