We joined the Civil Service Academy on 29 March 1979 – just a few days before the execution of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto which cast a pall of gloom on the premises and drove home the severity of the tyranny unleashed by the military regime to this odd crowd of over hundred funny, merry, serene, resolute, provincial and urban men and women who otherwise breathed jubilantly in dreamy hopes, self-adulatory satisfaction and contagion happiness. This gloom hanged over the atmosphere for long days.
With the rejection of his review petition by the Supreme Court, the mock trial of Bhutto had already reached its culmination. The precious life of this popular leader was effectively in the hands of his tormentor who then had the prerogative either to pluck a tragic leaf from the wretched history of human wickedness, or show gallantry like a true deliverer, taller than his miserable captive. Every rising sun brought in its wake a faint hope as appeals for clemency were endlessly pouring in from world capitals, while despair and hopelessness heavily overcast every falling evening, given the General’s blind rage, hatred and vendetta against the man in the death cell.
On the tragic day, when alone in my room, I gave myself up to my reflections on this tragic drama. Z.A. Bhutto – the most popular and the democratically elected leader of the country; the savior of the defeated and truncated Pakistan; the architect of the unanimous Constitution and the nuclear project; the outstanding leader of the Muslim world – preferred to go to the gallows than to bow and beseech for his life. He chose to live in history, in the hearts of the masses, larger than life, and higher than Himalayas. Like the Greek philosopher Socrates, Bhutto preferred ‘death rather than to say or do anything beneath his dignity’. Both the men did not want to ‘demean themselves’, and to ‘continue living in effrontery and shamelessness’, by lamenting and wailing before their tormenters.
Was Bhutto’s death a life for the General; a breathing space for him to reinforce his grip on power? What about our political leadership of the time? They thought, quite shamelessly, that their political ascendancy lied in the elimination of Bhutto whom they could never defeat in the political arena. His life apart, Bhutto was battling for the supremacy of the Constitution, and the civil courts and the rule of law, while they, as the General had once sarcastically remarked, were rolling in his feet with wagging tails, for a crumb of political power. The sword, pulpit and politics, so to say, were in solemn fraternity to blow off the flame of the life of this man.
This tragic tale of our history signified the defeat of genius by the calculations of an unholy alliance of the obscurant forces emerging from the garrets of status quo, of light by darkness, of freedom by tyranny, of enlightenment by dogmatism, of progress by obscurantism, of advancement by regression. Bhutto was liberal, secular, progressive and involuntarily revolutionary. His foes, steeply enmeshed in religiosity, dogmatism, regression, were voluntarily counter revolutionary and determined to extinguish the light that Bhutto had diffused over this land. They feared the power of the poor masses and the spark of revolution this man was involuntarily radiating.
Bhutto was recalled to power at a sorrowing moment of our history. He had the intelligence, dynamism, resolution and courage to confront this monumental challenge. Moving as a hurricane, he was constantly audible and incessantly visible in picking up the pieces of the broken ship and rebuilding it. He transformed the remainder of Pakistan into a viable and vibrant nation. It was a grand restoration of a broken country, a despondent nation and a dejected people. This elicited acclamation for him from the world statesmen. He was worthy of this acclamation.
Bhutto was recalled to power at a sorrowing moment of our history. He had the intelligence, dynamism, resolution and courage to confront this monumental challenge
His opponents were nowhere comparable to him. The rays of sun know not the flickering light of a candle. Whatever anger, irritation and rancour we may have against him, a mysterious respect and appreciation springs forth from the depth of our soul for this man, if we recall honestly the conditions at the time engulfing our dear land when the Jinnah’s Pakistan stood dismembered; the junior army officers, in the density of their anguish and anger, had revolted against senior General; when our nation, formidably shocked and shaken, was desperately looking for a savior; when predators were looking for an opportune moment to pounce on the wobbling Pakistan. At this depressing juncture of our history, Bhutto was called upon to take power and salvage the remaining part of Pakistan. Bhutto did it with aplomb.
The death of Bhutto was cried over by heroic eyes. Bhutto lost his life but Bhuttoism, his unbreakable romance with the multitudes, survived. Bhutto fallen seemed loftier and mightier than Bhutto erect. Glory does not stem from the sword. It springs forth from the ideas and ideals of leaders that rise in the mien of triumph and defeat the tyranny of the sword that, if in the hand of a tyrant, kills freedom, right, justice and truth. The Bhuttoism and Ziaism were two conflicting phenomena. One was leading us to enlightenment and modernity, the other to obscurantism. The former recognized the Constitution while the latter rubbished it. One was set on throne by popular consent while the other usurped it by force of guns.
While reflecting about this dark spot on our national history, I tried to find solace in the laments of Khalil Gibran who, tormented by a wretched event of this nature, had cried out ‘pity the nation that showers rose petals on its villains but bricks on its heroes’. We hurt the honour and dignity of Bhutto that was more painful than showering bricks on him or his long ordeal in the death cell where he did not have access to treatment of his swollen gums and aching teeth. Times have changed now.
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