The Truth About Partition – 1947

Imagine. It’s any other day in your house. You went out to play with your friends in the morning. Your neighbour came over to check up on your mother’s health a few hours ago because she injured her hip. Your father went to work; he earns a decent salary. Unquestionably enough for you, your sister, and your parents to live comfortably off with a special meal every weekend and an education guaranteeing protected future.

And then the very same day, your father comes home from work but he’s a little tense. A little more than he usually gets when work is hard. There is a sense of urgency in his tone when he tells you to ‘pack up your stuff’. Phrases like ‘we have to leave’ and ‘it’s not safe here’, and ‘partition’ are tossed around as if your home has been converted into a movie set. You hear something about the Hindus, and the Sikhs. Up until this morning, they were just ‘neighbours’.

So in the span of a few hours, the sense of urgency has transformed into a fight for your life.

Your sister locks your mother in a room in your house before fleeing because that’s where she believes she’ll be safer as opposed to trying to escape with a broken hip.

The very same neighbour who came to enquire about your mother’s health in the morning now comes as part of a mob and dispels the information that ‘there is an old lady in this room’. Not to protect her, but to set the house on fire so she may burn with it.

Your father is worried about the enemy raping your sister and tainting your family’s honour. So he makes her stand in front of him while you’re holding on to the end of his kurta. And he raises his sword then attempts to slice her head off. Her dupatta gets in the way, he angrily shoves it to the side and swings his sword again. You watch her head roll away.

They kill your father later in the night.

You board a train, cramped among swarms of men. It’s uncomfortable so you ask one to move his leg a little, he pays no attention. You ask again, you turn to him, you find out he is dead.

Source

This is not fiction.

Despite seeming fabricated, these are true accounts of a mother, a sister, a father, a son; all from families belonging to the same land – until they didn’t after partition. This is partition’s truth, not narrations of celebrations at the midnight hour. Not tears of joy at a victory for religion. Those are no accounts of ordinary people. Indeed, that wouldn’t have been your story had you been born a few decades too early. The stories of ordinary people are soaked with fear, anger, displacement, tragedy.

Consequently, these are the stories that enable you today to take ‘ownership’ of this broken off piece of land but ask yourself, do you really deserve it? How many times did you, and I, take spilt blood and broken bones from the partition for granted? Went ahead and inconvenienced others out of spite, used unfair means just because there was no one to catch us, refused to raise our voice for someone unable to speak. How many people walk on these streets fearing being killed, whose grandfathers escaped India wanting to escape that very fear? Independence day should be no celebration. Undoubtedly, it is a day of mourning, respect and gratitude. Do not just revere Jinnah for bringing you here, but be better for the sake of those still living in grief.