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This account comes from a senior engineer who was an undergraduate in Amritsar in
1947. A horrifying tale of revenge killings and efforts to wipe out the "other"
community, it is unusual perhaps only for its honesty. Otherwise, it is just one
of the stories of what happened on both sides of the new international border,
among all communities. It is time for us to face up to the facts.
We were in Risalpur, in the North West Frontier Province, when Partition occurred.
My father was an Army Education Officer, and I was there for my summer vacation.
We, heard the Partition announcement and got news of trouble in various places,
but there, in the Army cantonment, it was all quiet. We didn't feel that anything
very serious was happening. When Pakistan was established, father seriously
thought of opting for the Pakistan Army; the chances of promotion might be better
there. But that option soon closed. With Army intelligence providing graphic
information of what Partition and the riots meant, my father decided that the
family should move to India. So, on September 3, my mother, two sisters younger
brother and I were put on a train with a regiment that was going east.
At Rawalpindi we saw large numbers of panic-stricken people trying to board the
train. There, and at other stations we passed, I noticed that there was not a
single Sikh among the crowds. Our train halted at many wayside stations. And on
September 5, we crossed Lahore into Amritsar.
I remember our relief at the border. We had eaten little for three days. At
Atari, the villagers brought dal and roti for the soldiers, passengers, all of us.
It was then I realised what, was happening. The whole population was being moved.
The complex-, ion of Punjab, east and west, had changed.
We passed Amritsar, hoping to get off at Sirhind, the junction nearest our village
but the train, didn't stop. At one point, soldiers on a train going the other way
began an exchange of fire with the troops on our train. Everyone was terrified.
People hid under their seats. While I slept. My mother tried waking me, up,
without luck...
We got off at Saharanpur. Things seemed normal there. I bought first class
tickets for Sirhind before I realised that no trains were running. Finally we got
on to a goods train with a few third class passenger coaches attached to it, As
the train moved towards Punjab, armed men got on at every stop looking for
"mosquitoes," as one of them said. Luckily they found none.
At midnight we reached a station, which I recognised as Sirhind even though there
were no lights. We had a lot of luggage. My mother and I pushed it to the
passenger hall on a wheel-barrow. The hall was full of heavily armed men,
discussing which villages they had dealt with and which pockets of resistance
remained. My mother was apprehensive: these men could kill us and take all we
had, once they realised that all our household goods, and ornaments were with us.
She tried to get me to stay awake. But my sleep proved stronger. All night, she
kept waking me up, and I kept falling asleep.
Next day, my mother decided to contact her brother. Their village was nearby. We
learnt that my mama, then studying for an M.A. in Lahore, had become the leader of
a jatha (attacking band). Members of other jathas in Sirhind said they'd get a
message to him: they clearly had some communication among themselves.
On hearing the news, my uncle arrived, on a strange goods-passenger train, this
time on the branch line, which took us back to his village. We walked the last
five miles from the nearest station. It was evening. At one village, some people
came running towards us, then hesitated and withdrew. When my uncle challenged
them, they explained that they'd thought we were rescuing a Muslim woman, then
realised their mistake.
Just short of uncle's village was a big village from where several thousand
Muslims had been driven out, and unfortunately ambushed and killed. Here, at dusk,
we encountered a Muslim family emerging from the fields. At night they visited
their home, by day they hid in the fields. My, uncle had his sword. He asked us
to walk on, while he dealt with them. Terror was written on the faces of the
Muslims - an old man, a younger middle-aged one, a woman, and two or three
children. My mother was ahead of us. Suddenly she realised what was happening,
and shouted: "Have you gone mad? Is this your Sikhi? ... Stop this nonsense."
Rebuked. my uncle let them go; and we went on to his village. A few days later, I
decided to accompany an acquaintance who was walking to my father's village, some
-50 kilometres away. At M---, another Muslim stronghold, not far from father's
village, I found a number of boys whom I knew, loitering around. They told me
that people from our village had taken a prominent part in attacks in this area.
No Muslims remained. Only M-- had resisted, and tonight they would storm it.
They asked me to stay with them. At nightfall they attacked with rifles. But the
local Muslims also had firearms, and returned the fire. This -18 all that
happened that evening... I reached my village.
In this village too, the Muslims had been converted. And our villagers had gone
out to attack neighbouring Muslim settlements. The men were killed. Some women
were spared but taken away. Two such women had been brought by a neighbour whom I
knew. One was a matriculate, aged 16 or 17, the other was perhaps 11, Both had
been repeatedly raped- I was asked to take some food over for them one evening.
When I went, they thought I had come to buy them. They were badly scared. But
the older one was doing what she could to protect the younger, telling her
abductors that they now had her, she loved them, and they should leave the little
girl alone.
Another horrible incident had taken place before I returned. Our villagers had
captured some 20 women from a village two miles away. They were marched naked to
a place that served as a gurdwara for our village as well as two or three others.
They were kept there and raped. Elders who heard about this went and gave the
women whatever cloth they could to cover their nakedness. But soon after, the
women were killed.
After that, not much violence occurred. All the Muslims who remained were now in
camps. The lower caste Muslims in our village who'd been converted to Sikhism were
still there. One day, at dead of night, they disappeared, fleeing to a big refugee
camp nearby. Two or three families remained.
By November or December, the feeling against the Muslims had disappeared. The
tension, the desire for revenge had all gone. When "recovery" operations began,
everyone gave information readily, because no one wanted Muslim women and children
to be forcibly kept. All abducted women were recovered, so far our village was
concerned. Not a single one remained. Not a single one said she didn't want to
go.
I should mention another small incident, which showed how sanity had disappeared.
In my case, as I've said, I wasn't fully conscious that this was something evil
that was going on. Two or three young friends and I went to the big refugee camp
in the vicinity. Conditions were terrible, and some women were foraging in the
fields outside, for greens or anything they could cat. Since they were Muslim
women, we chased them. They started running away, and we ran after them. Two or
three old men from the village saw us, and shouted at us: "You people have lost
all moral sense. These women are in misery, somehow trying to feed themselves and
their families, and you are harassing them. Have you no sense of shame?"
Sheepishly, we came away.
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