I don't say it in the Indian fashion that is hypocritically. I say it sincerely because, instead of hatred, I feel great compassion for Mujib Rahiman.

In April [1972], after that fine business in Dacca, Yahya Khan sent for me. He looked satisfied, sure of himself, by now convinced he had the situation in hand. He offered me a drink. "Well, you politicians are really finished," he said. Then he said that not only Mujib but I too was considered an agitator, I too was preaching against the unity of Pakistan. "I'm always under pressure to arrest you, Bhutto" I got so angry I lost all control.

A regime which puts in a bunker the highest law in the land does not have the moral authority to say that nobody is above the law.

I felt certain uneasiness, a strange sensation, which had comic to a head. Every evening I went to Yahya to report that Mujib [Rahiman] and I weren't making any progress, and Yahya [Khan] showed no interest. He looked away or complained about the television or grumbled because he couldn't listen to his favorite songs - his records hadn't arrived from Rawalpindi.

In March [1972] the unity of Pakistan depended on the suppression of the secessionists. But to carry it out with such brutality on the people instead of on those responsible wasn't necessary. That's not the way to convince poor people who've been told that with the Six Points there'll be no more hurricanes, no more floods, no more hunger. I spoke out against such methods more emphatically than anyone else, and when no one dared do so.

Yahya Khan wasn't interested in the government of the country, he was interested in power for its own sake and nothing else.

I tried to explain that there was a great difference between me and Mujib [Rahiman]: he was a secessionist and I wasn't.