Blood relations

T.C.A. Srinivasa-Raghavan

The Bhutto family, at least in the spell it casts on Pakistan, is not unlike the Gandhi family in India. Both are intensely political; both families have produced two prime ministers each; and in both families, members have been assassinated.

For that reason alone this book, by the granddaughter of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, former Pakistani Prime Minister who was hanged by his successor, Zia ul-Haq, will sell in India. The story she tells — of intrigue, deceit, and all those lovely things that make politics what it is — is an added attraction.

Fatima Bhutto is the daughter of Murtaza Bhutto, eldest son of Zulfikar. Murtaza, says Fatima, was the inheritor of the Bhutto mantle, except that he was shot dead one day by persons unidentified but who were probably policemen or soldiers. His sister Benazir was the Prime Minister of Pakistan at the time. Fatima suggests that it was Benazir's husband, Asif Ali Zardari, currently the President of Pakistan, who was behind Murtaza's killing.

To quote: “…President Farouq Leghari who sacked Benazir's second government in the winter of 1996, came on national television and spoke of my father's murder. In the interview, aired on Duniya TV, a popular private channel, Leghari claimed that Zardari came to him in the later hours one night during his wife's term and insisted that Murtaza Bhutto be eliminated. ‘It's either him or me', Zardari is alleged to have told the President.” (p 423). It takes her the whole book to get to this point.

There is a certain amount of dramatisation whenever she is describing her father. That is understandable, as is her portraying him in a larger-than-life manner. But there are too many gaps in the story which leave the serious reader dissatisfied.

There are some interesting stories, such as the tale of the PIA aircraft that was hijacked in 1981 and taken to Kabul. Murtaza was there at the time, says Fatima, and he received a call on a private number at Palace No 2.

The caller said he wanted to speak to Murtaza, who identified himself thinking it was a call from some Government office in Kabul. “Salamullah Tipu wants to speak to you,” said the caller.

“Who is Salamullah Tipu?” asked Murtaza — and was told he was the man who had hijacked the plane. “That was how Murtaza came to know that a plane had been hijacked in his name,” writes Fatima Bhutto.

She adds in the next paragraph that this was not the first time Murtaza had heard of Tipu. He had visited the family at 70, Clifton in Karachi, and was known to be a hot-headed student. He had also been in the army briefly — and on one occasion he had suggested to Murtaza that it would be a good idea to hijack a plane to get party workers released. Murtaza had turned down the suggestion.

Next Dr Najibullah, who was then the head of Afghan intelligence and later became President, came over to fetch Murtaza and a colleague. They all went along to the airport in the early hours of the morning. Murtaza then negotiated with the hijackers for about 15 minutes and soon the women and children were released.

The Pakistan Government sent a negotiating team and, according to Fatima, one of Murtaza's associates believes that the Government was quite happy to let the drama drag on because everyone thought it was Murtaza and his brother, Shah Nawaz, who had organised the hijacking.

But then the hijackers shot one Brigadier Rahim who had been Zulfikar's ADC, and people began to wonder why the brothers would allow the killing of their father's ADC. After a week the plane took off for Syria, where it sat for a few more days until the passengers were released.

The bottom line of the story, according to Fatima, is that in the end the Zia ul-Haq regime didn't quite succeed in pinning the blame for the hijacking on the Bhutto brothers.

And so on and so forth.

The story of the Bhutto family and its political adventures and misadventures is told very jerkily, and hence the writer often loses the reader. Her writing style is not very well-developed… the biggest problem with the book, which ends up sounding like a litany of complaints.

It could surely have been written better. As it stands, it is unlikely to become a classic.


Source: http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/life/2010/04/16/stories/2010041650150400.htm