Partition 1947: In A New Land

What did it take to leave your family home behind during Partition 1947 and start a new life without anything in a new land? A writer shares his parents' story and his childhood in a young India. An Independence Years Special.

In 1947, during the tumultuous time of Partition and India's subsequent independence, I was a mere three years old. We hailed from a small but affluent family, situated amidst a larger clan of about 20 families in the Sialkot District of what was then undivided India. As word spread about the impending division of the nation along religious lines, confusion reigned. The plan was to bifurcate India to establish Pakistan as a separate state for Muslims. This new state would predominantly comprise Muslim-majority areas in Punjab and Bengal. Consequently, Hindus in these regions were expected to migrate to mainland India, while Muslims from other parts of India would relocate to the newly established territories of Pakistan in the west and east.

Our clan had called Sialkot home for generations. Most of our elders had only ever experienced life in Sialkot and its neighbouring regions. However, as uncertainties mounted and concerns for family safety grew, a decision was made to relocate to more secure, Hindu-majority areas like Jammu, which were anticipated to remain part of India. This migration took place in March-April 1947, well before the actual partition in August, which was marked by significant violence and animosity.

Family elders have since shared with me that while the decision to move was rooted in apprehension, it was undeniably prudent and timely. Remaining in contentious zones like Sialkot, hoping that situations would stabilize, would have posed risks to our clan. Due to our early relocation, members of our clan could even transfer a portion of their wealth, though a majority of it was left behind, likely claimed later by former neighbours or the authorities.

The magnitude of the disaster that might have befallen our clan, had we not chosen to move earlier, is unimaginable. Yet, destiny played its hand as it did. Our departure was discreet. We left our homes locked, seemingly nonchalantly, the keys to which were probably later used by either the Pakistani government or the neighbours, long after we had found refuge in distant places like Agra and Delhi.

Here's what I wrote about our life after Partition in my small book: What They Don't Teach In Educational Institutions. Excerpts below:

My parents, along with millions, came as refugees to the Free India of their broken dreams. Life could not have been easy for them, uprooted from where they had everything, to a new place in a new environment, where they owned nothing except the clothes on their back, the willpower to make things work for the family and the tenacity to do well in life. It was a transformation from total abundance to total scarcity, from everything to nothing. The only consolation, if we could call it that, was that they were not alone but in the company of millions, who were uprooted from their original homes, on both sides of the border. Though my parents could only afford for us four brothers to be educated in ordinary city corporation schools, education was especially emphasised.

However, our real education was in our home, our gurukul. By personal example, our parents taught us innumerable things, we could never have learnt in school in those tension-filled times. 

I still remember those fateful days as a child. I never saw my parents cribbing, complaining or grumbling about the new situation that fate had put them into. Be it money, eatables, clothes or other things that are normal in households these days, they were mostly short, less than what was required. We were expected and encouraged to share amongst ourselves or with other children in school and outside. We got only one ‘anna’ as our daily pocket money, which could generally buy only one item during our school recess. But hunger during those days was perpetual since ‘angeethis’ (coal stoves) were lit only twice daily and took almost an hour to light. Breakfast and lunch were cooked in the morning and dinner, in the evening. Our mother, for most of the day, used to be in the kitchen, trying to meet our requirements. She was a good cook and met our requirements of abundant home-made snacks quite efficiently.

While attending any social function, our parents strictly instructed us to eat after everyone had eaten. Whenever they had gone to attend a marriage in the community or friends’ circle, they would never eat there, which was a dignified social custom those days, quite contrary to the present-day culture of guests toppling over to eat. They would come home and eat what our mother had cooked before leaving home. Sharing was encouraged at every level. In daughters’ marriages within the community, food was served by friends and community members, not by paid waiters.

Despite all the financial hardships and scarcity, our parents went about their job, doing whatever needed to be done -- my mother at home, and my father in our grain shop, which he had opened by then. Father was a great humorist and mother was very social and worldly-wise. People liked to be in their company. Since they were very helpful and social, they were welcome everywhere. Adversities and facing problems were considered part of our education. Keep trying and one fine day you will emerge winner, was a lesson we were reminded of daily. Without anyone ever mentioning a word, I learnt my first greatest lesson in life: When confronted by a multitude of grief and adversity, if a person stands boldly without accepting defeat, he shall see the defeat itself depart utterly defeated”.

Cover image: A refugee special train at Ambala station. Used for representation only. Courtesy: Wikimedia Commons

Would you know of the experiences your family went through during Partition? Share them with us here or mail them to editor@silvertalkies.com