Garhi Khuda Baksh
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Garhi Khuda Baksh
The Bhutto mausoleum
By Humair Ishtiaq
The locals call it the Taj, referring, of course, to the Mughal architectural wonder across the border in Agra. They may have a point. Just as the Taj stands tall in contrast with its impoverished surroundings, so does the Bhutto mausoleum in the rather bucolic, rustic environment of Garhi Khuda Baksh. If anything, the contrast is even sharper. But here, right here, ends the parallel between the two entities. For starters, the sense of emotional attachment the locals feel towards the Bhutto mausoleum can never be matched by the Taj, or, for that matter, by much else on the planet.
The sentimental link they have with the monument is cemented with the string of tragedies that befell the family. Logic does not have a chance in this somewhat mystic equation. The Taj was built by royalty of which pomp, extravagance and lavishness were the hallmarks. The Bhutto mausoleum, on the other hand, has been built by a populist political dynasty which raised the slogan of roti, kapra aur makaan.
The cotton and rice farmers in the area live in mud houses. Barefoot children herd goats and water their buffaloes, and women dry cow dung on the walls of their homes to use as cooking fuel under the shadows of the domes that rise above the rice paddies. So what? Say people who remain unimpressed by such arguments.
There is not even a proper road on the 25-kilometre stretch linking Larkana, the hometown of the Bhuttos, with Garhi Khuda Baksh despite the fact that the family has had three tenures at the helm of affairs. The retort remains unchanged: so what? On the contrary, people inhabiting the city of Larkana, the town of Naudero and the village of Garhi Khuda Baksh –– and, indeed, the millions living in surrounding areas –– are proud of having the monument in their midst. Such are the ways of populist politics.
Approaching Garhi Khuda Baksh from Naudero, the mausoleum is the first thing that the eye catches sight of –– and the last thing as well because there is nothing else to be seen except the brown-and-green landscape of a typical village. Though construction work is underway –– it has been going on at a snail’s pace for many years now –– that may be one of the reasons for all the filth and litter that abound in the family graveyard. Things could still have been slightly better managed keeping in view the sacred nature of the mausoleum. But the caretakers can hardly be faulted on this score for howsoever hard they may try, it is a tough job to expect not to litter of a people whose own lives are deprived of even the most basic of amenities like sewerage, sanitation and potable water. The result is obvious.
Right in front of the main entrance to the mausoleum, there are vendors of varying denominations selling their wares; from Bhutto family postcards and audio cassettes of speeches for the emotionally charged, to a variety of drinks for the thirsty and food stuff for the hungry. They are doing brisk sales these days and that is attracting even more vendors.
The real surprise lies once you enter the mausoleum’s main hall that plays host to the mortal remains of all the famous Bhuttos who are no more. The grave of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto lies at the centre of the hall, as it should, but that of Shahnawaz, who was the first among the siblings to join their father in eternity, lies a good 10-15 metres to the right and that too in a different direction altogether. Murtaza, who went next, has been alligned with Shahnawaz, and now Benazir has been laid to rest next to her father. The sight of two graves in the centre facing northwards and two on the right facing halfway to the east is something most people don’t expect in a family mausoleum, but that is the way it is in Garhi Khuda Baksh.
There are about a dozen more graves of family elders in the mausoleum who are mostly resting behind the prominent Bhuttos in an area within the same hall that does not have the marble flooring that is present in the front portion. Green-and-pink chaddars so typical of shrines lying permanently on the graves of the two brothers complete the scene inside the main hall.
There is no dearth of people who find the mausoleum –– and the litter and disorder within it –– a serious disservice to the memory of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who, despite his failings, had a vision and method about his existence. Bhutto certainly –– most certainly –– deserved better.
