One whose sell was larger than the largest deserts.
whose love was deeper than the deepest oceans.
whose person was cooler than the coolest drops of dew.
whose challenging; tone was bolder than that of the bravest lions.
whose sight was sharper than that of Shaheens (lying at great heights.
whose rock hard principles were stronger than the highest Himalayas.
whose vision reached the farthest horizons.
whose loving personality would make him yours for ever.
whose thought was higher Than the highest skies.
And who was named after the Holy name of Maula Ali Murtaza.
whom people remember as their own Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Shaheed.
he was my uncle, the younger brother of in father Late Sikandar Ali Bhutto.

In the same was that he was loved by the children, youth and old citizens, he loved and was loved by his family members.

Each and every one in the family loved him immensely, we still love him and shall continue to love him. We know that he and his love for his family and his people live on.

My sister Rukhsana was a very small child when she sat down on a hunger strike with her beloved uncle during Ayub days.

He was protesting against Ayub, but I went on a hunger strike, because he could not come to our house due to his very busy political engagements after his release from jail. I sent a message that I will not take anything till such time he visited us. He rushed to our house. My hunger strike was over then and there, but Rukhsana insisted on carrying on her hunger strike, till such time her dear uncle was on a hunger strike. “Children do not go on hunger strike. Please take something”, he tried his best to make Rukhsana understand. But she would not listen. Her hunger strike ended when Shaheed Chacha himself ended his own hunger strike.
Shahecd Chacha loved cauliflower and carrot Achars, which my aunts used to prepare with their own hands. We also love these Achars. However, although years have passed after Chacha's shahadat, we have not touched these Achars.

After the death of our father, he gave a lot of love to our brother Imdad Ali Bhutto. He being a boy could remain with his uncle all the time and Chacha was always so caring and concerned about him inspite of his own very busy schedule.

I remember that during a rainy winter my brother joined Shaheed Chacha on shikar. My brother being a little careless was not wearing any warm clothing. Chacha called the servants and was angry with them because they had ignored to give Imdad warm clothing to wear in that extreme cold. He took off his own warn coat and made Imdad put on that coat.

Chacha's coat is still treasured by Imdad.

His political engagements kept him away for long intervals, but he always kept himself aware and informed of everything about us.

His love could not be measured by the time he gave to us. We knew that he never belived in making a show of it. But his love was deep, sincere and immense.

Rukhsana, when still very small got sick. Together with that she was also upset with her Chacha and complained that Chacha could not find time to come to see her. But Rukhsana's doctor told us that Chacha used to telephone him every day to know about Rukhsanas condition and the results of various tests.

Whenever he would be in Larkana he would comc to visit us. Usually he would be so busy that he could only visit us late at night. The children would wait for him and would never go to sleep without meeting him.

I and my sister were from our childhood interested in composing verses. He knew of our interest and whenever he would come he would make it a point to ask us to recite our verses.

Much as we loved to recite our verses. I remember that I would freeze with nervousness, when ever he would say, “so what have our young poetesses composed this time. Let us listen”.

But his encouragement over what ever we had written in that young age would give us new confidence and so our talents for writing poetry grew and we continued to write.

As children we wrote a poem for him. Although it did not rhyme very well. I still remember a verse which I will quote here.

When we grew up we started writing short stories and novels. These would usually be tragic.

Nusrat Auntie was concerned. She told Chacha. “I ask them not to write tragedies. They should write things which make readers happy”.

“Do not slop them. Let them write what they feel. Whatever they want to write”. Chacha advised her.

Little did we know that a real life tragedy awaited us and the nation.

A strange incident took place after Chacha's Shahadat. People used to say that they had seen Chacha's picture in the moon. I and Rukhsana would keep awake every night from the moon rise to its setting staring at the moon.

We did not see Chacha in the moon, but after about three months of his Shahadat we went to Sehwan to pay our respects at the Mazar of Hazrat Lal Shahbaz Qalandar. Even there I and Rukhsana continued our stare at the moon. Every morning around four o'clock we used to go to the Mazar. After returning from there we would take tea and then go to sleep.

It was Fair time on Friday. We had returned from the Mazat. I took my tea and remained in the courtyard, while Rukhsana went inside to sleep.

Rukhsana relates that she was woken up by a strong light that was falling on her eyes. When she opened her eyes she saw that Shaheed Chaca was standing in the adjoining room. He was wearing emerlad green Shalwar Kamiz.

Rukhsana was startled. She immediately closed her eyes, and then she heard a voice. “Today is Friday. Bhutto Shaheed had come to the Mazar to pay his respects. On the way back he stopped to see his children.”

In our last meeting in his death cell he had regretted. “Today I can not offer you even a cup of tea”.

Even now the teacup shakes in our hands when we remember these words.

When we were children we used to feel proud of the great Martyrs of Islam and wished in our hearts that we were born during the days of these Martyrs. We wished to have net them.

On that last meeting on the 1st of April 1979, when we saw our lion hearted Chacha fighting the battle for his principles, we knew that we were face to face with the Hydcr Ali, the Tipu the Sirajudaula of our times.

And today when my brother Imdad Ali narrates before his children, Mehdi Raza, Zaigham Abbas, Mohammad Jawad, Sikandar Ali, Ali Hussain, or my sister Rukhsana tells her sons the stories of the great Martyrs of Islam, they include the story of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Shaheed. With hint they have a blood relationship too besides having a relationship of devotion.

I would end by quoting a poem that I and Rukhsana wrote for shaheed chacha.