'We’re only waiting because he is an MPA and the approval has to come from high above.”'Auw! Begharatoon, you indecent men, I’m not afraid of your corrupt police."Once more Sonara’s arrest [an associate of Mir Murtaza Bhutto’s] was raised.
It was perhaps the most pressing issue at the jalsa, more so than the current atmosphere of danger imminently focused on my father.
The bathroom had windows and connected to the dressing room.I closed the door tightly before sitting down with my back against the wall. His shiny black hair was parted neatly across his head.We will go to the people, we will fight politically, and we will not be silent— Dham damadam Must Qalandar," he repeated, quoting Sufi poetry.The naras picked up again as Papa, his brow furrowed throughout his speech, smiled as he walked off the rickety stage.The last speaker of the evening would be my father.
As he walked the short distance to the podium, the crowd swelled and began to raise their naras or slogans. " they cried."Bhutto is alive." " Jab tak suraj chand rahaiga, Bhutto tera waris rahaiga" and the more romantically emotional, "As long as the shadow of the moon exists, Bhutto, your heir remains." They threw rose petals at the stage and clapped their hands loudly in welcome.I carried him, skinny 6-year-old Zulfi, into the dressing room, a small windowless corridor.I slammed the door shut and went over to the bathroom door.‘I wish I had known,’ Malik Sarwar Bagh tells me 12 years later.‘I wish I had known what was coming, I wouldn’t have left your father then.’Back home at 70 Clifton [the Bhutto family home], the day had passed painfully. Mummy was in the kitchen cooking and I went into my parents’ bedroom and sat with Zulfi [Fatima’s younger brother] as he watched TV on the bed.At the rally, he accused several police chiefs of trying to assassinate him and later that night some of those same men would succeed, as Fatima Bhutto recounts in her memoir.