Road to the East

By Kinza Fatima On 19 August 2021, seven-year-old Priya Kumari disappeared from a shrine in Sindh. Years later, her family is still waiting for answers. Her disappearance became more than a missing-person case; it became a painful reminder of how easily a child’s sense of safety can disappear. Every time another child is harmed, exploited, or neglected, Pakistan is reminded that protecting childhood remains an unfinished responsibility. Every child deserves to wake up with a sense of safety. Childhood should be filled with learning, laughter, curiosity, and play—not fear, uncertainty, or loss. Yet for far too many children in Pakistan, these simple expectations remain fragile. The disappearance of Priya Kumari in Sindh in 2021 remains one of the country’s most painful incident of how vulnerable children can be. Years have passed, but her family continues to wait for answers. Beyond the legal questions lies a deeper human one: what does it say about a society when a child can disappear and hope becomes the only thing left behind? Safety is not threatened only by crime. It is also undermined by neglect. Tragic incidents involving collapsing school buildings and unsafe infrastructure have claimed the lives of children whose only purpose that day was to learn. A classroom should nurture dreams, not become a place of tragedy. Safe buildings, clean classrooms, access to drinking water, and basic emergency measures are not luxuries—they are the minimum conditions every child deserves. Extreme heat presents another challenge. Across Pakistan, rising temperatures have turned many classrooms into difficult places for learning. Schools without fans, proper ventilation, or clean drinking water place children at risk of dehydration, exhaustion, and heat-related illness. Education cannot flourish where basic physical well-being is ignored. A healthy childhood extends beyond the classroom. Children need parks, playgrounds, libraries, and public spaces where they can grow socially and emotionally. In many communities, these spaces are absent or unsafe. When children spend their lives confined indoors because the outside world feels dangerous, society loses more than recreation—it loses opportunities for confidence, creativity, and community. We often repeat that children are the future of the nation. Yet such words have little meaning unless they are reflected in public policy and everyday behaviour. The measure of a society is not found in the promises it makes to children, but in the conditions in which it asks them to grow. As a child myself, my dreams are not extraordinary. I want to wear my school uniform without fear, learn with my classmates, drink clean water, play in safe parks, and believe that tomorrow can be better than today. These are not unrealistic hopes; they are fundamental rights. Children also deserve protection within their own homes. For many, however, home is not always a place of security. Physical punishment, verbal humiliation, and emotional neglect leave wounds that are often invisible but long-lasting. Violence against children, whether physical or psychological, cannot be accepted as discipline. Respect and care build stronger individuals than fear ever can. Child labour remains another painful reality. Instead of carrying schoolbags, thousands of children carry bricks, tools, and heavy loads. Poverty pushes many families into impossible choices, but the burden should never fall on the child. Governments must strengthen social protection, expand access to quality education, and support vulnerable families so that children are not forced to sacrifice their childhood for survival. Ending child labour is not solely the responsibility of the state; it also requires the commitment of parents, employers, schools, and society as a whole. Children also deserve dignity wherever they seek knowledge. Allegations of abuse in educational institutions, including some madrasas and schools, remind us that no place of learning should become a place of fear. Every institution entrusted with children carries a moral and legal responsibility to protect them. When I see children my own age struggling with violence, poverty, exploitation, or neglect, I do not simply feel sympathy—I wonder why childhood is experienced so differently depending on where one is born or how much one’s family earns. No child chooses these circumstances, yet many live with their consequences every day. The children of Pakistan are not asking for extraordinary privileges. We ask for what every child should receive: safety, education, dignity, health, and the freedom to dream. We need teachers who inspire rather than humiliate, communities that protect rather than ignore, and institutions that place the well-being of children above everything else. Children are not a source of cheap labour, nor are they objects upon which adults can release their anger. We are learners, dreamers, citizens in the making, and the future of this country. A safe childhood is not an act of charity. It is a constitutional, moral, and human obligation. If Pakistan wishes to build a stronger future, it must begin by listening to the voices of its children—and by ensuring that every child has not only the right to dream, but also the opportunity to live those dreams. The writer is a children’s right Advocate and student of Tenth Grade.

The preceding part of this series ended with a limit that productive finance cannot cross. Illness, unemployment, education, disability, orphanhood and temporary distress cannot always be converted into profitable investments. Human vulnerability itself cannot become another financial product. That is where a riba-free order must move beyond banking. A society may successfully redesign murabaha, musharakah, salam or ijarah and still remain unjust if a family facing cancer treatment must borrow at any cost, a student must enter adult life under debt, or a widow depends upon a local patron for survival. Prohibition of riba becomes socially meaningful only when basic human need is protected from financial extraction. Pakistan does not have to invent the institutional vocabulary from zero. It already has Pakistan Bait-ul-Mal, established under the Pakistan Bait-ul-Mal Act, 1991. Its official mandate includes assistance to the destitute, widows, orphans, persons with disabilities and other needy citizens, with support extending to medical treatment, education and rehabilitation. Its official position is that assistance is available to the poorest without differentiation of religion, creed, sect or region. This is an important foundation. It is not yet the structure required for a just financial order. Bait-ul-Mal should cease to be understood primarily as an agency dispensing discretionary relief to the “poorest of the poor”. Its larger purpose should be to guarantee a legally defined social floor. Food in destitution, essential healthcare, basic education, protection of children without support, disability assistance and temporary subsistence during involuntary unemployment should become matters of entitlement under transparent criteria, not favours obtained through political access. This distinction is fundamental. Charity depends upon the generosity of the giver. Entitlement rests upon the responsibility of society. It is one of the most emphasised Quranic directive on this idea. The directions given in the holy Quran need not be accepted in totality. This principle is accepted in all the classical juristic traditions. The practical discussion on this is important. In the transitional phase, all the scholarly works envisage gradual movement rather than an overnight abolition of existing economic arrangements. Individuals progressively devote more of their resources to collective purposes while organised society assumes responsibility for the basic necessities of life.   The transition, in any pragmatic scheme, is institutional rather than merely charitable. That insight deserves attention. An Islamic polity cannot measure success by the number of ration bags distributed after deprivation has occurred. Its test is whether institutions progressively remove the conditions that force citizens into dependence upon creditors, property owners, political patrons or charitable intermediaries. Bait-ul-Mal should therefore form the first pillar of social finance: the guarantee against destitution. The second should be waqf. Waqf historically converted wealth into enduring social capital. Whatever the juristic differences concerning its precise legal character, its institutional genius lies in removing an asset from ordinary private consumption and dedicating its benefit to a continuing purpose. Land, buildings and income-producing properties can support hospitals, schools, hostels, water systems, vocational institutions, research centres, shelters and community infrastructure across generations. Pakistan already possesses statutory waqf institutions. Punjab’s Auqaf Department, for example, operates under the Punjab Waqf Properties Ordinance, 1979, for the administration and regulation of waqf properties. Income arising from properties under its control is credited to the Auqaf Fund under the statutory framework. The potential is much larger than administration of shrines and mosques. Pakistan should develop professionally governed public waqf institutions—waqf lillah—at national, provincial and local levels. Public land lawfully dedicated for community benefit, voluntarily endowed private property and other permissible assets could constitute permanent pools of social capital. Their corpus should remain protected while their income finances clearly defined public purposes. This cannot become another avenue for bureaucratic or political capture. Every waqf property should be digitally registered. Its title, purpose, valuation, income, expenditure and beneficiaries should be publicly accessible. Independent audit, professional management and strict conflict-of-interest rules are indispensable. No minister, shrine manager, political family or local notable should be able to convert property dedicated for public benefit into an instrument of patronage. The third pillar is zakat. It should remain distinct from both the ordinary budget and waqf. Its compulsory redistributive character and specified purposes give it an institutional identity of its own. Combining every form of social finance into one government account would destroy these distinctions. The fourth pillar is qard hasan. Not every person requiring temporary liquidity is destitute. A worker may face a medical emergency. A small farmer may need funds after a flood. A graduate may require equipment to begin earning. A household may need a short bridge between unemployment and a new job. Such circumstances do not necessarily call for a grant. They require finance without extraction. Revolving qard hasan funds administered through Bait-ul-Mal, public waqf institutions and local cooperatives could provide precisely that bridge. Principal would return when the recipient regains capacity, allowing the same pool to assist another household. The institution earns no commercial return from distress; society recycles solidarity. This connects directly with the cooperative model discussed in Part IV. The ultimate objective cannot be to create permanent classes of beneficiaries. Social protection should lead towards economic agency. A citizen receiving emergency assistance today should, wherever possible, become tomorrow’s producer, saver and member of a cooperative financial institution. Bait-ul-Mal prevents collapse. Waqf creates enduring social assets. Qard hasan provides a bridge back to economic activity. Cooperatives enable citizens to pool savings, own institutions and finance one another. These mechanisms should operate together rather than as isolated schemes. The structure can be visualised as a ladder. At its base is an enforceable social floor below which no citizen is allowed to fall. Above it are education, healthcare and skills supported partly through public waqf. Temporary setbacks are met through qard hasan. Productive citizens then move towards cooperative and commercial risk-sharing finance of the kind discussed in Part IV. The direction is from dependency to capability, not from one form of dependency to another. Governance will determine whether this succeeds. Pakistan has repeatedly created institutions in the name of disadvantaged citizens and then allowed

A rare photograph can sometimes preserve more history than an official archive. The one below brings together six extraordinary men. In the front row, from left to right, stand Zafar Iqbal Mirza—our beloved ZIM—Shafqat Tanvir Mirza, Dada Ameer Hyder and I.A. Rehman. Behind them are Major Ishaq Muhammad, remembered for the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case, and Professor Amin Mughal. None sought celebrity. Together, they represent a moral and intellectual republic that Pakistan never formally acknowledged. An extraordinary assembly of Pakistan’s progressive tradition. Front row, from left: Zafar Iqbal Mirza (ZIM), Shafqat Tanvir Mirza, Dada Ameer Hyder and I.A. Rehman. Second row: Major Ishaq Muhammad and Professor Amin Mughal The photograph is remarkable not because all six belonged to a single organisation or followed an identical political line. They did not. Its power lies in the coexistence of different traditions of resistance: the revolutionary organiser, the dissident soldier, the journalist, the editor, the defender of human rights, the custodian of Punjabi language and the teacher who connected all these worlds through conversation. Amin Mughal, standing quietly in the second row, provides the key to reading the photograph. His position is almost symbolic. He does not occupy the centre, although he belonged at the centre of the intellectual relationships represented in it. He appears as he lived: present, observant and connected to everyone, without needing to establish precedence over anyone. Much has already been written after his passing in London on August 12, 2026. A chronological retelling of his life—his teaching, political activity, imprisonment, journalism and exile—cannot explain what made him exceptional. His real contribution lay in creating intellectual continuities. He connected the organised Left of Dada Ameer Hyder and Major Ishaq with the democratic journalism of ZIM and I.A. Rehman, the linguistic and cultural resistance of Shafqat Tanvir Mirza, and younger people like me who entered journalism without fully comprehending the inheritance placed before them. I worked with Amin Sahib at the weekly Viewpoint between 1979 and 1984. Its modest premises at 4-Lawrence Road, Lahore, were my real university. As recalled in “Remembering Viewpoint & its stalwarts” [Minute Mirror, March 23-24, 2026], Mazhar Ali Khan had gathered people for whom journalism was an ethical commitment rather than a route to influence, wealth or political patronage. Amin Mughal belonged naturally to that environment. He did not separate editing from teaching, political analysis from literature, or intellectual disagreement from personal affection. The men in this photograph remind us that the Left was once far more than an electoral label. Dada Ameer Hyder had travelled the world as a worker and revolutionary before most Pakistanis had encountered the language of globalisation. Beginning as a coal-boy on a ship, Dada experienced labour, empire and racial hierarchy directly. His memoirs, Chains to Lose, reveal a world stretching from Bombay and Moscow to New York, Shanghai and Buenos Aires. He organised workers across borders long before international solidarity became the vocabulary of funded conferences. I had the rare honour of meeting Dada at Viewpoint. He carried no theatrical aura of revolutionary greatness. His authority arose from struggle endured, not status claimed. Official histories largely excluded him because he challenged both colonial power and the class order that succeeded it. The state could accommodate elite leaders of independence; a worker who asked what independence had delivered to other workers remained dangerous. Major Ishaq represented another uncomfortable history. A soldier capable of thinking beyond military obedience, he was implicated in the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case and repeatedly imprisoned. After Hasan Nasir’s death in custody, he pursued the matter when silence would have been safer. Major Ishaq later organised peasants and workers, treating revolution neither as romance nor slogan but as the slow construction of collective capacity. Even paralysis could not end his political work. His life contradicted the convenient division between soldier and dissident, patriot and critic. Shafqat Tanvir Mirza—STM—resisted through language. Journalist, trade unionist, historian and scholar, he understood that the marginalisation of Punjabi was not a literary accident. It reflected the estrangement of a people from their own cultural memory. STM’s  scholarship on Punjabi literature, history and the Sufi poets restored dignity to a language spoken by millions but frequently denied serious institutional space. His commitment earned imprisonment and professional hardship, but never displaced his willingness to engage in dialogue. ZIM embodied another form of courage: fidelity to professional standards when both censorship and commercialisation encouraged surrender. In my tribute to him, I recalled him as my teacher and mentor. He was a master sub-editor, stylist and conversationalist. When Mazhar Ali Khan, I.A. Rehman and Amin Mughal were arrested in 1981, ZIM helped ensure that Viewpoint appeared without interruption. His authority came from mastery of craft joined with an unshakable belief in free expression, equality and human dignity. I.A. Rehman carried those commitments into the organised defence of human rights. His life demonstrated that opposition to injustice need not produce bitterness. He spoke softly, listened patiently and remained firm. At a PIDE memorial, I recalled that he spoke the truth although it sent him to prison twice. Rehman sahib, as we all call him with respect and affection, suffered without complaint because, for him, sacrifice was the natural cost of professed principles. His advice that the struggle for human rights was “a marathon, not a sprint” remains essential in an age addicted to instant victories and equally instant despair. What, then, distinguished Amin Mughal among these giants? He was the interpreter between their worlds. From Dada and Major Ishaq came the imperative of structural change; from STM, the inseparability of culture and emancipation; from ZIM, professional integrity; from I.A. Rehman, the defence of every person’s dignity. Amin Sahib absorbed these traditions without turning any of them into dogma. Amin Mughal possessed a rare capacity to disagree without diminishing another person. His questions could dismantle a weak argument, but never the dignity of the person making it. For younger colleagues, this was an education in democratic conduct. He taught us that progressive politics without intellectual honesty becomes another orthodoxy,

In my view, Nawaz Sharif’s political revival is no longer just a possibility; it is clearly taking shape. His decision to return to the political frontline and personally lead the Pakistan Muslim League (N)’s campaign in Azad Jammu and Kashmir shows a leader who understands timing, patience and political strategy. The massive rallies in Muzaffarabad and Mirpur were not just election gatherings; they carried a much bigger political message. They demonstrated, in my opinion, that Nawaz Sharif still has the ability to attract large crowds and energise his supporters. For many party workers and voters who had been missing his direct presence, his return to the campaign stage created renewed confidence and enthusiasm. At the same time, these rallies sent a strong message to his political opponents and to those analysts who had predicted that Nawaz Sharif had retired from active politics. His presence on the ground has challenged that narrative and shown that he remains a central figure in Pakistan’s political landscape. During my last two meetings with Nawaz Sharif — one in the Galyat hills near Murree and another at Jati Umra, Raiwind — I observed a leader who appeared to be carefully planning his political revival. My impression was that he was not looking for a short-term political comeback but working on a long-term strategy. I have seen this before — not once, but twice. The first time was in 2006, when Nawaz Sharif came to London after leaving Saudi Arabia following his years in exile. I observed how he patiently rebuilt his political network, reconnected with party workers and gradually prepared the ground for his return to Pakistan’s political arena. The second time was before the 2024 general elections. During the more than three years he spent in London, I saw a similar approach — careful planning, political consultations and a gradual strategy to return at the right moment. In my opinion, the current phase follows the same pattern. Nawaz Sharif has relied on a team approach. At the centre, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has focused on managing difficult economic, diplomatic and political challenges. His supporters believe his administration has helped improve Pakistan’s international engagement and presented the country as an important voice on global issues. On the other hand, Maryam Nawaz Sharif has emerged as a key part of this political strategy. As Chief Minister of Punjab, she has focused on development projects, infrastructure, public service delivery and administrative reforms. In my view, her performance has helped create the perception of a new generation of leadership within the PML-N. Punjab has, in my assessment, become an important example of the party’s governance message — that provinces can deliver through development, better infrastructure, improved administration and stronger public services. Nawaz Sharif’s political strength is also linked to his record as Prime Minister. His supporters highlight his focus on infrastructure development, including motorways, energy projects and large-scale national schemes. They argue that during his governments Pakistan moved towards economic stability, with greater emphasis on investment, connectivity and development. While political opinions about his governments differ, there is no doubt that Nawaz Sharif remains one of Pakistan’s most experienced political figures. With decades of experience in public life, he is among the most senior leaders in the region and has maintained relationships with world leaders. His experience in governance, diplomacy and international affairs remains one of his biggest political assets. Today, in my view, Nawaz Sharif is attempting another carefully planned political comeback. His direct involvement in the Azad Kashmir election campaign suggests that he is once again taking command of the political direction of his party. I believe his strategy is working because he is repeating a formula he has used before: patience, organisation, strengthening his team and returning to the people when he believes the political environment is favourable. History will ultimately be judged by the voters, but from my observations over the past two decades, Nawaz Sharif’s political revival appears to be following a familiar and carefully planned path.

The true measure of a society is not its skyscrapers, motorways, economic statistics or political slogans. It is revealed by something much simpler: how safe its children are. If a child cannot feel safe at home, in the neighbourhood, at a madrassa, at school or even on the street, then all our claims of progress deserve to be questioned. The growing number of cases of child abuse in Pakistan is not merely a matter of crime statistics. It reflects our collective indifference, weak institutions and a social culture that too often chooses silence over justice. Behind every reported case is a childhood that has been stolen, a family that has been shattered and an innocent mind carrying wounds that may never fully heal. According to the material available for this article, 1,914 cases of child abuse were reported across Pakistan during the first six months of 2026. Meanwhile, Sahil’s report recorded 3,630 cases of child abuse across the country in 2025, an increase of eight per cent over 2024. These figures were compiled from reports published in 81 newspapers across the four provinces, Islamabad, Azad Jammu and Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan. According to the report, more than nine children were subjected to some form of abuse every day in 2025. But is this the complete picture? Probably not. These figures represent only the cases that were reported. Countless incidents never reach the police or the courts because of fear, social stigma, family pressure, financial difficulties and the long, exhausting process of seeking justice. The reported numbers, therefore, should not be mistaken for the full scale of the problem. There is also a widespread assumption that children are mainly at risk from strangers. The reality is far more complicated. Long-term analyses of child abuse cases have repeatedly shown that a significant number of incidents involve people known to the child or the family. This is an uncomfortable truth, but one that parents must acknowledge. Teaching children simply to avoid strangers is no longer enough. They must also be taught that if a relative, teacher, neighbour, family acquaintance or influential person makes them uncomfortable or pressures them into doing something they do not want to do, they have the right to speak up. They should know that they can tell their parents or another trusted adult without fear of being blamed or punished. Such education is not about frightening children. It is about giving them confidence.Perhaps the most painful aspect of this crisis is that danger sometimes comes from the very place that should be a child’s safest refuge. Home is a child’s first shelter. The family environment is supposed to provide love, security and protection. But if that space becomes unsafe, where does a child go? Parents also need to pay close attention to sudden and unexplained changes in a child’s behaviour. Fear of a particular person, refusing to go to school, unusual silence, anger, withdrawal or a sudden change in behaviour may sometimes be warning signs. Not every behavioural change means that a child has been abused, but ignoring every unusual change is certainly not wise. Pakistan does not lack laws relating to child protection. The Zainab Alert, Response and Recovery Act 2020, the Juvenile Justice System Act 2018 and various provincial laws and policies provide a legal framework for protecting children. The real problem, however, is not the absence of laws. It is the failure to translate those laws into effective action. During a hearing at the Islamabad High Court in June 2026 concerning the implementation of the Zainab Alert law, the court was informed that some important provisions, including the practical operation of an immediate alert mechanism for missing children, had yet to be implemented as intended. The court was also told that 562 criminal cases relating to missing children and child abuse had been registered in Islamabad between 2022 and 2025. These figures raise a fundamental question: how seriously do we monitor the implementation of laws after passing them? The National Assembly’s Standing Committee on Human Rights also expressed concern in February 2026 over the performance of government institutions responsible for child protection and the lack of coordination between departments. It pointed out that several policies appeared to remain largely confined to official documents. We also need to understand that registering an FIR is not justice. It is merely the beginning of the process. If a child is abused, a case is registered and the accused is arrested, but the trial continues for years, witnesses come under pressure, evidence becomes weaker and the family eventually loses hope, then where is the justice despite the existence of laws? Cases involving children require a particularly sensitive approach to investigation and prosecution. Making a child repeatedly recount a traumatic incident, subjecting them to unnecessary questioning or taking their statement in an intimidating environment can deepen the trauma. Every district should therefore have properly trained child protection units where police officers, prosecutors, social workers and psychologists can work together. Specially trained investigators and prosecutors should deal with child abuse cases, while unnecessary delays in trials must be eliminated. We teach our children mathematics, science, English and computers. But do we teach them what to do if someone touches them inappropriately? Do they know that they have the right to say no? Do they understand that they are not obliged to obey an adult when something is wrong? Do they know whom to approach if someone threatens or intimidates them? Age-appropriate child safety education is no longer a luxury. It is a necessity. The purpose of such education should not be to frighten children but to give them a basic understanding of personal boundaries, appropriate and inappropriate touch, online risks and ways of seeking help. Parents and teachers also need training because children often communicate distress through changes in behaviour rather than directly asking for help. The dangers facing children today are not confined to streets, schools and neighbourhoods. Mobile phones and the internet have created another world in which children can

A truly democratic-technocratic model for Pakistan should also address the country’s administrative structure. Pakistan is too large and administratively complex to depend on highly centralized decision-making from Islamabad and provincial capitals. A modern governance system should therefore consider the creation of new provinces or constitutionally recognized administrative units, based on population, geography, economic viability, administrative accessibility, historical and cultural considerations, and the ability to provide effective public services. This distribution must not be based on the ground of nationality. In my personal opinion, in Pakistan, there is a very emotional and stimulation mind sets found everywhere, they create prejudice mentality among the whole nation. All provinces names should be on the basis of their respective specialty of that particular area. Sindh, Punjab, Khaiber pakhtoon kha, Balochistan, these names also must be changed to other names. This will remove the nation base mentality. The objective should not be to divide Pakistan on the basis of ethnicity, language or political rivalry. Rather, administrative boundaries should be designed around governance and public welfare. Where existing provinces have become too large to administer effectively, new administrative units could bring government closer to citizens, improve resource allocation, strengthen accountability and allow regional development plans to be tailored to local needs. Here is a very common example, as if there is a school, when strength of the students increases, school starts to produce more campus, this is just because of good administration, to deliver good services, to provide better education to all students equally. So same case is in Pakistan, now the population has been reached out more than 250 million. While, at the time of 1947, the population was 70-75 million, that was combined, west and East Pakistan both, and West Pakistan comprised of only 32-33 million. Now imagine, now the population is more than 250 million and provinces are same. The population has been increases up to 681%. Imagine….! Punjab population was 20 million in 1947, now in 2026 is 127 million. Sindh population was 6 million in 1947 and now in 2026 is 56 million. Similarly KPK was 11 million in 1947 and now is 41 million, Baluchistan was 4.3 million in 1947 and now is 15 million. By these figures, more provinces or administrative units must have been developed many years ago. When we look for cities of Sindh, as the largest opposition found in Sindh against this proposal, we see, Karachi population was 1 million and in 2026 is more than 20 million, Hyderabad was 5-6 lacs, means 500 to 600 thousands, and now in 2026 is 2.4 million. Similarly Tharparker population was almost 300 thousand only, now near to 2 million, Nawabshah, currently is SBA was 500 thousand in 1947 now in 2026 is almost 2 million, Larkana was 420 thousands and now is 1.7 million, Sukkur was 340 thousand in 1947 and now is 1.6 million. If I write the whole country data then we need many pages, so these main examples are presented to elaborate that new provinces or administrative units are compulsory in the country for the betterment of Pakistan and the people of Pakistan. Now, keeping in view the concept of new provinces or new administrative units, under a Democratic Technocracy model, each administrative unit could have an elected political government supported by professional technocratic administration. Citizens would elect their representatives, while key departments would be managed by qualified professionals and career administrators. Health systems could be led by experienced health administrators and public-health professionals; education by education-policy specialists; municipal development by professional urban planners and engineers; finance by qualified public-finance specialists; and agriculture, water, energy and industry by relevant technical experts. In current system, our all ministries have, very unfortunately, absolute irrelevant Persons to run that particular area, except a very few. Now see this model, would create a three-level governance architecture: Federal Government → Provincial/Regional Governments → Empowered Local Governments At the federal level, matters such as defense, foreign affairs, currency, national economic policy and other genuinely national responsibilities would remain centralized. At the regional level, governments would concentrate on sectors such as health, education, agriculture, provincial infrastructure and regional economic development. At the local level, elected governments would become directly responsible for municipal services, sanitation, water supply, local roads, primary healthcare, local education, waste management and other services that directly affect citizens. A New Map for Better Governance Pakistan should therefore be willing to have a serious national debate about whether the present administrative map remains optimal for the country’s future. The creation of additional provinces or administrative regions should be based on objective criteria rather than political convenience. A proposed new unit should undergo an independent feasibility assessment covering: – Population and geographic size – Administrative accessibility – Economic and revenue potential – Existing infrastructure – Healthcare and education requirements – Natural resources – Urban and rural population distribution – Connectivity and transportation – Fiscal sustainability – Public opinion and consultation – Protection of minority and regional rights No new unit should be created merely because a political group demands it, nor should a legitimate administrative reform be rejected simply because existing political interests oppose it. The principle should be simple: “Administrative boundaries should serve citizens-not political elites”. A smaller and more manageable administrative structure, combined with empowered local governments and professional administration, could make it easier to identify responsibility, measure performance and deliver public services. However, creating new provinces alone will not solve Pakistan’s governance problems. A smaller province with the same inefficient institutions would simply reproduce the same problems on a smaller scale. Administrative restructuring must therefore occur simultaneously with civil-service reform, fiscal decentralization, digital governance, merit-based appointments, independent oversight and strong local governments. The ultimate objective should be to create a Pakistan in which every citizen can reach an effective government institution without travelling hundreds of kilometers to a distant provincial capital, while every level of government remains constitutionally accountable to the people. This is where administrative reform and Democratic Technocracy meet: democracy determines representation, technocracy ensures competence,