Partition Stories

“I was five years old, but I remember everything. My memory is, mashallah, very good. I don’t forget things. The situation had developed badly. You know, the division took place in summer of 1947, but the conditions were becoming complex and knotted before that, to the extent that it all ended in violent attacks and murders. My father was the chief engineer, so he was responsible for all the electricity supply in Simla. The power plant was surrounded by jungle; it was located way down in the valley. Simla is a very hilly place. It took almost an hour to get down there. You had to take narrow trails, and if you were going at night, you needed a torch or some other light source because there was a lot of wildlife; snakes and lions and cheetahs.

Simla was the Viceroy’s headquarters. The whole administration used to live there. I remember Annadale Ground in Simla. It was a huge ground. On one side, people played cricket and on another they played football. I used to go there with my father to watch him play cricket. There was also a big open ice-skating rink. During the winter, it was extremely cold and it used to snow a lot. I am telling you about ’47. It was a beautiful place. On Mall Road, it looked like a fashion parade in the evening.

"They were beginning to suspect that he was hiding us. He was left with no choice. We had to leave. It must have been around midnight"

My father’s junior, his number two, was a Sikh named Bedi. When it came close to Partition, he came to our place one day and said, ‘Khan Sahib! Conditions have become very bad. You should try and get out of here.’ My father was a government servant, so he required time to give his resignation and sort out his affairs – as you know, these are time-consuming matters. There was no opportunity to leave Simla in a hurry.

One day, Bedi said, ‘You’ll have to vacate your home. Come live at my place instead.’ His house was attached to ours; it was right next door. ‘If people come asking around, I’ll tell them that you are not here. I can put curtains on the glass windows.’ Most houses in Simla, they used a lot of glass in the construction. People could look at the hills and the scenery. So he took us in – my two sisters, my mother, father and I. Also, my aunt, her husband and two children. It was all of us in one small room. We spent two nights there.

On the third night, he came and told us that people were threatening to come inside his house. They wanted to break the door and enter and search it themselves. They were beginning to suspect that he was hiding us. He was left with no choice. We had to leave. It must have been around midnight. He said, ‘You’ll have to leave.’ We left in the middle of the night, in the darkness. We used kerosene lamps to light the way. We made our way to the power plant. We reached the place and went inside.

My father was a very good cricketer. He was a fast bowler. He played for the Maharaja of Patiala’s team. Many famous players were part of that team. Some goras used to play in that team too. One of these gora [white] players, Brigadier… I’m forgetting his name, my father telephoned him. There was a telephone in the room next to the power plant, one of those old telephones. And luckily – I think Allah wanted to save us – he picked up right away. He picked up the phone himself. It must have been one or two in the morning by then. My father told him we were in trouble and he, the Brigadier, asked him where he was. The very next day, he sent an army truck to the power plant, which rescued us. The truck couldn’t come all the way down to the power plant so we had to go to the road.

My mother went to our house one last time before we left. She took a copy of the Quran with her. Maybe some cash, some jewellery, some clothes – I don’t remember very well. But I know she took a copy of the Quran. That’s all. We left on the truck.

"I remember a glass of water was being sold for a hundred rupees. At the time, a hundred rupees was your whole income for a month"

They took us to a place called Ladakhi Mohallah. We had relatives there. Most of the Muslim community in Simla lived there. People were gathered there – people who were leaving. From there, people went to Patiala. There was an open ground there, surrounded by mountains and jungle. People had made make-shift tents with sheets they had brought with them and some sticks. They were camped in the open ground. And at night, there would be firing. You could see the holes in the sheets in the morning. We would lie on the ground flat while the bullets went above us. There was screaming, injured people. We spent three or four days in this condition. From there, we went to a place called Kalka. The train was going to leave from there. We arrived there. There were long lines there to get the train. We got the train and left.

The trains would be searched for hours. They were specifically looking for government servants to make sure they weren’t leaving without a resignation. My father had to hide under the seats, covered by luggage. Another thing I remember – a glass of water was being sold during this time for a hundred rupees. At the time, a hundred rupees was your whole income for a month.

That was the last train to get out of India. No train came after that. And the way it got out – the first train would be a cargo train and the second one carried passengers; they mistook our train for the cargo train and let it go. In Jallandhar, I had relatives. Nine members of their family died. Seven of them were women who jumped in a well from fear of being captured or killed. The violence and killing I saw at such a young age is very hard to forget. I saw with my own eyes: blood everywhere, people with their limbs cut off.

When I talk to youngsters, I tell them they are very lucky. They have no idea how Pakistan was made. People come on TV and give all kinds of rhetorical statements. They do not know of the sacrifices. I haven’t forgotten. I saw it all with my own eyes. When we came to Lahore, we lived for two months in a refugee camp. One of my father’s friends found out we were in the refugee camp and took us home with him. Then my father located one of my uncles, who lived in Karachi. We went there and our life started.

I am telling you all this briefly. There is much more to say about the fear and insecurity, about that time when so many people were being killed. This was the scenario then.”