In a province where athletes grow old waiting for travel allowances, where more promises than grass grow on playing fields, and where coaches search for their coaching skills between stacks of files, the most active and successful “team” may well be the vehicles.
Yes, the official vehicles of the Sports Directorate Khyber Pakhtunkhwa appear to be far more engaged in their own “assignments” than in promoting sports.
According to sources, twenty government vehicles disappeared from official records. No dramatic heist. No high-speed chase. No broken gates. Just silence. Five vehicles eventually returned—like employees coming back after an extended leave. The remaining fifteen are still reportedly busy with their private engagements.
It is important to understand: vehicles do not disappear on their own. Records disappear. Responsibility disappears. Oversight disappears.
A vehicle requires a driver, a fuel log, a duty order, a maintenance record. It is not a bird that can sprout wings and fly away. Yet in our system, even vehicles seem to have gained autonomy.
If Vehicles Wrote Diaries
If these vehicles kept travel journals, they would rival the tourism department’s publications.
One might be stationed outside a wedding hall, serving VIP guests.
Another could be fulfilling the national duty of dropping an officer’s children at school.
A third might be permanently parked at a farmhouse, enhancing rural aesthetics.
And one may still be “on duty” outside an office where the officer was transferred three years ago.
As for the five that returned—their patriotism is admirable. Perhaps they slipped back into the compound at night and whispered to the watchman:
“We made a mistake. Please enter us back into the register.”
Silence: The Official Response
When questions were raised under the Right to Information law, the response vanished—just like the vehicles. No clarification. No denial. No embarrassment. Just silence.
In bureaucratic language, silence means:
“We are searching for the files along with the vehicles.”
But vehicles leave traces. Petrol pumps remember. Mechanics recognize engines. Drivers know everything. Even the tea vendor outside the office can tell you which government vehicle is permanently parked where.
Institutions may forget. Society does not.
A Simple Calculation
- Missing vehicles: 20
- Returned: 5
- Still unaccounted for: 15
This is not a typing error. These are public assets worth millions.
These vehicles could have transported athletes to training camps, delivered sports equipment to remote districts, or supervised grounds and facilities. Instead, they appear to be competing in a “Personal Convenience Race.”
A hockey team requests transport for a tournament:
“Vehicles unavailable.”
A district sports officer asks for transport:
“Not available.”
Meanwhile, an official vehicle is out buying vegetables.
A female athlete’s travel file circulates for months. Yet a vehicle is busy relocating household furniture daily.
If mismanagement were an Olympic sport, this system would win gold.
The Culture of “Temporary Attachment”
There is a familiar term in government offices: “temporary attachment.” Officially, it means a resource is allocated for a short-term purpose. In reality, these arrangements often outlive governments.
A vehicle assigned for field visits becomes a permanent household ride.
An office vehicle becomes a family inheritance.
A new officer arrives and assumes this is simply how things work.
Gradually, disappearance becomes tradition.
Why Did Only Five Return?
Did accountability suddenly awaken?
Was it easier to retrieve vehicles from less influential individuals?
Or did those particular vehicles simply run out of fuel?
In this system, accountability flows downward. Every vehicle has a driver—and drivers are walking archives. But they rarely speak, because in public service, silence often ensures longer employment than memory.
Ask: “Where was the vehicle?”
Answer: “On duty.”
“What duty?”
“Official duty.”
“Record?”
“File under process.”
Here is another question: Are the fuel bills of the missing vehicles also missing?
Often, they are not.
If a vehicle is absent but fuel expenses continue, then either the vehicle is moving at invisible speed—or the petrol itself is traveling.
Both possibilities deserve scientific investigation.
More Than Just Vehicles
This is no longer a minor issue. It is a governance culture problem.
When public assets disappear without accountability, the message is clear:
The system exists to be used—not protected.
The cost is not merely financial. Public trust erodes. Honest officers become disillusioned. Corruption becomes routine.
If fifteen vehicles cannot be found, perhaps they should be included in the next sports squad—at least their journeys would gain official status.
Or create a new team:
Team Missing Eleven
Motto: “Here a moment ago, gone the next.”
What Should Actually Be Done
Sarcasm aside, the solutions are straightforward:
- Publish a complete list of all vehicles with registration numbers.
- Release the last five years of fuel and duty records to the public.
- Identify officers responsible for vehicle allocations.
- Conduct an independent audit.
- Initiate recovery and disciplinary action.
This is not rocket science. It is a matter of intent.
In sports, performance is measured. Wins and losses are recorded. Mistakes are analyzed. But in administration, assets vanish and there is no scoreboard.
Until that changes, the fastest runners in this province will not be athletes.
They will be the vehicles that have outrun accountability.
And somewhere in a government garage, an empty parking space still waits—like a question no one wants to answer.
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