I had always wanted to tell this
story. My story
is an old one, as old as our country in fact. This means that it has been heard
and told for years, passed on from one family member to another. I can say I
was born into this story, like people are born into poverty or privilege as
their fate demands, I inherited this fantastic tale, fed into me since infancy
in bits and pieces till I was able to comprehend the whole of it. And what a
gift of ancestry it is: dearer than precious stones or sprawling mansions, for,
when the times turn dark and I find myself unsure, I turn to this heirloom and
draw strength…
“For it is only when you find
yourself face to face with Fear, it's menacing gaze reducing your insides to a
churning liquid, do you discover the will and the means to reclaim yourself.
And that is Courage.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The marketplace was secluded and
gloomy. Dev, the owner of a general cloth shop regarded the dreary scene with
despair and sighed. He remembered the crowds that would throng the place at
this time of the day but now those happy times were gone. Born the son of a
Tehsildar, Dev had been forced to take up the command at a young age with the
untimely demise of his father. Giving up his dream of pursuing studies in
Medicine, he had established the shop and sent his younger brothers to Medical
school instead. Being able to single-handedly support a family had made him
into something of an achiever at a very young age and his character had
prospered with the responsibility.
But today, Dev was sad. He knew
that things would never be the same again, especially with the communal hatred
that was spreading. The village of Mamukanjan, District Sialkot, was rapidly
emptying itself of its non-Muslim population. Packing their bags and leaving
for the new India where they said life would be prosperous for the Hindus under
Nehru’s command. It was August and the air was damp and heavy. Dark clouds were
prone to gathering without a notice to unload their burden on the ground. But
the dark clouds that were threatening the life of the villagers were different.
With the news of the Independence had also come the announcement of the
formation of a new nation, Pakistan, a separate country to be chalked out for
the Muslim population with Jinnah at the helm of affairs. Dev failed to understand
why they needed a separate country. Hadn’t they co-habited peacefully all these
years? Separation on the basis of religion! What difference did religion make,
after all, they all ate the same bread, drank the same water and faced the same
problems of an ordinary domestic household. ‘The only difference is that, in
the evening, my neighbor goes to the mosque and I, to the temple…’, mused Dev
as he closed down the shop for the day and walked towards his home.
On entering the house, Dev
perceived an atmosphere of tension and fear. His wife, mother and sisters were
all gathered in the courtyard, silent and still. All eyes turned to him as his
made his way towards the cot. He looked searchingly at their troubled faces.
‘The Khannas have also left. They went
this morning. Now, all my sisters have gone’, it was Nirmal, his young bride
who was the first to speak.
‘Son, they are saying that once
Pakistan comes into being, not a single Hindu will be left alive here. Pakistan
is only for Muslims. No one else will be allowed.’
‘But, mother, how can it be so?
Haven’t we been living here since so many decades? Father was the tehsildar of
this village! Everybody knew and respected him. He has done a lot of work for
this village. We have as much right to live here as the Muslims. Besides, who
will ask us to leave?’, Dev retorted, splashing some cool water on his face.
‘The Muslims will want us to leave,
brother. Yes, our very neighbors. I have heard that they have become violent in
the cities. Talks of the new country has injected them with venom against us.’
‘Oh, that’s nonsense, sister!
Absolute nonsense! What will our neighbours ever gain by driving us out? Let’s
not fill our heads with such ideas. It is all propaganda to spread hatred. A
departing move made by the British to upset us. Hindus and Muslims in separate
countries! Why, there are much more Muslims on the other side of the border
than there are here, how can they all come here?’
‘Dev, your sisters are terrified!
Your wife is expecting! You must understand we have no way of protecting
ourselves in these troubled times. What if the rumors are true? What if they
turn us out? Oh, if only your brother was here! He must have news of what is
going on there. Have you received any letter from him?’, Dev’s mother asked,
referring to his younger brother who was at that time studying in Ludhiana, on
the other side of the proposed border.
‘No, mother, I have not received
anything from him yet. But we really must not worry. There is nothing to be
afraid of. But, if you want, I will enquire about arrangements for a safe
passage, if the need shall ever arise. Now, shall we have some dinner?’
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Unfortunately for Dev and his
family, the need arose too soon. It was September, the 4th, 1947. Raj,
one merchant like him, came with the news.
‘Dev Bhai, you must leave. We must
all leave immediately. I am leaving today itself’, he panted as he hurriedly
shut down his shop. ‘What are you staring at me for? Run!’
‘Raj, what happened? Why this
urgency all of a sudden? Won’t you tell me?’
‘No time, Dev. Just listen to me.
These scoundrels are setting fire to every Hindu home in the village. They are
looting every shop of ours they can find and hacking our women and children
with their swords. Dev, you must go!’
He felt himself starting to
tremble. His palms grew clammy and a cold wave ran down his spine. He rushed to
Raj and grabbed him by the shoulders. Looking deep into his eyes, he said,
‘Swear to me, Raj, that everything you are telling me is verified. Is there no
other way left for us?’
‘Dev, I swear on my family. Now,
leave me, I have to go. Talk to a truck driver as soon as you can for passage!’,
Raj replied before disengaging himself and rushing away. As Dev watched his
retreating figure, terror gripped him. How would he arrange a safe passage on
such short notice? They had not even packed anything like the other families.
He ran down the streets to where the trucks were stationed and spotted Salim,
one of his neighbours.
‘Salim Mia, we cannot find a way to
escape. Will you take us?’
‘No, I’m sorry, you are too late. I
am already taking one family and it will be too difficult to hide another.’
‘But there is no other way! We must
leave now or perish!’
But the bulky Muslim continued to nod
his head. Then, Dev did something he had never imagined himself capable of. He
took off his turban and laid it down at the man’s feet.
‘Salim Mia, the life of my family
is in your hands. Please, I beg of you, show some kindness to your neighbors.’
Salim regarded the helpless figure at his
feet. That he would be caught if trying to help Hindus was certain, but he
could not being himself to refuse the man.
‘Okay, Dev, I will be waiting with
my truck here. You must come with your family in one hour at the latest. If you
are not here at the end of the hour, we will leave’.
No sooner had Dev heard the words
that he sprinted, as fast as his legs would carry him. Cries of
‘Allah-oo-Akbar’ were filling the street. He could discern an orange glow on
the horizon which could not be the sun setting. ‘Oh God, it has started!’. He
reached home and directed everybody to pack everything they could in two
suitcases and leave. His wife and mother were appalled. There were way too many
valuables in the house to be stuffed into two suitcases. But, it was either
survival or wealth and they chose the former.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Dev knew that to expect a safe and
uninterrupted passage was out of the question. But, none of his foresight could
have prepared him or his family for the sights that unfolded in the streets.
Mutilated, mangled bodies lay strewn along the roads, blood flowing down in
small drains. Terrified, the family huddled together in a corner, trying to be
as inconspicuous as possible. They had forgotten everything about the shop,
house and treasures they had left behind. Survival was the only thing on their
mind, to stay safe and together till they reached India.
‘Who goes there? Stop the truck!
Stop the truck!’
A mob of armed men had gathered
around them, bringing the truck to a halt. A tall Pathan got up immediately and
went to talk to who looked like the leader of the mob.
‘Yes? What do you want?’
‘We have information that there are
Hindus in this truck!’
Dev’s insides went cold. The thing
he had been dreading the most had occurred. He looked sideways at his mother,
wife and sisters. Their faces were a deathly white. He could see his mother’s
lips move inaudibly in prayer. Despite the blood pounding in his ears, he
strained them to catch the conversation going on on the road. And what he heard
was unbelievable.
‘We will not let you touch any
person here!’, shouted the Pathan.
‘Yes, if you want to get to them,
you will have to go through us!’, shouting another, brandishing a lathi.
Dev could scarcely believe the
words that were being uttered by those men. They were willing to sacrifice
their lives for them! Humanity was not dead, after all, despite the
hate-spreaders. He tried getting up from his crouching position but was stopped
by a man with a command to stay where he was.
The armed Pathan was glowering
menacingly at the men below. Someone asked Salim to step up on the gas and
slowly, they felt the claws of death release their grip from upon them.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Two months had elapsed since their
escape from Pakistan. They had covered thousands of kilometers by every mode of
transport possible to reach a small village near Amritsar, a township in the
‘Indian’ Punjab. As the days had gone by, the excitement of escape had been
replaced by a deep sense of irascible loss. Fear for their lives had been
replaced by fear for the days that were to come.
Dev often wondered how they would
sustain themselves. This new country they found themselves citizens of, their
new ‘homeland’, was completely alien to them. Yet, they would have to embrace
the land as their own. Times had changed irreversibly. A few weeks after
reaching India, their family had been jolted by news of their house having been
completely ravaged by none other than their neighbor, Salim Mia’s family. Yes,
times had changed irreversibly.
It was while travelling through
Punjab that Nirmal had gone into labor. They had to halt immediately and seek
help from the villagers. And thus, miles away from what they had once
considered home, in an obscure village, after months of running to protect
their lives, Dev and Nirmal were blessed with their first progeny, a daughter
they chose to name Vijayalakshmi. Now, for a girl to be born in this country
and that too in times of trouble would normally be a matter of concern. But,
not to this family. To them, the female form was the embodiment of the power
which grants and sustains life. The birth of a daughter was a definite sign
from the Universe that a new life had been granted to them, a life which they
must lead with sincerity and virtue to prosper. And hence, the name
Vijayalakshmi: the Goddess of Victory…
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
From Punjab, the family set off for
Kanpur and tried to establish an enterprise. But it failed and they had to
leave the town. They then travelled to Agra where the leather industry was
blooming. Dev set up a business of leather balls and goods but the chemicals
used in the making gave him asthma and he had to give it up. Never the one to
be deterred, he tried his hands at various other small enterprises before
settling on a general merchant shop. A humble venture, in comparison to his
business in Pakistan, but dedication to work enabled them to raise, feed and educate
a family. Steadily, the venture grew and he was able to marry off his sisters
and move to a comfortable, independent lodging. Throughout the tough ordeal, he
had not given up his love for reading and writing and had inculcated the same
in his daughter and three sons. Oh, and also, he was never one to put the blame
on Muslims. Allah is great, he would often say, he is watching all our actions
and his justice will be final.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
So, this is how the story goes. It
is not something very remarkable or extraordinary. But, then, no story is that
way by itself. We lend greatness to the tales of our everyday lives by
extracting from them a message, a moral to be learnt and imbibed. The
astonishing thing about this account for me is the realization of the fact that
my grandparents, great grandmother, grand aunts and uncles were, at the end of
the day, very plain and simple people. Yet, they pushed themselves to get the
better of a gargantuan task when the need arose. My grandparents were young,
way too young to face the uprooting, the killings and the poverty. They
portrayed a courage and sensibility way beyond their years. Stripped of all
material possessions, cheated by the people they trusted, they were faced with
the daunting task of raising and caring for a family. It was an uphill climb
throughout. But, they made it. I shudder to think what would happen if I found
myself in their situation. Would I have the strength? Or the valor? We cry and
crib over every minute thing that does not go our way. We are so tied down by
weight of our assets that every small loss upsets us. How, then, does one react
to a complete wipeout? This is where these memoirs give me inspiration. The
story of how my family came into being is testimony to the fact that it is not
the wealth you possess but the ethics you carry that make you.
It is not in the nature of Life to
be fair. It is your reaction to the obstructions it throws in your way that
decide your destiny. And there isn’t any mountain high enough that a man with
will and vision cannot climb.
