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It was 5pm when news channels started flashing the news that former prime minister Benazir Bhutto had been severely injured after addressing a rally in Liaquat Bagh, Rawalpindi, on Dec 27, 2007. But I thought she would survive, just like she had survived the deadly attack on Oct 18 in Karachi. But soon it was confirmed that she was no more. I was at work at the time and began to get frantic phone calls from other photographers who said that it was proving difficult to come to the office. They could only go up to Numaish and no further.
“We are too scared to venture out. The mobs are setting everything they can get hold of on fire,” some said. I, too, due to security concerns did not venture out with my camera and stayed put in the office till about 2am.
Then I and two other colleagues left for our homes on our motorbikes. When we reached Numaish and Gurumandir we saw burnt-out cars, rickshaws and buses. Banks and shops had also been destroyed by fire. Even pushcarts had been set alight. It was like going across a war zone. Under normal circumstances, I would have started taking photographs but strong rumours were circulating that looting was taking place in the city. I was naturally too frightened to take out my expensive camera.
On the morning of Dec 28, I reached the Dawn office by 8am. On my way to work, I observed an eerie silence on the roads; I couldn’t even find a stray dog. From the office I took along a photographer colleague, primarily for moral support, to take pictures of the aftermath of Benazir Bhutto’s assassination. At night we were unable to figure out the extent of the destruction but during the day it was evident. On every road and in every narrow alleyway, I saw row upon row of vehicles, banks, offices and shops torched in arson attacks.
This particular photo was taken at the Nipa roundabout where on both sides of the road, one could see charred remains of burnt-out cars. But it is only when I climbed up the Nipa bridge that I saw, much to my shock, what appeared to be a never-ending queue of cars blackened by fire. Some cars were halfway on the pavement, some on a plot. It was as if drivers and owners of the cars were trying to save their vehicles from angry and violent mobs but no car escaped their wrath. Everywhere we went — whether it was Gulshan-i-Iqbal, Sharea Faisal or Saddar — the scene and extent of destruction was almost same.
I remember coming upon a curious scene at the time. A couple of children were dismantling a burnt-out car. Some were trying to remove its doors, others its tyres. They seemed to be enjoying themselves; not realising that Karachi and other cities had experienced a tremendous economic loss.
The writer is a White Star photographer
Published in Dawn, December 28th, 2014
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