The Unforgettable Tears

Danish Hussain
Nov 3 · 7 min read

( This a true story of a boy of class six witnessing the ravage of partition in 1947. The intention of story is not to blame any specific group or community for the devastation of the partition, rather it is intended just to highlight the sufferings of people, and the unforgettable tears from partition. )

I (Abdul Rashid) came to know about the creation of Pakistan a year ago in 1946, all the Muslims of the area used to do rallies in the city in support for Pakistan, and we all were very excited about it. We lived in District Barnala, Patiala state, where Hindu, and Sikhs were living with us in harmony as a single community. About six months after the partition Hindus and Sikh migrants came to our city from Pakistan and told their fellow religious brothers about the brutality and cruelty they had faced in the hands of Muslims.

Hearing these stories the Hindus and Sikh of our area started hating us, I could see the hatred of my non-Muslim friends in their eyes, and they said we will take revenge from you. They started making all kinds of weapons like sword, naiza etc for killing Muslims. Seeing the sensitivity of the situation, my parents removed my brother from school and me. Shortly, we started hearing about the killing of the Muslim families scattered in different places in the city. My father was very worried about the safety of our family, he asked the elders of the Neighborhood, to take us in the neighborhood of Muslims in the city, they advised us to pack our important stuff, and they’ll come at night to take us. We took small baggage with us and at night-time they came, and we took their shelter and moved with them in the neighborhood of Muslims.

Neighborhood was like a street with a big wall on one side for shielding the city and in the outskirts there were farms. Houses of the people were on the both sides of the street. The Sikh and Hindus attacked the neighborhood after four to five days and started killing Muslims living in the outskirts of the neighborhood, the Sikhs were chanting their religious slogans,

“Waha guru ji ka khalsa, waha guru ji ki fateh, Musalmano hmm tumha tumhara Pakistan yahin bana kar dain ga”,

we used to be terrified listening to these slogans. Now the Hindus and Sikhs started dropping bombs from the big wall, they hit few houses and killed several people, the intention of them was to scare us out of the neighborhood because they were afraid to come in, assuming we had weapons. When these small attacks continued the elders of the neighborhood decided to go to the neighborhood of Muslims on the other side of the city to get refuge, and eventually migrate to Pakistan.

We left for the other neighborhood at 9 a. M., saying the prayers and dua’s we knew and seeking shelter from God, on the way we passed by a police station, they were silent, and we quietly continued our journey. Upon reaching the neighborhood, I saw with my own eyes that many of Sikhs and Hindus had gathered in the farms outside the neighborhood chanting their slogans, “waha guru ji ka khalsa…”, people settled wherever they found a spot to sit, My family took refuge inside a small mosque, my mother, me and my other two brothers sat in the open yard while our father was on the top of the mosque to protect us. A few other women and children settled in the yard of the mosque while the men were on the roof protecting them, a few of them had a bamboo stick while rest of them collected some bricks for their defense. At 1 p. M., I saw the Sikh army of the Maharaja of Patiala on the top of the big wall with their loaded guns; I could sense that they were sent to kill the Muslims. They opened fire from the top and started killing, on seeing this ,the police from other side also opened the fire from the station, and the army was calling the Hindus and Sikhs standing in the farms to come in by waving their handkerchiefs. Sikhs and Hindus were hesitant to come in but on continual motivation by the army by waving their handkerchief, they started the attack from the ground and started killing the Muslims. I could see my father surrounded by four Sikhs holding sword while he was protecting himself using a bamboo stick, in the nick of time a bullet hit a stout goat standing in front of me, he started to shiver very badly, I could not see it and ran away from that place. At that time I lost my focus from my father.

I got on top of a low-level roof where bullets were not coming straight and lie breathlessly with other corpses pretending to be dead. It was the month of July and heat was unbearable but what could I do, life is dear. A Muslim came after a while and shouted whoever is alive stand up and go somewhere else, the house has picked up fire, and I stood up and ran behind the man. He reached the root of the big wall where people were leaning on the big wall to stay protected from the firing of the army. I saw there that the women were jumping in the well to suicide and the well was almost full of the bodies of the women, a man gripped the arm of a woman and asked her not to do suicide since it is prohibited in Islam, but she replied,

“I prefer to die over staying with the Sikhs”,

the male let her go, and she jumped into the well. Soon the Sikhs and Hindus came there as well, and we hid ourselves in homes and locked the doors. I was in an inner room of a small house, and we were protecting ourselves by locking the door from inside.

We could hear the Sikhs moving outside the house in search of the remaining Muslims, we kept silent and just prayed to God for our safety. The sun set and soon the terrifying noises of the bullets were replaced by the quietness in the dark. The infants and babies in the laps of their mothers were crying for water, and the mothers were trying their best to keep them quiet, they were covering their face with cloth but babies are pure soul they do not know that their and the lives of others in the room are in danger. There were four men hiding with us in the room, two of them decided to go outside and get water from the well that was just outside the house, they sneaked quietly and poured the doll from the well with water with their hands so there is no noise, they failed the first time but on the second attempt they got the water and finally the babies quietened.

There were two to three Muslim policemen in the city which had been detained by the Hindus and Sikhs in the police station, and their ordnance was taken away from them so that they cannot help the Muslims. At mid night, a man proclaimed from the street, “I was a Muslim police officer. I have come here to take you to the detention camp that is created by government for the remaining Muslims, no one will harm you now, I swear by God.” At first, we did not move seeming it was a trap to kill the remaining hidden Muslims but when he came back and announced again to come with him, we decided to go because we were not even safe there, if God wanted us to live, then we will live. We passed through the corpses of the Muslims, and it was hard to pass because there were so many of them on the path, and there were bricks placed here and there. We stumbled all the way, and eventually reached the fort where there was little light, it was a spacious ground with sand and rocky surface, we lie down there and slept.

The next morning when I woke up, I saw the soldiers on the walls of the fort wondering here and there with guns in their hands, I thought to myself it is the end, and we remained frightened the entire day. In the noon we were given bread that was very hard and unable to swallow. There was a tap near, but it was pouring hot water, he had no choice, we ate the bread by soaking it in water. We sat there on the barren ground in the blazing heat of July all day thinking whether we will be able to survive or not.

A post man came after three days and inquired, “ who are the sons of Siddique?” my father name was Siddique, I nodded and he took my brother to the post office and me. The postmaster and the mail carrier were Hindus. The postmaster asked from us “ Is your father dead”, I nodded yes with sadness. He said. “My son! I feel so sorry for your father’s death. He was a very good friend of mine, and we used to sit together long for talking, please let me know if you want anything.” I told him that we want a bowl to drink water and a plate to keep our food in it. The next day, he sent me a plate and a bowl with some money to get food. I did not have anything prior with I and my clothes were torn as well. People kept coming to the detention camp, all of them kept inquiring about their relatives and told to people about the dead Muslims they had seen. I came to know that my mother was shot, and she died in the mosque and my 4-year-old brother was seen lying on the floor of the mosque motionless. A person who came later told me that he saw my father dead. The days at the camp were disturbing and hearing stories of the people coming and their sorrows weakened our faith for life. A soldier came after a week and told us to tell him the names of people who want to go in the first train leaving for Pakistan. (To be continued…)

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"The clock is ticking but there's no time for regret"

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