The Tumandar of the Bugtis

By Ardeshir Cowasjee
IT IS not possible to remain unmoved by the death of a man one has known for almost half one’s life — a man of violence who fittingly died a violent death. Difficult indeed he was, as he held one sole stern view of life and the world in which he lived, a view that was unshakeable, non-negotiable and non-discussable.The first time I met the arrogant and handsome Akbar Bugti, in the late 1960s in Karachi, he told me in his gruff normal tone of voice that he had heard about me and asked why I spelt my name wrongly. Did I not know how to spell my own name? That I did not react did not please him. He went on to tell me that we silly Parsis did not even know the correct name of their own prophet. He was Zardost and not Zarathustra as many of us ignoramuses were wont to refer to him. Read more>