Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Recollections and Remembrances Foreword

write poetry about me. They will sing songs about me,” he said with a
remarkable prescience.
My allotted time was 30 minutes and time was rapidly flying away. Mindful of
the paucity of time, I moved closer to my uncle to whisper in his ears in order to
circumvent the human and electronic bugs. There were many important
messages to convey and his reply and directions to be absorbed and retained. Just
as the time was over, I conveyed Yar Mohammed’s message regarding the mercy
petition.
What a mistake that was. I should have known the Shaheed better. The word
“Mercy” did not feature in the lexicon of this man of destiny. He flew into a rage
and screamed “My life belongs to God not to Zia. And my name belongs to
history. They are angry and frustrated because they can rob me of my freedom
but not my spirit. They cannot cheat me of my place in history.” On 1st April I
was granted another meeting. After a rigorous body search I was taken by the
same police officer to the Shaheed’s cell, He smiled when he saw me and
remarked, “they seem to be crowding all my meetings on the same day, Benazir
and your aunt were here a little earlier as well.” Little did I know then that this
was in preparation of the impending murder. We sat across the bars, huddled in
whispers. He asked me about what the talk was. “All indications are that they
will go ahead with the execution.” I replied grimly. His countenance betrayed
neither shock nor alarm. He simply nodded stoically. I felt rotten for having said
that. I was desperate --- I wanted to do something anything. “Why don’t you give
a call for the people to rise, instruct the PPP leaders to give a call on your behalf
and take them to the streets,” I pleaded. He stared out into vacant spaces and said.
“The PPP leaders asked me if I wanted them to give a call. Forget it I said, don’t
bother, I and too big a man to tell them to go out and risk their skin for me. Life is
precious but not at the cost of one’s honour and dignity. Surely they were only
half hearted in their offer otherwise why ask me. What guidance can I give them
from a death cell. Damn it if they really wanted to do something, they should
have gone ahead and not come like babes in the wood to ask me what I want.” I
was determined not to let it pass. “Then authorize me to go and tell then to give a
call. I will tell them these are your instructions.” He thought for a few seconds
and said. “What’s the point? I have prepared myself for death now.” “That may
be so but it is your right and you must exercise it.” I insisted, “Alright you can tell
them in a round about way ---tell them it is your duty to go out and fight for your
leader”. Tell them that Mr. Bhutto is not preoccupied with the idea of saving his
life and will, therefore, not ask you to put yourselves at risk,” he said. From
somewhere I found the inner reserves to continue arguing with my uncle. “No.” I
replied defiantly. “Either I tell them categorically that these are your direct
instructions or will say nothing at all. If I say anything in a round about way they
will give their own connotations to the message.” He thought again for a moment
and grasping both my hands in his said “You know I and glad you came to see
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