M A I L B A G

We have risen like a Phoenix

THIS has reference to the article, “Insaniyat amidst insanity” (Spectrum, Oct 23 and Oct 30). I was born in Dharamkot village in Lyallpur district, now known as Faisalabad (West Punjab). I had passed my matriculation examination from Panjab University, Lahore. I could not visit my school thereafter as disturbances had erupted due to the Partition of the country. The university authorities sent my certificate to me much later in India.

When the events took a serious turn, we were forced to leave our village leaving almost all our possessions behind. We were a big zamindara family comprising 50 to 60 members, including children. Our Muslim brethren in the village assured us that they would look after our property consisting of buildings, godowns and shops. Some of them even accompanied us to the Pakka Anna railway station.

We reached Lyallpur and went to our maternal uncle’s house. He was a sub-postmaster there. His house was in Daglas Pura. A refugee camp was set up on the outskirts of the city for displaced persons. In July 1947, I was dispatched by my parents along with two of my younger sisters to India. My uncle also accompanied us as a special train was arranged by the authorities for government officials. Some 20 jawans had been deployed by the authorities to guard the train and take care of passengers.

A. N. BHANDULA, Panipat

II

During the forties, Niazuddin, an intelligent and a handsome boy, was studying in the then District Board Middle School, Nadaun. For his schooling, he was staying with his grandfather, Allah Ditta. There were only two Muslim families staying there, just 100 metres from our house. They were protected by all villagers.

One day Niazuddin decided to go to Dhaneta, a remote place, to see his parents. As luck would have it, the entire family, including Niazuddin, were killed by the mob that evening. Niazuddin’s friend and rival in poetry, Mian Karam Singh Parmar Jalarvi, did not have his food for four days.

The second sad event that I witnessed was when in 1957 I was on board warship “Tir” that was visiting Abadaan in Persian Gulf. I found a place in a team that was to join the Abadaani Naval Police for the night for patrolling the restricted area of the port. The in charge of the team left me at a house, occupied by a 28-year-old statuesque and beautiful woman.

During our conversation, I told the woman that I was a Hindu Rajput from Kangra district. She burst into tears and told me that she was the daughter of a Rai Bahadur and was studying in college at Montgommery. Her entire family, barring she and her elder sister, were killed.

She was sold to a Sheikh who resold her. That is how she landed in this red light area. The sad story of the young woman still haunts me.

MULTAN SINGH PARIHAR, Jalari-Hamirpur

Ethical will THIS refers to “Add life to years” by Jeevan Asha Grover (Spectrum, Oct 30). The writer is justified in raising the alarm: “An increase in the population of the elderly is fast becoming a challenge for society which needs to be addressed before it acquires menacing proportions.” Instead of discarding and neglecting our elders, our younger generation should benefit by the rich experience and thoughts of our elders. I suggest to the elders that they should follow Dr Andrew Weil’s recommendation: “No matter how old you are, it will be worthwhile for you to devote yourself in writing an ‘ethical will’ which has to do with non-material gifts: the values and life lessons that you wish to leave to others. Take stock of your life experiences and distil from it the values and wisdom you have gained. It can be a wonderful gift to leave to your family at the end of your life.” The writer points out that 90 per cent of the aged in India have no social security. I endorse the recommendation that the government and NGOs should provide an effective support system for this segment of population. Lt-Col ONKAR CHOPRA (retd), Abohar

Allama Iqbal’s poem

This refers to Khushwant Singh’s “Call for Revolution” (Saturday Extra, Sept 24). The writer’s translation of Allama Iqbal’s poem, though quite loose, is praiseworthy. No verse can be closely rendered into a rhymed verse. The poem Farmaan-e-Khuda (God’s command), some words of which have been misspelt, is addressed to angels and not to the people.

Apropos of Allama’s couplet Jis kheit sey dehqaan ko mayassar nahin rozee / Us kheit key har khosha-e-gandum ko jala do (Burn every spike of wheat of the field from which the peasant does not get a living).

I am reminded of Sahir Ludhianvi’s beautiful quatrain: Jis kheit sey dehqaan ko rozee nahin milney paati / Main na doon ga tujhey voh kheit jalaaney ka sabaq / Fasl baaqi hai to taqseem badal jaaye gee / Fasl kee khaak sey maangey ga jamhoor ka haq (I shall not exhort you to burn the field the produce of which does not go to the peasant. If the crop is there, distribution system can be changed. What will you demand as a right of the masses from the ashes of the crop?).

BHAGWAN SINGH, Qadian