Tag Archives: Shaheed Zulfikar Ali 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

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The ‘Osiris’ Of Hope – Ammar Akbar and Saria Benazir

4 Apr

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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.

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.

Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari: 22 letters from admiration to my existence! – By Saria Benazir.

22 Nov

bbbakhtawarMy heart space and headspace is entirely packed with her; a friendship culminated into existence, perhaps much treasured than the breaths for they depend on its prolongation. Words are not proficient to portray the life in the storyline. Photographs fail to confine the realism which is beyond every conception. She is the golden thread to the meaning of my life or the very rationale of it; a glow and voice of optimism in the wilderness – reincarnation of a love I had lost six years back; she characterizes gorgeousness, fascination and magnetism. She is and can be none other than the tremendously enthralling Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari.

They say Bakhtawar means the portent of good fortune. They could not have been more ingenuous. She is a celestial blessing and my heartthrob. ‘They took our mother from our hands’ traumatized her, but produced the best daughter a mother could ever have. Everyone’s darling, Bakhtawar is the verification of Benazir’s eternity who is replicated in her breathtaking looks to compelling leadership and sentiments for the dejected that are all beyond description. Her eyes divulge the vision left to her by her mother and her words and actions illustrate the pathway to its realization. ‘I would take the pain away’ is her assurance to the people of Pakistan and it echoes in the firmaments – her voice audacious as ever and the legacy celebrated as ever. It is a daughter’s promise to her mother who is larger than life to her and in her name, she has undertaken to stand up for the oppressed and the marginalized section of her population.

SiblingsIn July 2009, she addressed the future Pakistan officially for the first time. Dressed in golden with the necklace her mother had left for her eighteenth birthday, her slogans of ‘Jeay Bhutto’ and ‘Jeay Benazir’ ripped the hearts of her admirers and sent frissons to the haters. She enchants everyone with her inimitable kindheartedness and other traits of head and heart, for it takes a trillion tons of chocolate to compose the kindest Bakhtawar who is an exemplar in every sense of the word. Her affection and concern for her siblings is unvaryingly unparalleled, who are enormously fortunate to possess the best sister in the world. As she posts an image captioned ‘BBZ square’ or carrying Aseefa in her lap, I have to seek out a trillion stars to favorite her tweets but it still goes futile because in her presence, the stars go dim for she is the brightest of all.

convocationShe is the peoples’ princess. My fondness for the Bakhtawar in the red SZABIST robe and the green Pakistan shirt craves a lifetime to place it on paper. She is seen wooing the students at the convocation and the country’s cricket team at the stadium. That is what Bhuttos are about – they give love and receive love; that is what makes Garhi Khuda Bux a crowd-puller. That is what makes ‘Zinda Hai Bibi Zinda Hai’ an everlasting fate. That is what makes this blood sacred and this is what defines Bakhtawar – the leader of the people like her mother and grandfather.

Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari – my life’s lexicon comprises of these 22 letters. It will die away the day one of it drops out. It is the name that reverberates in the deepest of my heart and streams in my blood, making it the sole component of myself. I yearn I could carve her name on the stars with my red and make a red carpet for her with my heart. But deep down, the trepidation of losing her haunts me – the very thought of it trembles my compassion and mind. But with no making up, I owe every drop of my blood to her. The only space in my heart and soul is occupied by her.

‘Having a sister is like having a best friend you can’t get rid of. You know whatever you do, they’ll still be there.’

 bluebbz

It has progressed from admiration to existence. The blue has not faded yet; it never will, InshahAllah.

Love from one sister to another!

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.”

Jehangir Bader: The tale of heroism and devotion to the PPP. – By Saria Benazir.

25 Oct

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 remembers his leader Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, his eyes haze and the wretchedness is perceptible in his words.

He is 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 LahoreAirport 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 – accusations that were never proven.

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 speaks about her, his tone carries mounds of tenderness, and his eyes, heaps of tears. His dedication to Bakhtawar, Aseefa and Bilawal is interminable, and he feels 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.

Happy Birthday Uncle!

You are my hero, and I am proud of you, inspired by you. Your courage entails a book that would soon be on my list.

Jeay Bhutto!

Meray bazo’on par nigah kar, jo gharoor tha wo gharoor hai. – By Saria Benazir.

19 Oct

43October 18, 2007, a dazzling Thursday – clad in green and white, the colors of her country’s flag and her trademark ashen scarf hovering on her head, Benazir landed on her birthplace to save it. Her hands elevated in prayers and in veneration, tears streamed from her eyes. It was a passage of eight years of banishment far away in the Arab lands to rob her of the whiff of her soil – mud that was too precious to her and which carried the blood of her martyred father and young brothers. She was back amidst her people for whom she meant no less than divinity and who owed her nothing less than blood. She was encircled by Jan Nisar Benazir who were all set to protect their leader at the cost of their own lives. She was breathing in an atmosphere crammed with the red, green and black banners of her party and the jingles of ‘Jeay Bhutto’ and ‘Welcome Benazir’. She had planned her rally in the metropolitan which failed to house the Bhutto’s daughter’s supporters. She landed near the Arabian Sea but the sea of her supporters was more cavernous than any oceanic on the planet. Benazir was back, so was hope.

Courage poured down her eyes, she waved to her crowds that had traveled from every curve of Pakistan to greet her. The song ‘Dila Teer Bija’ doled out as an arrow ripping apart the hardest of the hearts narrating the parable of a knight in the shining armor of her people. Her classiness and dedication was as unrivaled as her name, which sent tremors to the enemies of democratic system. She was Bibi to her jiyalas who voiced Jeay Bhutto as they breathed their last after being hit by the bombs and bullets at Karsaz. She was the message of God and the pigeon from Karbala sat on her shoulder to shield her. She was the Iron Lady of Pakistan, who could not be demoralized by threats of violence but rather led the fight against it and with an incomparable heroism shed her blood for Pakistan on a depressing Thursday of December 27, 2007.

He buried my Benazir in the soil of Garhi Khuda Bux on a dreary Friday. My life was gone, it now resided under tons of mud and he had eyes packed with tears. He was a 19 year old who had lost his mother. Few had reckoned that this child would grow up overnight to bear the mantle of his mother’s leadership with an unequaled boldness and esteem that gush in his blood.

1374374_673938759292600_1288453068_nMeray tan ke zakham na gin, meray ankh may abi noor hai

Meray bazo’on par nigah kar, jo gharoor tha wo gharoor hai.

Another faint Friday of October 18, 2013, when Pakistan is rapt in the worst predicament of its history and the blood of its innocent citizens is drifting on its soil, the cuffs of his shirt were open. He commenced with the watchwords of Narai Takbeer, Narai Risalat, Narai Haideri and Narai Bhutto. They were Benazir’s catchphrases and he had said them in the precise mode. He clapped his hands and the tone of voice echoed alike Benazir’s. Benazir’s magnetism and zeal formed the red on his cheeks, making his face shine brighter than the sun; he has surfaced from the East to alleviate Pakistan after nights of desolation. His smile conveyed buoyancy and at the same time illustrated that he was equipped to escort his treasured nation to prosperity.

His expressions portrayed fondness for the masses and his enthusiastic disciples who never fell short of any sacrifice to advance the grand cause of Bhuttoism. He was at Karsaz to strengthen that everlasting attachment formed by his grandfather Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto: ‘Bilawal Bhutto ap ka tha, Bilawal Bhutto ap ka hai aur hamesha rehay ga’. His axioms carried cutting edges intended at the contenders of democracy and Pakistan’s population and the apologists of the Taliban. He was there to give a deadly bluster to them. This Friday, his eyes were snowed under Benazir’s valor. He addressed his much cherished workers to tie the knots of a son and a brother with them, who are no less than enchantment for him in conjunction with his flamboyant vision and an equally celebrated past.

He carried Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s finger ring and he eventually proved that he is worth it.

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