Whenever I go to Swat, looking at the Churchill Piquet perched atop a hill across the river at Chakdara in Malakand always sends me into deep thoughts, reflecting on what was so special about the British that made the sun of their empire never set. One reason was their commitment to their allies, which in return earned them the loyalty of the nobility through whom they ruled with ease—unlike today’s Pakistan, where the state continues to battle its citizens both politically and militarily.
To quote an example, I am terrified by the tragic end of my own schoolmate and classmate from Public School Sangota, Swat. He was a hardcore Pakistani and an upright politician in whose veins flowed royal blood. Born to lead with honor, he commanded respect not through authority but through the sheer power of his integrity, humility, and selfless service to the people of Swat.
Prince Miangul Asfandyar Amirzeb’s life, deeply rooted in the rich history of Swat’s royal family, reflected a unique blend of nobility and simplicity. Born on November 30, 1966, he was the grandson of Honorary Major General Miangul Jahanzeb, the last Wali of Swat, and Field Marshal Muhammad Ayub Khan, the first Pakistani-origin Commander-in-Chief and the country’s second president. Despite his royal lineage, Prince Asfandyar was extremely down-to-earth and staunchly believed in institutional integrity and solidarity. He always followed the rules, no matter what.
I vividly remember Honourable Wajid Zia, the then DPO Swat, being bitter about the uncouth Mullahs elected from the MMA platform for their undue interference in police postings and transfers. On the contrary, he once showed me a humble letter from the then Nazim, Prince Asfandyar. It read: “If permissible by rules, kindly consider. Will be obliged.” This reflected the civility and respect that Prince Asfandyar carried, even in his interactions as a public officeholder.
As an education minister during the 1997–1999 tenure, Prince Asfandyar transformed Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s educational landscape. He laid the foundation for Saidu Medical College, Dera Ismail Khan Medical College, two paramedical institutes, and Kohat University of Science and Technology (KUST). He upgraded 79 schools across the province and introduced BSc and MSc programs in Swat’s colleges, fostering a generation of educated youth. For him, education was not just policy—it was the master key to unlocking Pakistan’s potential.
As District Nazim of Swat from 2003 to 2005, his administrative acumen was unparalleled. From repairing vital roads to providing clean drinking water and extending gas pipelines to remote areas, he worked tirelessly to uplift his people. Yet, his achievements were overshadowed by his humility. At heart, he remained a servant of the people, tirelessly striving for their welfare.
Once, I met a young army officer who had no permanent place to stay. I accompanied him to Prince Asfandyar’s office, then housed in the same building where his grandfather once ruled Swat. Today, that office accommodates the DIG Police and the Commissioner Swat offices . The prince, compassionate and concerned about the officer’s safety, promised to help as much as possible, even though the ” Circuit House” fell outside his administrative domain. He respectfully came out to see us off—a moment my friend, now a senior officer, would still remember.
But his life was not without danger. As Swat descended into chaos, with militants threatening the very fabric of society, Prince Asfandyar stood firm. Ignoring countless warnings, he ventured into volatile areas, rallying his people against the tide of terror. His unwavering courage was his greatest strength—and ultimately, the reason for his tragic end.
On December 28, 2007, Prince Miangul Asfandyar Amirzeb was assassinated in a remote-controlled bomb blast orchestrated by the Taliban, emboldened by the MMA’s patronage and the state’s policy of appeasement. His death was not just a personal loss to his family; it was a wound to Swat and Pakistan—a wound that continues to bleed, as the state fails to honor its loyal leaders.
Prince Asfandyar’s tragic death is a sad reminder of the state’s failure to protect its own loyal leaders, cheaply sacrificed, leaving Pakistan directionless. Today, there is no one among our political class whom the people trust for honesty and integrity. This widens the gulf between the rulers and the ruled, with the latter subjected to the instruments of state oppression.
Though Prince Asfandyar’s legacy lives on, it pains me to see that no road or state-owned building bears his name—not even the Municipal Committee building where his mutilated body was brought. This is the same building that he once graced with respect and recognition. The worst part is that no one from the state ever bothered to check on how his widow and young daughters fared after he sacrificed his life for Pakistan.
As I entered the prominent alumni gallery at the Army Burn Hall School in Abbottabad for a documentary I sadly couldn’t complete due to time and resource constraints, I was greeted by a portrait of Prince Asfandyar wearing his usual disarming smile. It felt as though he was asking me, “Do you ever visit to know where my children live?” I smiled back and silently promised, “Yes, I do, and I always will.”
I refuse to be disloyal like our state has been to its subjects. The royal family of Swat was never disloyal to their people, and I, as one loyal subject, owe my allegiance to Swat, its royal family, and its glorious past.
May you rest eternally in peace, dear Prince. You are deeply missed. I question myself can Pakistan afford to keep losing her loyal sons everyday – no more. Long Live Pakistan
