One of Nawaz Sharif's aides produced a sleek looking satellite phone. Someone else offered a Thuraya. Nothing worked. As the passengers left the plane, Nawaz Sharif's cheeks glowed like polished apples, his familiar bald patch glistened under his newly transplanted hair. He positioned himself in the middle of the Economy cabin hoping that when they come, and it was always inevitable that they would come, they would have to negotiate about fifty journalists from the world press and about a dozen very motivated supporters.

One of his bodyguards, who looked like a bouncer from one of Brimingham's tough pubs, stood behind Nawaz Sharif. His supporters chanted 'Go Musharraf Go', a slogan coined during the recent lawyers' movement and a rather literal expression of the general mood in Pakistan. Someone recited 'Sarafroshi ki Tamanna, in true Rang de Basanti mode. Nawaz Sharif's supporters were high on passion but low on planning.

Should he disembark from the plane or not? Should he hand over his passport to the immigration officials? Or as one of his bearded colleagues suggested, should they just stay on the aeroplane and pray for Pakistan? These debates raged in the middle of the Economy cabin as the Elite Force surrounded the plane.

Someone worried that the authorities might switch off the air-conditioning.

Lord Nazir Ahmed of Rotherham, a man who can't stay away from any cause that might involve cameras, came to the rescue or as it happened in this case, to facilitate the inevitable. "Let's be civilised," he said to a young police officer who had already endeared himself to Sharif supporters by saluting the former prime minister. "Let's negotiate in British style. You tell us your demands and we'll tell you ours."

"We'll come down only if you remove the police commandoes surrounding this plane." As we watched from the windows, the black clad commandoes turned around, the slogan on the back of their T shirts read: No fear. They were replaced by civilians. One could easily tell they were military commandoes in civvies, armed with walkie- talkies, the kind of people who carry out abductions as a part of their day job.

"We wouldn't walk on the tarmac."

"OK we'll bring the bus to the aeroplane."

Lord Nazir's British-style negotiations were being carried out in Punjabi and seemed to be succeeding.

Nawaz Sharif descended the ladder and one could tell that he had waited for this moment for seven years. He stood there, struck that pose familiar to our nation from a million election posters, and waved. A police squad standing at a distance waved back spontaneously. But besides that there was nothing but the desolation of the Pindi airport which was recently described by a visitor as a tool shed with a runway. As we later found out the five mile radius around the airport had been completely blocked by the army.

Feeling safe in the airline bus Nawaz Sharif produced a comb from his pocket and fixed his hair.

The VIP lounge was full of more men in civvies carrying walkie-talkies. Nawaz Sharif was again asked to hand over his passport. He refused. "I would like to meet my party leaders who want to come here to receive me."

The police officer looked at him in exasperation and disappeared to get more instructions. Lord Nazir's power to negotiate seemed to be diminishing. "If you can't do anything else at least give us tea. We have come all the way from London, we are your guests." Tea and biscuits were served. Nawaz Sharif took his time, savoured his biscuits and told journalists it felt good to be back home.

Nawaz Sharif had seen his fortunes fluctuate in the past as well. Scion of a Lahore's conservative business family, he was handpicked by General Zia-ul Haq to run Punjab. But Nawaz Sharif soon developed a taste for people power and fired an army chief. He tried the same with General Musharraf and found himself in jail, facing life imprisonment. But his luck turned again.

One day he was in that notorious Attock Fort prison and next day he was sitting in Suroor Palace in Saudi Arabia where he was flown with his extended clan including his favourite cook and domestic help. But he must have realised in those seven years that the kind of freedom the Holy Kingdom offered him was not much improvement on the prospect of a life time in jail. He got himself a hair transplant and bid his time.

And now here he was, having kept his word, proving all those wrong who said that he is a coward and can't take on the might of the Pakistani army. Nobody knows whether he harboured dreams of a Khomeni-style triumphant return or not but he was definitely hoping for a decent welcome from his party cadres. He knew that he might be sent to jail but he seemed ready for it.

The crackle on the walkie talkies suddenly increased, The military men in civvies whispered to each other furiously, a few locked themselves in the bathroom, probably to put final touches to the plan.

When the finale came it had a ring of brutal choreography to it. The police commandoes locked hands and formed a circle around him. The men in civvies formed an even stronger circle around this circle. The Bouncer from Brimingham threw himself against this human cordon and found himself sprawled on the floor.

"Don't push him," shouted a Nawaz Sharif supporter. "He was your prime minister." "You don't push. We are only doing our duty."

"No badtameezi please, be civilised," shouted Lord Nazir.

"You'll regret this." Screamed another supporter. "You look educated," shouted back the policeman, "Don't shout."

As Nawaz Sharif was led away towards a waiting plane that would take him back to Saudi Arabia, he looked back towards his supporters and waved one last time.

For the first time his face was serene, the face of a man whose worst fears had come true.