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The tale of my gallant warrior princess begins… – by Saria Benazir


The name “Benazir”has an exhilarating upshot on my soul; for here is my identity – commencement, continuation and conclusion, and subsistence is too crammed with obligation and stimulation that there is no availability of a room for any entity – Benazir dwells therein, and her parable of heroism is too far fetched that nothing parallels the allure, and the woman’s valor, who has the fortitude to resist the strongest of the men, all alone; a woman who has the potential to alter the globe better than any man – undeniably, the woman who knows the gist of struggle, sacrifices and passion, independently and detailed.

For a jiffy, I gape around, and deem the earth without the greatest of all the eras, my idol of worship if my religion would consent – Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto. Her flamboyant vision to bring up a Benazir in every house, and brighten up her reality by empowering her and making her recognize her rights is unrivaled in history. Nevertheless, she did set an paradigm of Papa’s “Pinky”, not visited by any of her family members for three days, merely because the birth of a girl child was taken as a ignominy, but set it apart, who knew that this little baby with rosy cheeks would turn out to be the first even woman to become the head of a Muslim state, and carry forward her father’s legacy? No one was sentient that this same girl would grow up to save other women from the brutalities committed under the swathe of mores and honor. Well, no one could comprehend that Pinky was bound to have her name quoted at the zenith of the golden books of the history, and her struggle was destined to become eternal – her blood, perpetual – the red, which is never to fade.

A woman fights for justice – justice for recognition, justice after father’s judicial murder, justice for the blood of young brothers, justice for an ailing mother, justice for an imprisoned husband and justice for her children, who spend 11 and a half years without their father – a woman has to fight in courts, and a woman has to put a fight millions of miles away from the battlefield, to provide justice to her people, who for centuries have been devoid of it. A woman shares – shares the torments of others with her own heart soared of million breakages, she shares a shoulder to cry on with all, carrying a stack of issues to cope with, and a greater lumber of responsibilities. She is sharing, and shares her very blood for saving her motherland. She shares her Itty and Aseefi to persist with her very struggle for the empowerment of women, and the affluence of this soil, we all live on, and ambiance, we all inhale in.

“I would take the pain away”… The allegory of a woman initiates, her vow to take every bit of her beloved one’s twinge, and love for the nation is diffused in her blood – it orbits throughout her existence. A baby girl has adequate endurance to live miles apart from her mother, and then, remain soundless during the entire flight in her mom’s lap – the history of a woman’s sacrifice begins – she spends 11 birthdays without her father, and later, when released from prison, has to bear the sting of viewing his illness; yet, a woman yearns to return to her motherland in moments of adversity, but lets the piece of her heart return to where she belongs… Later, her soul rips apart from her carcass, but she does not give up. A woman fights alone in debacles for the rehabilitation of her people, with the pledge that she would take the pain away…

“Shaheed Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto is the most inspiring figure in my life. She was larger than life. So I ask in her name for help”.Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari

And her name provides a soul to the dead, courage is a minute thing!

And the tale of my gallant warrior princess begins…

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Junaid Qaiser

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