As I read more about Punjab’s past, there is a sense of despair. History opens up deep wounds, history also reminds us of who we once were. Life was continuing, the idea of India was continuing, and our ancestors left us with those memories that we refuse to forget. Isn’t history about ceasing what others had. Someone comes along, whether it is Alexander or Ghazni, each came to cease something from us. Some converted us, some destroyed us.
As we look back in history, I refuse to believe that the response to what happened in the past should govern how we treat others in the present. The ambiguity of history pushes us into a void. A place that is hard to come out of. Despondency should not overwhelm us that we forget to see right from wrong. In the year 1947, the refugees of that old Sargodha were left to fend for themselves. It is said that the refugees from Sargodha and Sheikhupura suffered the most. There were reports in Delhi, that the entire refugee column that originated from Sargodha was lost. Nehru was distraught and even sent officials to find out what happened to the caravan. As the reports started to trickle in, the full extent of the horror was finally understood.
In the book “Borders and Boundaries: Women in India’s Partition” by Ritu Menon and Kamala Bhasin, the events in Sargodha and other parts of Punjab are painfully documented with the focus on violence against women and children which became the most tragic and shocking aspect of partition. The idea of “conquering women” by abducting and raping them became the central blood sport of the mob. The authors were mentally unprepared to understand the depravity of what fellow human beings can do to each other. In one of the shocking stories, Charanjit Singh Cheema, a Sikh patriarch killed his own daughters to save them from being raped.
“He had six daughters, all of them very good looking. He was well-to-do and also had very good relations with his Muslim neighbors. They told him to give his daughters in marriage to their sons – that way, they would all then be related and family’s safety assured. they could continue to live in the village without fear. He kept listening to them and nodding, seeming to agree. That evening, he got all his family members together and decapitated each one of them with his talwar, killing 13 people in all. He then lit their pyre, climbed on to the roof of his house and cried out: “Barataan lai ao! Hun lai ao barataan apniyan! Merian theeyan lai jao, taiyaar ne vyah vastey” (Bring on the marriage parties! You can bring your grooms now. Take my daughters away, they are ready for their marriages!) and so saying he killed himself too.”
Hindu, Sikh and Muslim women became the prized assets of India and Pakistan that needed to be captured and conquered. Mobs left their marks on their bodies, they had become their properties, to be shared, to be traded. In this macabre orgy of violence, we forgot who we were. We forgot the common bonds of humanity that held our community together as Punjabis.
These Punjabi women carried the horrors of partition till their last breath. Never fully able to share their stories, never able to find out what happened to their families. Their cries went unnoticed. The most horrific form of violence is when women of one community are sexually assaulted by the men of the other community, as an assertion of their authority on the other. Inflicting total humiliation by targeting women to show how powerless their men have become.
In another account, Durga Rani, narrated the following events:
“In the villlage of Junu, Hindus threw their young daughters in to wells. dug trenches and buried them alive. Some were burnt to death, some were made to touch electric wires to prevent the mob from touching them. We heard of such happenings all the time after August 16. We heard all this.
The mob used to announce that they would take away our daughters. They would force their way into homes and pick up young girls and women. Ten or twenty of them would enter, tie up the menfolk and take the women. We saw many who had been raped and disfigured, their faces and breasts scarred, and then abandoned. They had tooth marks all over them. Many of them were so young – 18, 15, 14 years old – what remained of them now? Their “character” was now spoilt. One had been raped by ten or more men – her father burnt her, refused to take her back. There was one villlage, Makhtampura (sic), where all night they plundered and raped, they dragged away all the young girls who were fleeing in kafilas, No one could do anything – if they did, they would be killed. Mothers telling their daughters they were ruined, bemoaning their fate, saying it would have been better they hadn’t been born…”
In this study, authors write about the events in Sargodha:
“In September 1947, there was a significant record of assault in the Mianwali locality, the greater part of the Hindu and Sikh populace (being 6000 men, ladies, and kids) were slaughtered and consumed alive. Youngsters were grabbed away from their mom’s arms and tossed into the bubbling oil. Many ladies saved their distinction by hopping into wells and hurling themselves entirely into consuming houses. Young ladies of 8 to 10 years old were assaulted within the sight of their folks and afterward put absurdly brutally (Major, 1995).
Monstrosities were on their pinnacle, individuals were tormented both truly and intellectually, the bosoms of ladies were sliced and they were made to walk all exposed in lines of five in the marketplaces of Harnoli, Mianwali. Around 800 young ladies and ladies were stolen and little youngsters were meandering stripped in the wildernesses and were hijacked by the passers-by. Trains had additionally been assaulted in Mianwali and there was a report about the plundering of a whole train on the Khushab-Kundian line someplace close to the Mianwali line. A tough spot was made because of Muslim zeal in Soon Valley of Khushab.
In Mianwali district, trans-border Pathans proved a menace. The local Pathans with their encounters pillaged non-Muslim villages, especially in Police Stations Piplan and Harnoli, Mianwali. Non-Muslims got panicked, at the latter place took up positions and opened indiscriminate firing, injuring two soldiers, despite a Magistrate‟s efforts. Firing was eventually exchanged by the Magistrate‟s party and it continued for 36 hours before the non-Muslims gave up. They suffered heavy causalities.
Muslim mobs looted Hindus houses in Chak Ram Dass, Mehga Jhawarian and Miani in the district. In Miani, they killed 74 non-Muslims including women and children.. About 45 non-Muslims moving from Kinderabad to Sargodha were killed en-route. Hindu and Sikh concentration at Kalabagh was attacked by Muslims.
A Hindu station Master of Shah Alam, Mianwali district, and his wife were killed and their property were looted. A mob attacked the evacuee‟s camp at Nawan Jandanwala in the same district. Armed Muslim mobs raiding Darya Khan on two occasions succeeded in killing 84 Hindus but left 24 dead by military and police stationed there. In Sargodha, a mob of 20 Muslims carrying spears killed three Hindus and three Sikhs on their way from Farooqa to Sillanwali. A dozen armed Muslims killed the Head Postmaster at Sodhi, P.S Nowshera district Khushab along with his wife and two little daughters, they had embraced Islam but wanted evacuation.”
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I often feel that the study of partition will push me into a void. The mental scars can never be healed or cleansed, nor will I ever understand the behavior of fellow human beings. I shudder to read any book related to partition because I’m not prepared to handle the horrors it will reveal. When I read about the mob in Khanna, east Punjab, that raped teenage Muslim girls while their parents were screaming and pleading the mob to stop, a part of me died at that moment. A profound sense of loss and despair overwhelms everything you believe in and questions whether we can ever change. Can we ever change, can we ever reconcile for the crimes we committed?
My life’s journey has become a search to find that answer and as I look at today’s world, the future looks bleak. I look at every corner of our existence to see proof that we can be different and more humane towards each other. I look at my own children and have a profound fear because I have no power to stop the madness they will eventually encounter as they grow up. The hate and racism that exists today, the tribalism, my religion is better than yours, the cult worship of demagogues, all of this exists today as it existed back then.
I used Sargodha as an example to describe the horrors, we Punjabis (Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs) experienced and the sheer audacity of those who thought that they can dominate the others. We have to become better than this.
I refuse to believe that despair is the only response to the madness of mankind.
I always wanted to write about Sargodha.