I sometimes wonder if there have been any bleaker periods in our country’s history than the current times. But then I read or listen to some of our history, and realise that the quagmire we rest on is simply a build-up of years of lies, deceit and dastardly actions of a coterie of self-interests that have existed since independence. On this day, the 74th death anniversary of Pakistan’s first prime minister, Liaquat Ali Khan, the nation needs to rethink, reassess and reflect.
The facts surrounding my grandfather’s assassination have become clearer to me over the past few years. There remain some stalwart supporters of the first prime minister, who have undertaken extensive research, including from the period right after his assassination, and have come to their conclusions regarding where the blame falls.
Unfortunately, for this nation, the investigation and documentation of facts surrounding the conspiracy that was given to Nawabzada Aitzazuddin, the then Inspector General of Special Police, never saw the light of day. Aitzazuddin was travelling to Peshawar to meet PM Nazimuddin and update him on the results of the investigation when the military plane he embarked on mysteriously crashed. The documents aboard were apparently ‘destroyed’ too.
Such mysteries make it difficult for people to separate fact from fiction, blurring the lines between truth and lies, and effectively keeping them away from the heart of the matter.
Unresolved mysteries
A few years ago, BBC News Urdu ran a brief yet empathetic audio story on the assassination, informed by high-quality research and thoughtful insights. It revealed questions raised by Begum Ra’ana Liaquat Ali Khan on her husband’s first death anniversary, all of which remain unanswered to date.
She recalled that her husband was about to deliver an important policy announcement the day he was murdered, a speech that was not made public posthumously. Why, the Begum questioned.
She had more inquiries; why was her husband’s murderer killed on the spot, even when he had already been pinned down by people? And why was Mohammad Shah Gul, the sub-inspector who took down the murderer, given a promotion instead of a rebuke? Who actually were the high-level conspirators wanting Liaquat out of the way, and why?
And, finally, why were all of her questions still up in the air?
I am aware of the people whom my grandmother was convinced had a hand in her husband’s murder. None is alive today, and, from what I have heard, death didn’t come to them easily, each paying a price in their own way for their involvement in the conspiracy.
I am a firm believer in karma — our individual and collective actions result in reactions of equal weight across the spectrum of our own lives and of those closest to us. Notwithstanding those from within the government who participated, there is also sufficient circumstantial evidence to suggest that certain foreign interests were also at play.
The man who believed
I recently finished listening to a series of podcasts wherein US-based author Farooq Babrakzai — the younger son of Said Akbar, who assassinated Liaquat Ali Khan — was interviewed by journalist Haider Mehdi. Their interaction was based on Babrakzai’s recently published book ‘The Assassination of Liaquat Ali Khan – A critical look at the early history of Pakistan’.
Apparently, while no Pakistani publisher was willing to publish the book, a publishing house in India consented. There is talk that there will be a book launch in Pakistan soon.
The interview is quite revealing, not only in the kinds of narratives being created and curated during the early period of our history, but also in how certain events are construed by the author. At some level, I do appreciate the thought and research put into the writing, solely on the basis of the podcast, because I have yet to read the book.
But it also leaves me deeply unsettled and pained over how people have a chance to better understand my grandfather’s killer, but not him. The ruling elite of the past 70 years has made it a mission to ensure that the public remains unaware of the level and depth of the sacrifices the Quaid-e-Millat made for his country and his people, both during his life and upon his death.
Thoughts of that fateful day keep passing through my mind. The podcast plays back the one minute of the live Radio Pakistan recording of Liaquat Ali Khan’s opening words — Baradran-e-Millat — and then two shots ring out in close succession. Chaos ensues.
I keep thinking of how a murderer brought his 11-year-old son to such an occasion. The only logical explanation is that he must have been sure of an escape. There are other thoughts, too: were the two shots fired from the same gun? Not so close together. Not likely.
Did my grandfather know he was going to his death? He had been warned of a conspiracy attempt against his life. Why choose to go to Rawalpindi, the hotbed of an earlier conspiracy? Why not just stay safe in Karachi? Who can say — hindsight after all is 20/20. But in my heart, I know. He was unafraid because he truly believed in unity, faith and discipline.
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