n an essay titled The Best Answer to Fanaticism – Liberalism, published in The New York Times Magazine on December 16, 1951, British philosopher and mathematician Bertrand Russel observed, “The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt. Education, as it exists in many places, does little to encourage the imagination; instead, it turns young minds into regimented machines, producing conventional opinions rather than independent thought. Imagination is essential, not only in art and literature but in science and in the affairs of life. A society that neglects imagination will find itself intellectually stagnant and spiritually barren.”

I quoted the great thinker’s words on imagination here because this year’s Dosti Peshawar Literature Festival (DPLF-2025) centred around the theme Ranayee-i-Khayal (the radiance of imagination). While Russell’s perspective on imagination seems relevant, Dr Syed Hanif Rasool Kakakhel, the chief organiser of DPLF-2025 (the chief organisers change each year), had a different context in mind. He borrowed the phrase from one of Mirza Ghalib’s poignant ghazals, in which the poet laments the devastation of Delhi that was once a thriving centre of culture, art and architecture.

In his Diary of 1857-1858, titled Dastanbu, the poet wrote:

“An entire city has turned into a graveyard. There is no sign of life, no voice of poetry, no sound of music. The grandeur of the past is now a ruin, where even the birds refuse to sing.”

“Like the Delhi of Ghalib’s era,” Dr Kakakhel reminisces, “the city of Peshawar, along with the surrounding Pashtun belt, has endured immense pain and fear, leading to the erosion of art, culture and, of course, imagination.”

Peshawar was once a city known for its rich tradition of storytelling. Travellers and traders would gather to listen to great tales of wisdom and heroism while sipping qahwa – the traditional green tea. Dr Kakakhel maintains that Peshawar, which produced artists like Gul Hamid, once hailed as the Star of India for his acting in silent films, also gave birth to theatrical legends such as Prithviraj Kapoor and Yousaf Khan (Dilip Kumar). “This city,” he recalls, “was a hub of creativity.”

In today’s Peshawar, it seems, the qahwa has survived, but its storytellers have not. Over the past few decades, the melodies of the rubab and flute have been drowned out by the echoes of blasts and bullets.

Through efforts like these, literary volunteers such as Dr Kakakhel and his friends aim to restore beauty to the city. They seek to ignite the imaginations of the youth by reconnecting them with words and ideas; with art and beauty; and with life and purpose.

A distinctive feature of the 12-day literary extravaganza was its focus on local, often unknown talents rather than on crowd-pulling celebrities and social media influencers. As one guest speaker – who had just returned from a similar literary event in Karachi and had previously attended those in Lahore and Islamabad – remarked:

“Wherever we go to literature festivals,” he observed, “we usually see the faces we also see on screens. Their ideas are already known; they are invited primarily for the crowds they attract.”

“In Peshawar,” he maintained, “there are new faces to see and fresh voices to listen to.”

While supporters see this approach as an alternative to intellectual elitism and celebrity snobbery, sceptics point out that it risks lowering standards and ceding ground to intellectual mediocrity.

In today’s Peshawar, it seems, the qahwa has survived, but the storytellers have not.

However, this was not merely a showcase of local and less-familiar talent. Each day featured keynote addresses by renowned public intellectuals, except for the opening and closing days. Leftist political leader Farhatullah Babar inaugurated the event. Prof Dr Qibla Ayaz, a former chairperson of the Council of Islamic Ideology, delivered the closing address.

The presence of intellectuals from both the Left and the Right reflected the organisers’ vision of bridging divides and bringing together individuals from contrasting views.

The keynote speakers included eminent scholars such as the political economist Dr S Akbar Zaidi who prefers to call himself a teacher; the linguist and educationist Dr Shahid Siddiqui; the erudite author, encyclopaedist and director of Iqbal Academy, Lahore; Dr Abdur Rauf Rafiqui; and the educationist Prof Arif Khattak.

Some of the sessions I attended aligned closely with the festival’s overall purpose. For example, in a workshop on Critical Thinking and Writing Skills, the facilitator posed a thought-provoking question to the participants:

“Despite the ubiquitous presence of AI tools, why do you still put effort into developing thinking and writing skills?”

“Because I want to learn how to preserve my unique experiences and those of my people for future generations,” replied Munazza Altaf, an intermediate student.

Another participant, Shezal Misbah, said that she wanted to master the art of thinking clearly and independently rather than adopting ready-made beliefs. She said that this skill was essential for managing information overload, resisting bigotry, developing fair-mindedness and giving voice to the voiceless.

Bushra Khan, a sociology graduate, pointed out that the life of almost every Pashtun woman is an epic tale, yet one rarely finds novels or short story collections penned by Pashtun women. Quoting Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, she remarked:

“Until the lions learn how to write, every tale of the hunt will glorify the hunter.”

She argued that it was time for Pashtun women and men to learn how to think critically and write effectively.

The motivations of these participants encapsulate the core purpose of this intellectual festivity.

The festival featured 39 panel discussions; three master classes; 11 workshops; 17 author and translator talks; three book talks; three art, culture and science exhibitions; five dialogues; nine book launches; a special children’s festival; a higher education summit; and concurrent sessions in 5 regional chapters, including Karak, Bannu, Dera Ismail Khan and Mardan. The total number of visitors exceeded 10,000.

A unique feature of this festival is its primary reliance on volunteerism. From the chief guest to the chief organisers and from speakers to photographers, everyone works voluntarily. They refer to themselves as literary volunteers. This volunteer-driven model has been made possible largely due to the support of universities, which provide free venues for the extended festival. In Peshawar, space was also provided by the Area Study Centre, the Pakistan Study Centre, the Department of Arabic, and the Department of International Relations. The university’s administration, particularly Vice-Chancellor Prof Dr Naeem Qazi, took a keen interest in supporting this annual literary event.

While many volunteers worry about the festival’s growing scale, Muhammad Asif Riaz, a co-founder of the festival and CEO of Dosti Welfare Organisation, envisions expanding it even further – to last nearly a month. I asked him why, he replied:

“Comparing Peshawar to Lahore or Hay-on-Wye is naïve. A desolate land needs more water than a fertile one.”

Some people believe that whatever can be imagined can be achieved; I hope that this is true for this ambitious leap of imagination as well.

The writer has a background in English literature, history and politics. He can be reached at nadeemkhankpk13@gmail.com