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At the centre of many explanations for Pakistan's unstable democracy remains the landlord, still seemingly in control of his/her constituency, able to deliver the votes to any party that asks and, by extension, in apparent control of the population that makes up the constituency – parties and kinship notwithstanding. How does one reconcile this view with the transformations that have occurred in rural economy, society and politics over the last few decades? Are Punjabi landlords in as much control of their rural constituencies as is suggested? If yes, how have they managed to retain this control, and if not, why then are they still at the centre of Pakistan's political story? I answer these questions in this chapter by returning to Sahiwal village in Sargodha district and tracing its history from the 1960s to the election of 2008. Sahiwal presents a perfect case study in which to investigate these questions because it is home to a landlord family that fits the stereotypical image of the ‘feudal’ lord with historical landed power that s/he uses to exploit the dependence of landless villagers for political gain – the crafty oligarch of popular discourse in Pakistan. It is also a good place to gain a unique insight into institutional path dependence – how initial conditions of inequality produce a certain type of local politics, despite socio-economic and political changes over time. Sahiwal was studied in detail by Saghir Ahmad in 1964–65 as the case study for his doctoral dissertation (Ahmad 1977), and then again in 1978–80 by Shahnaz Rouse for the same purpose (Rouse 1988). It is, therefore, the perfect site for a longitudinal study that can provide a unique, micro-level view of the impact of structural changes – such as land reforms and agrarian modernisation – and of national political changes represented by alternating periods of authoritarianism and democratisation on the residents of a village, and on their political and socio-economic relationships with one another. Armed with the earlier studies, I came to this village with a team of researchers in 2006–07. We knew from Ahmad's and Rouse's studies that Sahiwal had been steadily changing over the decades, but much of what we saw here, such as the village meeting recounted in the initial pages of this book, seemed to support the usual stories about the unfree votes of rural Punjab.

It was a hot summer evening and as I walked out of the landlord's living room in his spacious bungalow, I noticed that a crowd had begun to gather early in an open space just outside the inner walls of the house. People were arriving from different parts of the village for a meeting that the landlord, Naib, had called. They walked up in groups and seated themselves on what appeared to be pre-designated charpai s (string beds) laid out neatly in a square formation. As I looked down the four sides of the square, I realised that everyone present was male and from amongst the older members of the village, and that they seemed to have sorted themselves into quom s and biradari s – groups that I recognised because of the few weeks we had now spent doing field research in this village. The zamindar quom , or landowning caste, and its various biradari s were all seated together on one side, members of the kammi quom , or artisanal caste, were seated together on another side, and some kammi biradari s and a few muslim sheikh s, the lowest caste, filled the third side. The fourth side, at the head of the square, was still empty, to be filled shortly by Naib, his cousins and nephews, his estate managers, or munshi s, and his special guests – the men in our research team. I, as the only female in the group, was asked to remain inside the walled garden of the bungalow. People walked around and warmly greeted one another but most stuck to their own side of the square in general. Once everyone had settled down, one of the managers walked into the living room to inform Naib that it was now time for him to join them. The landlord and his male relatives emerged together with great ceremony and walked towards the gathering of village residents, all of whom stood up to greet them. While his family and managers walked straight to their assigned charpai s at the head of the square, Naib walked down each side of it, greeting each person as he went. With the zamindar s he exchanged the customary hug, followed by a quick handshake.