Tag Archives: Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto

Jehangir Bader: An Encomium – By Saria Benazir

14 Nov

clip_image002He was beleaguered, whipped and incarcerated, but he never gave up on the doctrine, he so stalwartly believed in. His existence is an immaculate exemplar of audacity in times of adversity, and an unparalleled allegiance to the Bhutto family, and he has never desisted from any sacrifice to hold the red, green and black crest of his party too towering, as to pack the ambiance with its immenseness and distinctiveness. His parable is tear-jerking, but illustrates an unplumbed heroism and devotion to the cause of Pakistan Peoples’ Party. He signifies an indestructible bond with the party that is larger than life to him. Every time, he remembered his leader Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, his eyes hazed and the wretchedness was perceptible in his words.

He was a fighter – warrior of democracy, who from his teenage years had undertaken to bring an alteration in Pakistan’s political scenario that had always encompassed of the autocrats and drawing room politicians, who had utterly no going into the masses. Jehangir Bader initiated his political activism as the President of his college’s student union and in the course of that, led the campaign to oust the military rule of General Ayub Khan, which was apathetic to the needs and demands of the commoners. Profoundly enthused by Quaid e Awaam Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, his relation with the party he established goes to the heart. As a fervent aficionado of the entrancing Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, he declined to be silenced, and persevered with the cause of an egalitarian Pakistan, in the face of getting tormented and locked up in the dictatorial regimes. He nevertheless set a history.

The cause of democracy was the dearest to his heart, and he always placed his own verve on peril to hold the pennants of the Pakistan Peoples’ Party lofty, in the eras of the atrocious of the despots. His ‘transgression’ of receiving his leader, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto at the Lahore Airport was castigated by a year term and battering in front of the Shaheed Bhutto Cell. But he was a man of iron: thirty – five lashes at one fell swoop could not shatter that idol, or crack his faithfulness to the PPP. He was apprehended in the Kot Lakhpat Jail (alongside his leader Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who was also held a captive there) for touring Punjab with Madr e Jamhooriat Begum Nusrat Bhutto. In the same year, his son, Zulfikar Ali Bader was born – a child, named by and after Quaid e Awam, who depicts the indestructible bond that links him with the PPP. Every consequent affliction was ruthless than the prior. He also remained seized and tortured in the Shahi Qila of Lahore on the commands of zia ul haq.

His fortitude to expel the domineering regime of zia ul haq was unflinching. He led the Movement for the Restoration of Democracy despite being inflicted with imprisonments and appalling ordeals and as the President of the PPP for the Punjab province, in April 1986, organized the grand and historical reception for the Daughter of the East, Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto – homecoming, that altered the tide and culminated the tyrannical decade of zia ul haq’s rule. In the following elections, the Pakistan Peoples’ Party won a landslide victory in Pakistan, and the Bhutto’s daughter was sworn in as the first ever woman to head a Muslim state. Finally, there was democracy in Pakistan, but that was too short lived. Both terms of the PPP in power did not amount to barely five years, owing to the coups and the extremist lobby in Pakistan’s politics who were apprehensive of a moderate, enlightened and egalitarian Pakistan. Another epoch of torments began. Fictitious corruption incriminations were leveled against Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, her husband and other PPP leaders, including Jehangir Bader, by Nawaz Sharif and Pervez Musharraf – accusations that were never proven but which landed him in jail for another long term.

Jehangir Bader was one of the closest companions of Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto and he has always stood dutiful to her, and the earth she was buried in. After her assassination, he began his doctorate in philosophy on his sister, and his leader he too dearly cherished – making him the first ever person to do so. This is a paradigm of his incomparable fidelity and adulation for his martyred Chairperson. Every time, he spoke about her, his tone carried mounds of tenderness, and his eyes, heaps of tears. His dedication to Bakhtawar, Aseefa and Bilawal is interminable, and he felt for them, like his own blood and flesh, and the same allegiance is reflected in his children, who have made the PPP the rationale of their existence.                                                                                                                              

Dear Uncle JB, you would be greeted by Shaheed Zulfikar, Nusrat and Benazir Bhutto and your comrade Amin Faheem in the heavens today, but you have left the PPP and Pakistan’s political landscape fatherless which in these tempestuous times required your wisdom more than ever.

 For Senator Bader,

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

Mary Elizabeth Frye


The ‘Osiris’ Of Hope – By Saria Benazir

4 Apr


Five decades ago, a political party took birth in the blood and torment of the commoners of the land. From its heart, it oozed countrywide to suffuse life in an ailing nation. The promise of food, clothing and housing appealed to the dispossession of masses who in 1947 had only achieved freedom from the British Raj and not exclusion and bondage. The mesmeric and riveting Zulfi Bhutto was their messiah whose love affair with his soil is sentimental fiction. Brought up in manors and clad in silk, he declassified himself to take power to the mud-spattered sheds. Throngs gathered in millions in his support to depose an excessive dictatorial regime and reinstate the peoples’ rule in Pakistan that was theoretically designed to be a democratic state at inception but soon fell to the politics of narcissism and the khaki that led to the dismemberment of the federation. Hope was conked out in the home painstakingly founded by Jinnah, the Quaid-e-Azam. The road between survival and disintegration was captured by the Quaid-e-Awam who adroitly put together the trampled pieces of it and built a new Pakistan.

April 4, 1979 was the assassination of the Pakistani heartthrob and liberation of its civilians. Dimness of the night jostled the country into years of extreme viciousness and denial inflicting on it inerasable abrasions that our nation continues to bleed until this day. Pakistan’s first popularly elected Prime Minister was crucified ahead of schedule at three past two, contrary to the prison codes and his nearest deprived of his final sight and last rites. The stillness of grave was broken by hailstorm on the deserts of Sindh. ‘Finish it’ was the lion’s roar. ‘The bastard’s dead’ relief to zia was short-lived. The carcass of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto became the compass for the masses and a shrine to worship. He was an element of the folklore now, celebrated and undying.

Conspiracy to murder burgeoning social equality and say of the people was performed under the shroud of ‘conspiracy to murder’ a political adversary. The ‘booklet with ten or twelve pages’ dictating the law of the land was slit apart by zia ul haq whose longing for the Bhutto blood was no secreted detail. The seizure of government in a military coup on July 5, 1977 from the Prime Minister who capably bargained the honorable homecoming of 90,000 soldiers taken prisoners in the 1971 War by India verbalizes the ethical deficit of the general who abhorred the reputation of the ‘‘leader’ of the people’ Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the man who picked him for the position of the Chief, thus inviting his own demise. The trial was a charade. Personal ire prevailed over legal conventions. Courtroom comments emanating revulsion for the accused and rationale to put him to gibbet took no notice of law. The conjured offence in itself was not meriting of the death sentence which was acquired by a tinkered four – three ruling of the Supreme Court of Pakistan. Justice was explicitly slaughtered at too grave a price. Clemency appeals from worldwide were discarded; Bhutto’s neck was the dictator’s diktat and he was unready to conciliation on this.

Zulfikar Ali Bhutto saved his score on the leafs of history. He was murdered for the murder he did not commit. His family was locked up and his favorite child was also not allowed to hug him goodbye. ‘Keeping the head high’ in face of desolation was the legendary father’s lesson. Bhutto’s darling daughter, Benazir, who was in her early twenties, took the father’s fight for his people. She was the nightmarish renaissance zia had not envisaged. Sweltering prison cells and toxin bottles could not break Pakistan’s Joan of Arc. Fate has its own paybacks. The tormentor’s remains were scalded in the skies, a tooth manufactured for entombment and the Prime Minister House fell to Benazir’s feet.

The incongruity however is thunderous. Justice is the killer. The state’s history narrations are half truth. Fictitious corruption charges robbed Asif Ali Zardari of his freedom for eleven and half years and Benazir Bhutto of family. Images of a mother seated on a brick in the jails with adolescent children to meet with her besieged husband faint the tenor. Twenty-eight years later, on her return to her fatherland to battle zia ul haq’s scourge, the destiny’s daughter ornamented in her peoples’ love lost her life to a terrorist’s bullet and twinkled the books of eternity. As April 4 looms in 2016, her murderer’s cigar stays lit.

On The Blues With My Red, Happy 26th BakhtawarBZ – By Saria Benazir

25 Jan

CZfvniQWcAARoEYFor her, my heart is the diary printed in ichors, for she is the single ingredient of my RBCs and WBCs both – the oxygen in my breath, the good fortune in my charm and my buttress when I could not stand for myself. She is the sunup I anticipate and the religion I live out. She’s my knot to God. Regal in birth, she embodies the expression. Raised in the lap of the century’s iron woman, she exhibits her features in the most untainted form. Justly named by her mother, she is the pudding of superlatives. She is Benazir’s Bakhtawar.

January 25, 1990 ascended with a scarlet memo for Pakistan’s first female Prime Minister. Newspaper headlines read ‘Baby girl born to Benazir’; the baby has been an enchantress since. Glued to mama’s heart and her favorite, she was Shaheed Bhutto’s ‘Bisket’ of love that she passed on the masses that belonged to her, a liaison which Itty admitted to in her formative years – typified by detachment of thousands miles between herself and her mother, and her father behind bars for the sins he did not commit. Her life’s chronology is a gargantuan stream of affliction she suffered for the inhabitants of her homeland with no gripes. Banishment did not incise the cord and she kissed her mother good bye on her return to save her nation, only to hear the noise of the bullets that placed her mother, who did not overlook her 18th birthday present, under ruby wreaths in Garhi Khuda Bux.

Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto’s blood brought the return of democracy, and her party to the treasury tables she occupied twice in her life span as the first woman to head a Muslim country. Months later, the younger Benazir accompanied her father in what was democracy’s feat to the Presidential palace – on the Election Day, the dutiful daughter in attendance, tears, ‘Jeay Bhutto’ and ‘Zinda Hain Bibi’ slogans, her mother’s portrait in her hand and her emblematic white scarf decked the Parliament building. An awards ceremony to acclaim SMBB was ornamented by Bakhtawar standing with a red rose next to her photograph, manifesting the soul of the realest anecdote of commitment and barely five years after her mother’s assassination she gifted her with a burgundy degree certificate from the University of Edinburgh that lit up her birthday candles in the azure.

The people’s misery was Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto’s pain. She promised to cure it by pledging to prolong her battle. Her first official address to the future Pakistan in golden and the choker her mother left her glimmered with sanguinity and BB Junior’s allure. Worshipped by the underprivileged of the country like her martyred mother whose vision is her life’s mission displayed by her patronage of the Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Institute of Science and Technology, hauling it to new loftiness and making education free of charge for the victims of terrorism therein and forming a flood relief NGO to lend a hand to the affected, together with her superior than existence smile and nerve already install her into the veins of her followers and send quavers to the contenders of a modernistic Pakistan.

Marvi of Malir, the jiyalas know her; comparable familiarity is palpable in Bakhtawar’s eyes and tone. Donning the non-political Bhutto Zardari label did not grant her getaway from the compulsion because the Bhuttos are indivisible from the population and Bakhtawar is the spine of the celebrated family. Bastion to her father and siblings and always on the hedge to guard them, her presence alongside the PPP Chairman and her brother Bilawal Bhutto Zardari constructs an overpowering duet. BBZ squared is equivalent to immeasurable fascination and imposing audacity. Always heedful to everyone’s woes, the Team PPP head surpasses all in defending the streamer with crescent and star which is stained with the red of her kin. Heroine by definition, she is the supreme stimulus for her countrymen to realize the implausible; Benazir Bhutto’s buoyancy manifested in her valor.

Twenty-six years later, time, space and new entrances cannot fade the twenty-two letters engraved intensely on my epithelial, connective, muscular and nervous tissues because she is who I love from the oceanic of my passion that is for no one else. I pasted this message on the blues and they are purple tonight.

Benazir Bhutto: From My Heart – By Saria Benazir.

8 Mar

33390_133499430012435_100000571377055_250060_2847619_nBenazir Bhutto – my heart glides a beat every time I pronounce the very name, for it means no lesser than an existence to me, and streams in my veins like blood. Bibi – the voice that had stroked my essence, and defined my creation was not an ordinary being. Like her name ‘Benazir’, she is inimitable and wrote the elegy in her red; my Bibi remains my exclusive inspiration and every deed I perform is in veneration to the woman who showed me illumination in the shadows, and gave my countrymen a say by sacrificing her father, brothers, family life and her own life for the earth that was the dearest to her. I owe my Bibi nothing less than my life. She was Benazir, the peoples’ princess, who was laden with the roses when she took the assassin’s bullets to guarantee Pakistan’s survival.

Benazir Bhutto was exquisiteness – her life, an exemplar. She was a saviour, her trademark green and white, a parable of her unwavering commitment to winch the Pakistan’s flag too lofty. The white dupatta that perched on her head (with long dark hair and sometimes a breathtaking flick!) added to her classiness and wrote the myth of a young, unarmed knight in the shining armor of democracy, who fought against the repressive regime of zia ul haq, and stood unabated in front of the fanatics to surface as the first woman ever to head a Muslim state. She was only 35 at that time. Her ashen scarf was also verification of her adherence to her country’s rituals that she greatly appreciated.

Her eyes encumbered with kajal made her looks more sensational than Diana – eyes that were intuitive, and could feel the woe of her dispossessed masses, and would rip into tears to hear the anguishes of her countrymen. These eyes carried the fascination to magnetize huge crowds – they described precision, earnestness, audacity, sacrifice, and nationalism. Love for her people was always palpable in them, so was the soreness of losing her loved ones. Reading these Benazir eyes is implausible – their intensity, too profound to sink in them.

The pink on her cheeks earned her the pet name ‘Pinkie’. Who knew that Pinkie’s life would get trickled into an unplumbed red?

Her ears, often carrying gems were the only one that could pay attention to the cries of the underprivileged, the criticism of the opponents and the counsel of the friends with noteworthy might and broadmindedness. Her broad forehead denoted good luck. What greater fortune would it be to die a martyr’s death?  Her lips adorned with bright shades of lipstick only articulated the truth, and the voice of the marginalized, constructing avenues to the hearts of the people, piercing them with her eloquence and acumen. Her words transformed into the pearls of history books – priceless lessons for the people of all times. She spoke like a tigress; her words scared the boots more than the enemy tanks, and sent frissons to the enemies of democracy.

Her flawless skin and nose demonstrated her high virtues, and the strength of her beliefs. The imam zaman on her shoulders and her wrist illustrated her unyielding belief in her Creator, as she so famously said: ‘Life and death is in the hands of Allah that is why I have the courage to stare in the eyes of death without any fear’. Her wrist watch was an emblem of a punctual Benazir, who always knew her fate that she would not be allowed to live for many years, and she had to do everything before late for the emancipation of her people. ‘Time comes, time goes. We decide what to do with time’ and she dedicated every instant of it to her people who loved her beyond boundaries. Her hands with neatly trimmed nails, and always embellished with four or five finger rings were made of iron, and carved an allegory that will remain unparalleled for all the times to come with a scarlet ink that will never grow fainter.

The mole on her neck defined charm, and her diamond necklaces would add to the grandeur of the already fairy tale character, sent from the heavens to help the dejected. Her outfit revealed her grace – the shalwar kameez, blazer and the scarf she wore enthralled the minds and the dazzling color choices would give a glimpse into a daring Benazir with tenacity and unflinching devotion to her motherland. Her glamour was equally Benazir!

Benazir Bhutto was the most entrancing leader of all the times to come, and the heart throb of millions.

Benazir’s feet left ineradicable marks in the annals of the history. Wherever she treaded, she left a prodigy there, and soil for me to worship. Her nails garlanded in crimson depict the course chosen by her – she was walking in the way of blood.

I have a heart to offer as a red carpet for her feet – their prints made me Saria Benazir.

A wish as cavernous as the colour of my blood: Happy Birthday Aseefa! – By Saria Benazir.

3 Feb

195951_475600912459720_876084483_nThe white dupatta suspended on her head and her spacious smile with equivalently woeful, yet indomitable eyes splits my heart but ignites it with a glint of hopefulness; she has begun from where her martyred mother had left for the creation of a bright future for her native land which carries the Bhutto blood. Aseefa is a re-embodiment of Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, in the fabulous looks and dauntless behavior. Catching a smirk of her, the hymns of ‘Zinda Hai Bibi Zinda Hai’ already initiate to ricochet in the ambiance, for she is the manifestation of her mother’s promise to her people.

Benazir Bhutto’s blood runs in her veins. The youngest of the three siblings, she is the heartthrob of every jiyala, barely 14 when she lost her raptures that lied in mama’s lap. Those tears, every time I hark back to carve ineradicable cracks in my heart – greater soreness that one could put up with, yet Aseefa’s courage overwhelms the universe and overawes her mother’s assassins more than the bombs and bullets they deployed to snatch her mother from her. Her slogans of Jeay Bhutto make their way unswervingly to the soul of the people who label her as Benazir Junior, an axiom she accurately merits and is fated to be.

‘Mama, I cry every night when you are away and Baba is in jail’. She is truly a daddy’s girl. Her startling similitude with her father, especially in that larger than life smile synonymous with endurance and triumph has made her invincible. She is the daughter of the strongest man in Pakistan – Asif Ali Zardari, who was devoid of basic human rights in captivity for eleven and half years without a single conviction and who saved the country in the repercussion of December 27, 2007 by his slogans of ‘Pakistan Khappay’; thus figuring a new history of resistance and resilience.

Benazir Bhutto lives in every speck of her. Aseefa Bhutto Zardari was the first Pakistani child to get inoculated against polio by her mother, thereby kick starting the anti – polio drive in Pakistan and Aseefa has embarked on to accomplish Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto’s dream by making Pakistan polio- free by her vigorous campaigning against the menace with remarkable resolve. God bless those hands that are all set to transform Pakistan’s fate by administering polio drops herself to the children to guarantee that no one is crippled for life. She was appointed as Pakistan’s Ambassador for polio eradication in her teenage, which itself reveals her matchless bravery to carry a huge responsibility too early in life, but undoubtedly, she has been created for a greater rationale – beyond ordinary conception.

She, at the core is very humanitarian. A few months ago, she took her jump for humanity by skydiving to help raise funds to support the victims of Typhoon Haiyan. You do not entail going further to find an exemplar of a super woman – unrivaled gorgeousness with an even unsurpassed audacity is what makes the Bhuttos affable and an enticement for the masses. Her fondness for the animals is inexpressible; the youngest Bhutto Zardari girl is always seen nurturing her cats who are auspicious to have the presence of this exquisite human being sent to alter the fate of Pakistan to an improved, healthier and enlightened future.

Aseefa Bhutto Zardari is an Iron Lady in the making. She has inherited these nerves of steel from her mother, Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, who gained an endless life after being riddled with bullets. She has surfaced as the leader of Pakistan’s future generation following her elder, likewise enthralling siblings Bakhtawar and Bilawal. Aseefa believes in sharing her smile with the world, analogous to her father Asif Ali Zardari who is the only head of state to have donated his body organs.

From thousands of miles apart and gashed by numerous dividers, nothing can impede me from being the greatest ABZ aficionado. Love and prayers for you stream incessantly like the waters. As cavernous as the color of my blood, this birthday wish comes from the deepness of my heart and soul. Happy Birthday, my sister and my leader!

Happy Birthday to my Benazir in blood and flesh, Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari! – By Saria Benazir.

25 Jan

17‘The other day, I took Bilawal to see his father in prison. The atmosphere was horrid – police, prison bars…When we got home I felt very guilty for having taken him. However, it was quite different when I went with Bakhtawar. I had given her a biscuit to keep her quiet on the way there. When we arrived at the jail she hadn’t eaten it yet and when she saw her father, her whole concern was to feed him. When we arrived home, she spent the whole time picking up the phone and saying ‘Daddy. Daddy’. Tear-jerking, yet buoyant, inclusive and gratifying graphic of Itty Bee who is my life! Do I have to seek out an auxiliary rationale to worship her? Where the universe culminates, my adulation for Bakhtawar commences.

She is my goddess – the hardest name to carve and enunciate because it already crafts a pathway to my heart. The incessant and unblemished twenty-two letters ‘Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari’ delineate the itinerary of my continuation which is devoid of a measure to the fondness and kindliness held within, doubtful for any vision to comprehend and any being to feel the slightest of it. She gushes through my veins and breaths and surfaces as the exclusive throb. Words fall short to replicate the accurate state of mind; nevertheless cannot help scrape a minute section of my heart to get adequate blood to whittle ‘Happy Birthday’ for my leader and my soul – sister, the prophecy of good fortune and her mother’s very beloved pudding.


 She is the Royal Baby. When Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto gave birth to Bakhtawar in 1990, she became the first modern head of state to give birth while in office. The breathtaking parable of the baby who did not suppurate at all in mama’s lap during the entire flight from her mother’s ‘Daughter of the East’ characterizes the very gratefulness and serenity of the best daughter a mother could ever have – a leader in the creation, who had dedicated herself to Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto’s cause of the emancipation of her people ever since she was born, and from the beginning of her reality was made to go through the mayhem of Pakistan’s politics by growing up with the father behind bars and the mother fighting to prove his innocence alongside battling for the rights of her dispossessed masses.


Fittingly named ‘pudding’ by her martyred mother, she is a merge of the superlative traits of head and heart. I cannot fail to notice the 18 year old in black and silver having lost her mother just before her birthday and her space that laid with her – the tears in her eyes demolish me, but the human race observed those tears alter into a voice that guarantees to take the pain away with incomparable valor and dedication that sent tremors to the enemies of democracy and kindled the candle of hope in her devotees. The triumph of the PPP in the 2008 elections led to her father, Asif Ali Zardari taking the office of the President of Pakistan. One cannot recount anything to the exquisiteness of hands with cherry – painted nails carrying her mother, Shaheed Benazir Bhutto’s picture in the National Assembly. In her foremost official address to the future Pakistan, she, ornamented with her mother’s last gift conveyed her resolution to creating a positive difference in the lives of the people.


The floods in Pakistan gave birth to a new Benazir who could not resist rupturing all the obstacles to lend a hand to her people and convert the tragedy into an opportunity. Her venture to form an enlightened Pakistan is demonstrated by her excellent grades at the University of Edinburgh and her fidgety efforts to escort Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Institute of Science and Technology to new heights. Lately, she captivated the crowds at the launch of the Sindh Festival – Benazir’s daughter in the conventional Sindhi dress denoted the family’s adherence to their derivations and indestructible connection with the soil and its people. She, in her riveting smile reveals truth and hopefulness – woman with audacity to speak up for the derelict and dismiss the critics without a grimace.


She is a superwoman. Twenty four years of her life have made her tantamount to magnetism, bravery and fascination. Her presence completes me or rather creates me. Her hug makes Bilawal and Aseefa impregnable.

Happy Birthday to my Benazir in blood and flesh – my leader (the only woman who can construct and destruct me!), Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari!

Islam resurrects after every Karbala! – By Saria Benazir.

15 Nov

Benazir+Bhutto+Benazir+Bhutto+Killed+Suicide+TDlItyuG8RXlO Muhammad (Sallallahu Alaihi Wa’sallam)! May the angels of heaven bless you. Here is Husayn in the open, stained with blood and with limbs torn off. O Muhammad! Your daughters are prisoners, your progeny are killed, and the east wind blows dust over them. These were the cries of Zaynab bint Ali as she passed the prostrate body of her martyred brother, Hazrat Husayn (AS). Of that gallant band, male and female knew that the enemy forces around were implacable, and were not only ready to fight, but to kill. Denied even water for the children, they remained parched under the burning sun and scorching sands, yet not one faltered for a moment. Husain marched with his little company, not to glory, not to power of wealth, but to a supreme sacrifice, and every member bravely faced the greatest odds without flinching.

The storyline of Karbala is imprinted in sacred and an indelible red, the stains of which will never grow fainter. It was the blood of the Prophet (PBUH)’s family which was drifted inhumanly in the murky waters of the Euphrates, a sip of which was not even available to a six months old baby Asghar who was murdered by the arrows of the brutal forces of Yazed. It was a battle that decided the fate on righteousness, on the soil and on the firmaments. ‘If the religion of Muhammad(PBUH)  was not going to live on except with me dead, let the swords tear me to pieces’  – this was the audacity of Hazrat Husayn (AS) who fell in prostration as he gave his life fighting for Allah’s religion after losing all of his companions. He was beheaded and the bodies of the martyrs were mutilated and left unburied for forty days. The violence did not culminate here. His family was enslaved and Husayn’s three year old daughter Sakayna died as a captive. However, the martyrs of Karbala were the eventual winners. They were killed, but their beliefs could not be obliterated. Instead, Husayn and his companions became an emblem of gallantry, resoluteness and legitimacy for the people of all the nations and all the religions, his sacrifice having set a paradigm. They were no non believers, but the so – called Muslims who killed the grandson of the Prophet of Islam (PBUH) in cold blood about whom he said: ‘Hussain o minni wa ana minal Hussain’ – Hussain is from me and I am from Hussain. What could be a larger exhibition of fondness than calling him a part of himself? They did not attempt to kill Husayn, but a central part of the Prophet (PBUH) which they could not. Yazed and his followers were doomed to convene abhorrence and blight, their names tantamount to defeat and nuisance. Husayn’s message and venture to protect his grandfather’s religion, on the other hand achieved an undying existence of splendor. Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) is reported to have said: ‘As a result of the assassination of Hussain, such warmth will be kindled in the hearts of the believers that shall not become cold till the Day of Resurrection.

The Karbala did not lapse with the martyrdom of Hazrat Husayn and his companions. It is an as pertinent phenomenon even today. The followers of Husayn (AS) continue to be butchered by the gruesome Taliban who claim to be the vendors of faith. The blood of the Shias does not arouse any remonstrations in this so known as the land of the pure. Hazrat Husayn (AS) gave the sacrifice of his life and his kin to protect God’s faith unlike the Taliban who use suicide jackets to kill innocent civilians and our brave soldiers to spread Yazed’s Islam. The Karbala recurred in Pakistan with the Bhutto tragedy. Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was murdered by Yazed’s courts by speaking up for the rights of the dispossessed population of his country. Benazir Bhutto Shaheed, following in the footsteps of Bibi Zaynab (AS) lost her father, both her brothers and travelled to the desolate wilderness of Karbala despite the dangers to her life and perceiving that the soil was thirsty for her blood, ultimately giving her blood for speaking against Yazed’s religion lectured by the scroungers. They, however, could not mute Hussainyat. The young grandson of ZAB, Bilawal Bhutto Zardari stands as firm as ever against the forces of Yazed who have held our nation hostage. Despite being on their hit list, he is the only politician in Pakistan who holds the bravado to gape in their eyes and label them animals. It was probable for the Bhuttos to live a life of ease by surrendering to these tormenters but they chose not to be intimidated and silenced, but instead wrote a golden history which lies buried under the petals at the graveyard in Garhi Khuda Bux. Like Maulana Muhammad Ali Johar, the pioneer of the Khilafat Movement and a prominent figure in the struggle for Pakistan’s independence wrote ‘Qatl-e-Hussain asl main marg-e-Yazid hai, Islam zindaa hota hai har Karbala ke baad’, how true that resonates in Pakistan. It is the Bhutto’s blood that overwhelms radicalism and despotism and brings democracy to Pakistan. In the jargon of these Yazed Taliban and their appeasers, saying ‘Ya Ali’ and ‘Jeay Bhutto’ is a transgression, but in reality, these catchphrases cleave apart the skies and will persist to echo in the universe till the end.

On this Muharram 10, let us reiterate to fight the Yazed within us that has claimed the lives of thousands of Pakistanis. None of us is Shia or Sunni. It is either Yazid or Husayn’s religion. Let us join hands to eliminate these terrorists for once and all. Following Husayn (AS)’s Islam is the only way to the continuation of Pakistan. The words of Josh Malihabadi wrap up the story of Husayn (AS) and Karbala: “Insaan ko bedaar to ho lene do, har qaum pukaray gi hamare hain Hussain” (Let humanity awaken and every tribe will claim Hussain as their own.)

The Nightingale of India, Sarojini Naidu beautifully placed Hazrat Husayn’s sacrifice very admirably in her poem:

“Black-robed, bare footed, with dim eyes that rain

Wild tears in memory of thy woeful plight

And hands in blind, rythmic anguish smite

Their blood stained bosoms, to a sad refrain

From the old haunting Legend of thy pain,

Thy votaries mourn thee thru’ the tragic night

With mystic dirge and meloncholy rite

Crying to thee Husain! Ya Hussain!

Why do thy myraid lovers so lament?

Sweet saint, is not thy matchless martyrhood

The living banner and brave covenant

Of the high creed thy prophet did proclaim

Bequeathing for the world’s beatitude

Th’ enduring loveliness of Allah’s name.”

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