Lahore on my mind
I was merely 11 years old when the partition of the country took place, but the memories of those times are firmly etched. I was studying in Class V at Dyal Singh School, Lahore. The fresh session had just started in April but many students stopped attending the classes when the atmosphere in the city became tense after the boundary lines were envisaged. As a kid, I could not fathom the impact of Partition and how I’d be separated from my friends in school.
Located on the campus of Dyal Singh College, the school had been founded by philanthropist Sardar Dyal Singh Majithia, who was also the founder of The Tribune. The medium of education was Urdu. Up to Class IV, the students would attend the classes while sitting on mats and there was one chair kept for the teacher. A single teacher would teach Classes I to IV. The school laid a lot of emphasis on neat handwriting and correct spellings. In the scorching summer heat, a wooden plank with flowing cloth would be tied to a trapeze and suspended from the ceiling. The backbenchers would pull the string for wafts of air, which would bring a smile on our faces.
I remember an interesting incident that took place in Class IV. The teacher was giving us dictation in Urdu when a Pathan student interrupted and said abruptly, “Kharr jao, janaab” (Please wait, sir). At once, the teacher stood up from his chair and said: “Lo ji, main kharr geya” (Ok, I’m standing now). The entire class burst into laughter. This ‘kind’ teacher would merely pinch our ears as punishment, without ever wielding the rod. A few of our morning prayers were: “Saare jahan se achha”, “Mera watan wohi hai” and “Lab pe aati hai dua ban ke tamanna meri”.
It was a fun-filled time with no worries but Partition changed everything for Hindus and Sikhs in that part of the country. Even in school, the Muslim friends started avoiding us.
Our house was nearly a furlong away from the school, close to Gali Waan Waali, Mohalla Sathhan. Famous Punjabi singers Surinder Kaur and Parkash Kaur lived three houses away from ours. The locality was inhabited by Hindu and Sikh families. As soon as Partition was declared, incidents of arson, stabbing and murder started taking place. The houses of Hindus and Sikhs in the area were being targeted and burnt. Every day there would be news about relatives or friends being stabbed or killed. The honour of girls and women was at stake.
When rioting and arson increased in our area, we shifted to Krishan Nagar colony. My mother ventured out from Krishan Nagar and saw our house being burnt by miscreants. Our Muslim neighbour escorted her to the house. She salvaged a small ‘kadhai’ from the debris of our kitchen. It took much effort to convince my Dadaji and Nanaji to come to Amritsar. The hard reality that they will never be able to return to their Lahore residences left them heartbroken. Within a few weeks of moving to India, both of them died.
I accompanied my father and eldest brother as they boarded a jam-packed train to Amritsar. Both of them had been transferred from Mayo Medical College, Lahore, to Medical College, Amritsar, as senior clerk and lab technician, respectively. My father was allotted residential quarters adjacent to the Medical College Hostel where the Army was stationed for the time being as no student of the college had joined yet. When the military left the premises, the body of a very young woman was retrieved from the tubewell of the hostel. Following this, the police launched an investigation into the matter. The cruel face of mankind was visible on both sides of the border but, there were exceptions too.
My mother, along with my three brothers and a sister, left for Amritsar with a few clothes and utensils. On the way to the Lahore railway station, their tonga was chased by three persons on cycles. They, perhaps, wanted to loot them, or maybe even kill them. But the Muslim tongawallah whipped the horse hard, and the tonga gained speed, helping my family reach the railway station safely.
Partition created a divide which was more than just geographic. I wish it had not taken place, or at least, Lahore should have come to India. How much I yearn to visit the place of my birth and childhood, also the birthplace of my grandparents and most of my close relatives. I feel sad that I have not been able to visit Lahore. I also want to visit Hudiara village. Pind Hudiara came into limelight when the Indian armed forces captured it, along with a large chunk of area surrounding Lahore, during the India-Pakistan war in 1965. My mother belonged to Hudiara. We would spend our school holidays in this village. My Nanaji and mamas (uncles) were landlords. My mother would visit Gurdwara Dera Sahib, Lahore, every Masya and Sankranti for a holy dip. She would take me along with her.
The visits to the museum of Lahore, the zoo and the fun and frolic on the lush green grass of the Parade Ground are just memories now. I still have a ration card of those days, showing ration drawn on August 17, 1947. I am 86 years old but the past continues to haunt me even today.
— The writer is a retired professor of English at MM College, Fatehabad
