IN a sign of desperation and utter panic, the brilliant junta that holds the country by the throat has done it again. Its minions have trotted out a retired brigadier, someone called Javed Iqbal Cheema who is styled as the `spokesman` of the Ministry of Interior, Government of the Land of the Pure, to try and tell us that Benazir did not die of bullet wounds.

According to this person, Benazir hit her head on the `lever` of the sunroof of her Toyota Land Cruiser SUV as she “dug down” (Cheema`s words, not mine), meaning probably that she hit her head on the side of the sunroof when she ducked to save herself from the exploding suicide bomb — and killed herself by herself.

One has said this before to the powers that run the grotty and venal State of Pakistan, one will say it again. Please kind sirs and gentle ladies, give us, the lay people of the country, some credit for some little common sense, if not some little intelligence.

The so-called medico-legal report states its finding as “Open head injury with depressed skull fracture, leading to cardio-pulmonary arrest”. Is the human skull made of eggshells that all it took to kill herself was for Ms Bhutto to hit her head on the side of the sunroof as she “dug down” into the car? Leave everything else aside for a moment, did she even have time to “dug down” after the explosion!

I mean what poppycock is the junta trotting out? If it were true that a mere knock on the head was enough to kill a human being then it would have had hundreds of dead bodies on its hands considering the ferocity with which its goons regularly beat up protesting lawyers and journalists and students and members of civil society during the ongoing protests against the dismissal of our superior judiciary.

Benazir, poor thing, had been injured so badly in the head that, again according to the report “A wound was present on the right temporoparietal (temple) region through which blood was trickling down and whitish material, which looked like brain matter was visible in the wound.”

Her head was subjected to such a massive blow that it exposed her brain, and this retired brigadier wants us to believe that Benazir merely hit her head on the `lever` of the sunroof so hard as she “dug down” that she split her own head open. I ask you.

But this is not all of the spokesman`s brilliance. As if it had not already poured enough oil on to the raging fires of fury and rage by suggesting that Benazir died accidentally, the junta goes and trots out more insanity.

This time suggesting through the same spokesman merely three days after her assassination, verbatim “It is not important now how she died because the fact is that we have lost her and the important thing is that who killed her and how can we catch them.” I mean, I ask you.

How long will we let a heartless, brainless, mindless monster that is the establishment of the Islamic Republic sit on our jugular? Is it not time that the junta realised by itself that its time is up and more, and that it should now vanish into thin air along with its myriad `agencies`, designer suits and all and leave us in peace? That the assassination of Benazir Bhutto has taken away any little credibility it had?

In all the sadness and the grief, I bring you some little uplifting news too. One has to do with my own son who went to study abroad at the age of 18 and who has over the years simply not understood that when I sounded sad on the phone it was not I, but what was being done to our country.

Well, this young man came to Wah for Christmas and was in the country when Benazir was so cruelly murdered. I have just now (I write this on Sunday evening) got the following sms from him “Still can`t believe. I now understand why you have been so adamant about your writing, am very proud of you. I remember when you first started writing (1982) against Zia. Keep it up, Dad. I love you.” Which Dad (I prefer Abba!) could get a better tribute?

The second is an email from Joe Hensley, a polo-playing friend of Kassem`s from the Coachella Valley, in the Californian desert, aka Indio, Calif. and a senior investigator in the local DA`s department. I have met Joe just once when my son insisted I go visit him during one of my trips to see my college buddy Arif Aziz who lives in Alta Loma, California. Arif and I went down to see Joe whose hospitality was at par with our own. This is what he wrote me on the morning after Benazir`s assassination

“Mickey, I woke up this morning to worst possible news. We all knew it could happen, but prayed it wouldn`t. It looks like we are on our own. I was so relieved to see you were ok. I read your statements in the press today. Thank God you are ok!

“The loss of Ms Bhutto is hitting everyone very hard here. Out here in this little valley people tend to be a little out of touch. As you know the majority of our population is retired seniors and snow birds. Today everyone I talked to is talking about the tragedy. Everyone believed Ms Bhutto was the best hope for a free and democratic Pakistan.

“This is a very sad day for not only Pakistan, but the world. God bless Prime Minister Bhutto. Her fight will not end with her death. Please think about coming out to see us. Our guest casita is waiting for you, I`ve got a bunch of Bob Seger CDs, and the bar is well stocked! Again, thank God you are alive and well! God bless Pakistan. Take care, Joe”.

The first shows a growing awareness among the Pakistani diaspora that their home country is in deep, deep trouble; the second should tell us that ordinary Americans react to situations in `dangerous` Pakistan like any decent, good people would.

I quoted from Joe`s email to also make the point that the mounting anger towards the United States administration for propping up a dictatorial regime should be focused on it alone and not on lay Americans who have as much control on their government as you and I have on Gen (retd) Musharraf`s. Among lay Americans I include diplomats who just have do their government`s bidding, no matter how stupid and harmful to themselves, just like our own diplomats have to.

No Bushism or Mushism this week. This is no time for laughter.