It’s not very often that I write about matters political. And this time around I am not really sure whether the issue is political, or far,far larger than that.

Benazir Bhutto was shot dead and much more than her just died.

I have not been one to keep a tab on her life but, as a relatively interested onlooker into out neighbouring country’s goings-on, have known roughly about her.

This is not about hailing as her as anything – although I have often wondered what brought back her back to a Pakistan which is falling apart (was it simply the eternal hunger for power; was she being her father’s daughter or was she trying to fix something in her homeland?).

This is about the fact that her death is symbolic of the losing battle that democracy is fighting in Pakistan; of the end to the flickering hopes that countless countrymen had pinned on her; of the triumph of religious fundamentalists (although we don’t know yet whether they were behind this, it is anybody’s guess); of the dangerous consequences of having a neighbouring country where religious hardliners might just win the day.

When I called home to give the news, the first reaction was: “Why the hell did she come back to Pakistan?” A question that I have been wondering for the last two months and one that shall remain unanswered for the time being.

I am not sure why this has hit me so hard. Maybe because this is the first assassination during my adult life that is so close to home; maybe because I could not help admire a woman who returned to her country – no matter how dangerous, how fanatic, how torn-apart, how chaotic, how ruthless – to make things a shade better. Sounds like I am hero-worshipping here. I know. But I can’t really help it at the moment.

Why did she leave a life of comfort and luxury (and security) in exile and return, knowing fully well that she might land up dead? There has to be more to it than just the hunger for power.

Think about it. It matters to us as well.