Search for captives in Malta

Some articles were found on the internet from which it was known that 'Syed Nusrat Hussain' Martyr Malta was buried in a cemetery in Turkey, which is still owned by the Turkish Army.

 Search for captives in Malta

A cemetery of the Ottoman Empire built in the 19th century, which is still owned by the Turkish Army (Amina Mufti).

It was a hot morning in Malta , 

the city was still sleeping after watching the semi-final of the Euro Cup, but today I had to find the prison camp of ' Esiran Malta ' and the grave of 'Martyr Malta'.

The only downside to traveling alone is that you have to take care of your own safety. Before going anywhere, one should find out whether the place is suitable for tourists or not.

Usually I take care of these things, but on this trip I did not know anything specific about where 'Esiran Malta' was kept. Because this family came to Pakistan after independence and most of the people in our embassy only do jobs. Therefore, there is no specific information about these places.

Despite this, some articles were found on the internet from which it was found that 'Syed Nusrat Hussain' Martyr Malta was buried in the cemetery of Turkey and this cemetery is still owned by the Turkish Army.

In the rest of the memoirs Maulana Madani's travelogue was Asiran Malta. Some had a little guess from one or two other texts, some relied on their sixth sense.

The search began with Marsa. 

Bolt operates in Malta, drivers are mostly Pakistani, Bangladeshi or Indian. I also found a boy from the battalion, wrote the address of the Ottoman cemetery and left.

The story is that Mufti Mahmud Al Hasan and his associates wanted to get the help of Turkey, Germany and Afghanistan to liberate the 'Darul Harb' called India in the first and second decade of the twentieth century. For this purpose, he started a secret movement called 'Silk Handkerchief' whose messages were written on silk handkerchiefs.

It was reported from Punjab and he was allegedly arrested by the British during the Hajj by the Sharif of Makkah. From Hijaz they were transported to Cairo and then via the Suez to Malta where they stayed from 1917 to 1920. Meanwhile, Syed Nusrat Hussain died and was buried in Turki Cemetery.

During this period there was also the famous Turk, Ashraf Bey, who was considered the Turkish Lawrence of Arabia. All arrangements for this burial were made by Ashraf Behi.

There was confusion about where Mufti Sahib and his companions were imprisoned. Two places were in doubt and the third place automatically came under observation.

Passing through St. Julian's, past the magical buildings of Marsa, the car stopped in a desert. On one side, a forest of reeds, desolation, swarming with insects, and on the other side, a four-walled Ottoman-style building with a thick lock on the main gate, on which it was written that this area is the property of the Turkish army. There was a cemetery of martyrs. No one was around to ask how to get in.

Malta amna mufti

Malta amna mufti

Fifteen minutes later, the car was parked in another desert in front of another gate with a prohibited area written on it (Amina Mufti).

Peeking through the bars, I saw a tomb inscription on the side of the Ottoman-style stone lattice. Why did it seem familiar? Dil said this is the grave of 'Martyr Malta'. The silk scarf lying around the neck, on which the message of independence was written, Parveen Shakir's ghazal was written, took off his shoes, stood on the hot pavement and recited Fatiha.

When I turned around, I saw that the Sikh driver was standing there with the car. He said, second bolt comes from far away, you book again, I will take it. In a panic I wrote Wardala Palace instead of Wardala School (the actual Wardala Barracks are only five minutes away).

Now that the car started moving, behind the airport there is a desert, fields, reeds, small houses, a one-room church and the bus is driving. The route shows that it is going towards the hills of Dingli. 15 minutes later the car was parked in another desert in front of another gate with a prohibited area written on it.

Batale's Sikh stood there and smiled and said, madam, the bolt will not come here, take the picture and book the next ride. A desolate place, an uninhabited ghostly building far and wide, no human being, no human being, all the research and curiosity flew away, the palms sweated with fear and cursed the time when Columbus was destined to be.

He was unfortunate enough to wander off to America, I don't know in what wilderness he came. I took the picture, but I didn't think that those with silk handkerchiefs would be imprisoned here. Well, Volita's next destination was written and then she started.

The driver had an idea that madam was lost and maybe she was afraid and started asking where to go? I said, what should I tell you, it is a long story, something about the freedom struggle.

I thought in my heart, you are driving a taxi, come out, what should I tell you that our struggle for freedom also consists of writing messages on silk handkerchiefs, but did not say anything.

When she started to get off at Volita, the driver said, Madam, your freedom struggle was a little different. I don't know what you are looking for, but whoever you are looking for, say hello.

When I told a museum guide in Volita, he heard the signs and said that you have to take a ferry to Wardala Primary School, maybe this place is there.

In the mess on the Volita ferry, got a ticket to the island of Gozo. Arrived in Gozo within half an hour and told the story to a boy standing in a restaurant, he wrinkled his little nose wearing a delicate earring and confided that there was a castadella above where there was an old prison. These people of yours must have been imprisoned there.

Arriving at Bolt Bula's Castle, a locked door to the right of the stairs was marked 'Old Jail'. Suddenly the sound of recitation started in the ears. On the left was the church. When I followed the sound of the recitation, I found that repairs were being made in a deserted street. Muslim laborers were listening to the recitation while working.

Dil said that this is the place. But according to the statement of Madani Sahib, that place was quite close to the coast. The day was breaking, the ferry was returning, the phone was dying. Reached the jetty while running and caught the ferry, when she reached Wardala, the battery of the phone was dead. There were barracks in front.

Perhaps these people were kept here. Look carefully at the same yellow stone buildings, round arches and long porches. Reshmi covered her head with a silk handkerchief and stood respectfully for a while, then took her way back.

The current bar driver was a Bangladeshi. He continued to say that everywhere belonged to Muslims, all churches were 'Moschit' before and one day they will all belong to Muslims again.

Arriving at the hotel with a sore head, the concierge smiled and asked. I nodded my head in the affirmative, but sat on the balcony until late at night, looking at the calm waters of the Mediterranean,

wondering if I really had a good day. A sailing ship was sailing in the distance and the Goddess of Liberty was smiling beyond the clouds. Another day drowned on the coast of Malta.