One particular message in my old email box pops up. The writer has promised to pass on some ‘sensitive’ information when we meet next. We never meet. Years pass. I forget about him, until one day, I Google his name: “A human rights reporter, US government Gulf operation critic, framed political prisoner, was murdered. Dr Tomas B. Manton passed away on Jan 19, 2011, after assaulted at Liberty Correctional Facility in Bristol, Florida.”

We met six years ago under the most mysterious circumstances. Dr Manton emailed after reading my Dawn column (Dec 27, 2009) titled ‘The solitary reaper’ on Benazir Bhutto’s second death anniversary. “ZAB [Zulfikar Ali Bhutto] was my best friend. I was to write his biography,” he wrote. “His beloved daughter, Benazir, gave her life for the restoration of democracy. I was supposed to be killed with her when she arrived in Karachi. In our last meeting in New York we had agreed to adopt each other as sister and brother. But that is another story... I know who killed her.”

Manton wanted a meeting with me. It was an uncanny coincidence that he happened to be in the area I was in. We met at a pizza joint the next night. We hit it off immediately. Call me Tom, he said. Hours fled as my newfound acquaintance pored over stories never told before about the martyred father, son and daughter. It was so surreal to hear the Bhutto ghost resurrected by this stranger who dropped out of the blue as we sat thousands of miles away from Pakistan.

Today, to read about Tom’s violent end on the internet alleging that he was murdered because he “heroically fought to expose the truth about the massive Gulf of Mexico oil disaster caused by a BP oil platform explosion in April 2010,” confused me even more. I knew Tom was on parole where he was serving a 15-year jail sentence when we met six years ago in the US. He was allegedly framed for a crime because the authorities feared he would spill the beans. “For now, I am okay,” he said pointing to his ankle monitor that assured his jailers of his whereabouts. Still, he nervously kept looking over his shoulder as we talked, thinking that we were being watched. Maybe we were! I had my paper and pen out taking notes as he spoke. (The stuff is too scary to be divulged!) “Be careful as you leave here, you could be followed,” were Tom’s last words to me.

The day I discover Tom’s death when I Google his name, sitting on my front door is a package from Bashir Riaz. It’s come from Pakistan, containing his book Yadoon ka safar. The cover has a portrait sketch of BB.

“Do you know a man called Dr Thomas Manton? He’s dead now.” I email Bashir Riaz, an old friend of the Bhuttos. “He came to meet me in the US and told me that he knew ZAB, Benazir Bhutto and Asif Zardari. He wanted to meet AZ when he was the president and wanted me to ask Rukhsana Bangash to arrange the meeting. I will greatly appreciate if you confirm this fact.” The next day I get my reply confirming Tom’s credentials. “Yes he was a friend of ZAB, also knew BB and met her in Pakistan. BB asked him to come to Dubai and accompany her to Pakistan on Oct 18, 2007. Rukhsana Bangash also arranged his meeting in New York with AAZ and he had lunch with AAZ,” wrote Bashir Riaz.

The day I discover Tom’s death when I Google his name, sitting on my front door is a package from Bashir Riaz. It’s come from Pakistan, containing his book titled Yadoon ka safar. The cover has a portrait sketch of BB. It is dedicated to Bilawal Bhutto Zardari. Bashir Riaz is the chairman of ‘Bhutto Legacy Foundation’ set up by Asif Zardari after BB’s assassination. The book is a compilation of Bashir’s old newspaper columns including one of mine that was published in Dawn titled ‘Part of BB’s trousseau’. The title is enough to tell the reader the close relationship between Bash, as he is called, and the Bhutto family. “You’re not to stand up when I enter the room,” were Benazir Bhutto’s lasting instructions to Bash. He was probably the only person privileged with this right. Respecting his late wife’s wishes, Asif Zardari gave Bash the same ‘instructions’. “You came as part of BB’s trousseau,” Asif reminded him. “My doors for you will forever remain open. You are the only one with access,” were President Zardari’s words. When I met Bash after BB’s death, he appeared in shock. “I have lost BB. What more can I lose? I keep thinking she will walk into the room and say to me, ‘Come, let’s go for a walk.’” Islamabad held too many sad memories for him. “Every place I go reminds me of her.” So stricken was he with his loss that he didn’t go to the inaugural session of the parliament after PPP came to power in 2008. “I stayed away and cried.”

For months, Bash bravely battled on remembering BB. “She’s caring for me from beyond the grave,” he smiled wistfully, teary-eyed. “BB used to call me her shadow. She was not an ‘angel’ but a ‘darwaish’. She had the capacity to forgive.”

Bash says Asif Zardari and the children are BB’s amanat and the only nishani she has left behind for him. “I will serve them the way I have served Mr Bhutto and his daughter.” As the keeper of family secrets, he will never betray their trust. Everything he knows and has seen of the Bhuttos for half-a-century will get buried with him.

For the moment, memories are enough to bring closure to his loss. Surrounded by photos of the slain leader, he reads out aloud the handwritten notes scrawled on the sepia pictures. “To Bash — who has suffered with us moments of grief, anguish, sorrow, happiness, success and victory. May our friendship be forever. Benazir Bhutto, 11/4/1989.”

Bash became a victim of intrigue when he was the press secretary during BB’s first term as prime minister. Fed up with palace intrigues, he resigned and went away to live in London. He writes about his disagreements with BB in his book Bhutto family’s ongoing struggle. “You’re the only person madam says ‘sorry’ to,” said BB’s housekeeper to Bash who was often a houseguest at her home in Dubai.

Seventeen days before her death, Benazir Bhutto emailed Bash: “Called many times to wish you, a very special person, many happy returns of the day. Your phone is always off! I just think how much more difficult life would have been without you at every step for 30 years to share the burdens, the grief and the challenges that came our way. You are the constant thread which runs through decades proving that a life without friends is not really a life. Thank you for being you. May God protect you from all insaan, shaitaan and jinn. Bibi — Dec 10, 2007.”

Our mystery man Tom Manton too loved the Bhuttos dearly. More on him another time.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, January 17th, 2016