Songs Of Blood And Sword: A Daughter'S Memoir Read Online Free PDF Page B

Assembly that there would be blasts after Sonara’s “arrest” and that the MQM or SB would be behind it. If he had this information what did he do to avert any danger of the blasts actually going off? Nothing. There was nothing to do. This is a crackdown on the Pakistan People’s Party (Shaheed Bhutto). The Interior Minister knew about these supposed blasts because it is his office that planted them. I want to tell the government that we are a political party and we will resist these illegal, warrantless arrests and extra-judicial killings politically . . . We will not go into hiding. We are ready. It is not my style – in times of trouble – to hide behind my workers for protection. I stand on the frontline, they are behind me.’
    We ate lunch at home in 70 Clifton while Papa was giving the press conference next door, and left afterwards for Sea View, to continue the preparations for Zulfi’s party. As Mummy and I returned home, we ran into Papa, who came striding across the lobby. He was on hisway out. The press conference was over. Ashiq Jatoi was waiting for him in the car outside on our driveway. I ran over to talk to my father but he was in a hurry and looked tense. ‘I’m late. I have to go,’ he said, stroking my back, as he moved towards the heavy wooden door. ‘Papa, wait,’ I said. ‘Let me change, I’ll come with you.’ I had only climbed one or two stairs, bounding towards my bombshelter bedroom, when Papa gently caught my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. ‘No, Fati, you can’t come,’ he said. ‘Things aren’t safe right now. Stay here, I’ll be back soon.’ I stood on the stairs and watched him walk out of the door, pulling it shut on his way out.
    As Papa walked towards the car he spotted Yar Mohammad and Sajjad. He walked over to them, visibly upset. ‘I told you both not to come with us today.’ The threats against the two men were serious. They were very close to my father and he depended on them greatly. ‘How can we leave you now?’ Yar Mohammad asked. ‘If things are as dangerous as you believe them to be,’ continued Sajjad, ‘then our place is not at home, but by your side.’ They would not be dissuaded. Papa called the other guards forward, there were seven men that day. ‘If the police try to arrest us on the way to the jalsa , surrender peacefully. Don’t try to protect me, I’ll be fine. Let them produce the warrants and we’ll go with them.’ The men nodded, they understood.
    Four cars set off from 70 Clifton that Friday. Papa sat in the passenger seat of a blue Land Cruiser belonging to Ashiq Jatoi, who was driving the car. Yar Mohammad sat in the back, behind Papa, along with Asif Jatoi, Ashiq’s family driver, and Asghar, a bearer from our house who often joined my father on his trips. Ahead of them was a red double-cabin pick-up truck carrying six people. Mahmood, Qaisar, Sattar Rajpar, Rahim Brohi – my father’s guards – and two others. A small white Alto car, matchbox shaped and compact, drove alongside Papa’s. It was carrying three people, two men who came along that day for the jalsa , and Sajjad. It was at Sajjad’s request that the Alto drove next to my father’s car, so it could act as a buffer in case anything happened. The last car was a white Pajero jeep belonging to a gentleman who had also decided to tag along to the public meeting; he was not a political worker but a well-wisher of sorts.Wajahat Jokio, the last of my father’s seven guards, sat with the Pajero owner and another passenger.
    The drive to Surjani Town, a suburb outside Karachi, is a long one, more than an hour in Karachi’s traffic. But it’s an opportunity to pass through most of our hectic city, caught unawares on a weekend afternoon. Papa’s small convoy drove towards Surjani Town on the road that leads towards Las Bela in Balochistan. Passing Clifton, they travelled north past the monument of the three swords, or teen talwar , emblazoned with the motto ‘Unity,