Just a few hours ago, my family and I lived through a deeply traumatic experience-one that shook us to the core and brought into question the very safety of our lives in what is supposed to be a secure urban neighborhood.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and all four of us were seated together in our drawing room, enjoying a peaceful holiday. My wife stepped out toward the main entrance with our 2.5-year-old son to attend to a small chore in the garage. Moments later, the air was pierced by heart-wrenching screams-cries so intense and horrifying that I froze for a split second, unable to grasp what was unfolding. Instinct kicked in, and I dashed out, following the terrifying sounds.
What met my eyes was every husband and father’s worst nightmare.
My wife lay writhing on the ground, overwhelmed by pain and panic, while my little boy stood motionless beside her, frozen in shock. In those brief seconds, a mad dog had leapt in from outside and viciously attacked her, sinking its teeth into her right leg with ferocity. In an act of immense bravery, she managed to shield our child from the beast during the scuffle, sparing him from harm.
Alhamdulillah, help came rushing in. Being a Sunday, most of our neighbors were at home and quickly responded to the commotion. Some residents, already aware of the growing threat from stray and aggressive dogs-this being the 7th or 8th such incident in just one year in Sindhi Muslim Society B Block-grabbed their licensed weapons and set out to chase the dog.
We managed to get my wife into the car and raced to nearby private hospitals, only to be repeatedly turned away with the same cold response:
“Take her to Jinnah Hospital. We can’t treat dog bites here.”
Eventually, we reached Jinnah Hospital where, Alhamdulillah, she received prompt emergency care, including all necessary anti-rabies vaccinations and wound treatment.
Upon returning home, we were hit with another shock: despite five bullets fired by one of our neighbors, the dog had escaped. Even more disturbing was the revelation that more than 15 to 20 private security guards stationed in our vicinity were completely unequipped-not one carried a single bullet. It ultimately fell upon ordinary citizens to hunt down and kill the rabid dog with sticks and batons, a grim process that lasted nearly an hour.
The most alarming part of this ordeal isn’t just the dog attack itself-it’s the utter absence of response from relevant authorities. Within a 200-yard radius of our home lie three major offices of the Metropolitan Corporation, including the Nazim’s Office, Health Centre, Vaccination Unit, and Registration Department. Despite over two dozen dog-bite incidents reported in this locality over the past three to four years, no sustainable action has ever been taken. It feels as if we are left to fend for ourselves, as though we’re living in a marshy no-man’s land, rather than in one of Karachi’s oldest and most prestigious urban communities.
This is not an isolated issue. Every day, similar tragedies unfold across Pakistan, often ending in fatalities due to a lack of available vaccines or timely treatment. Our country continues to grapple with stone-age public health infrastructure, even as the rest of the world moves forward in this so-called “global village” era.
One wonders: Are we truly living in a leading city-or in an untamed jungle, where stray animals roam free and citizens are left at the mercy of fate. Once renowned author, playwright and bureaucrat Oriya Maqbool Jan said, “We pay taxes to the state, but, during all minor or major calamities and hardships in our life, it is our, family, friends, relatives, community and neighbors who come forward for our rescue and help, not the state. It is why people here are not loyal to their state and always think of supporting their families at the cost of state.
