Disbelief, exodus, fresh start

S oon after completing his Bar-at-law in London in 1927, my father Gurbakhsh Singh Gyani started his legal practice in Khanewal, then a tehsil of Multan district (in 1985, it became a district of the Punjab province of Pakistan). By 1947, he was well established as a criminal lawyer and had an understanding and cooperative partner in my mother, Hari Rattan Kaur. We had a palatial house in the centre of the city. My grandfather, Sardar Prem Singh, lived in his farmhouse ‘Prem Kutiya’ in Montgomery, now Sahiwal district. My maternal grandfather, Sardar Hukam Singh, retired as a sessions judge and settled in Amritsar; all his landed property was in Nawabshah district of Sindh.

My father, congenial and well respected, was always elected as a consensus candidate, be it while performing duties of president of the Khanewal Officers Club or as chairman of the Peace Committee, or heading Gurdwara Bangla Sahib in Rohtak after Partition.

Whenever Master Tara Singh, president of the Akali Dal, visited the town, he always stayed with us, or my grandfather at Montgomery.

It is surprising that the educated and the privileged class had no clue of what the future held, but the uneducated working class could feel the winds of change much early. Our safaiwala was head of the safai karamcharis of the town. His wife used to work in our house. She used to often warn us, “Sardarji, we hear, though we fail to comprehend, that our possessions will be snatched, even our jewellery, and we will all be done to death.” However, my father, having utmost faith in harmony, often retorted: “Are you insane, how can this happen? Nothing of the sort has happened ever, you are just being paranoid for no reason.” To which she used to reply: “You may not agree, sir, but I am telling you this is exactly what is going to happen.” And she was proved right.

For my father, it was most unimaginable that one day he will have to leave his house in Khanewal along with the family (consisting of my mother, three brothers and three sisters) and become jobless overnight, with no possessions whatsoever.

My father used to think that even if he had to send the entire family, he would continue practising at Khanewal. As if to give solace to one’s mind, he would argue that Hindus and Sikhs also resided in Muslim-dominated countries like Afghanistan.

A few days before Partition, processions, riots, looting of properties and putting houses on fire began. People started sending their families to safer places. My father’s sister Upkar Behanji (whose husband Sujan Singh was Superintendent of Jails in Rohtak) requested my father to move our family to Rohtak. We had already witnessed one ghastly incident in our family: the husband of my father’s younger sister was stabbed to death in Gujranwala. In view of all this, my father shifted our family to Rohtak, where I was born in November 1947. At the time of Partition, my eldest sister was 14, and my eldest brother 11. I had a twin brother and sister aged 10, another sister was seven and the youngest member of the family at that point of time was my brother, aged four.

My father thought that normalcy would prevail soon. However, when refugees from both sides came and started narrating their harrowing experiences of looting, burning of houses and rape, the clamour for revenge was loud and clear. Thereafter, there was no check and events took a turn for the worse. Till the refugees arrived, Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs were living in peace. It’s only after their arrival that the retaliation started and relations got strained.

In Montgomery, only my grandfather and grandmother were left residing in their sprawling farm house. My father and grandfather thought that Montgomery might go to India because most of the land and residential property was owned by Hindus and Sikhs. This expectation proved to be a fallacy as the division was being done based on the population. My grandfather moved my grandmother to Khanewal to help my father.

As the situation worsened, my father along with my grandmother left for Rohtak on August 9. He could not take any luggage with him except his personal clothing but en route, this bag was stolen too. At Rohtak, he arrived safe and sound, though with only the clothes he was wearing.

My father planned to go back but on the following days, August 10 and 11, the train going to Pakistan was bombed near Gidderbaha. Thereafter, a reign of terror was let loose on both sides and things went out of control. Trains carrying Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims were being torched, people were being butchered.

All our family members had reached Rohtak except my grandfather, who was stuck in Montgomery. However, one fine day, the family saw my grandfather, in a dirty kurta-pyjama with a .12 bore gun in his right hand and my father’s law degree in his left hand, trudging towards our home. My father went running and touched his feet and he in turn gave an affectionate hug. He kept blaming the political leaders for the mess they had created, wherein lakhs of people got uprooted, became homeless and all the communities which were living peacefully with each other became enemies overnight.

Our family was safe in Rohtak, but we had lost everything we had. Life had to be started afresh, from scratch. The compensation we received was nowhere near the actual loss the family incurred.

In a matter of 10 to 12 years, however, my father again established himself as one of the leading criminal lawyers in Rohtak. After the first general election in free India, he was appointed as a member of the Election Tribunal. Chief Minister Partap Singh Kairon had a special post of chairman of the Motor Accidents Claims Tribunal created for my father.

We moved to Chandigarh in 1959.

My father had an eventful life spanning 103 years; he passed away in 2008. He took to writing at the age of 70, penning down his memoirs, among other works. The elders in my family experienced untold suffering, but their faith in God and humanity never wavered.

My father would occasionally quote Mirza Ghalib:

“Mujhko dayar-e-ghair mein mara
watan se door rakh li mere khuda ne
meri bekasi ki sharam.”

(I have been forced by destiny to leave my homeland, yet my God has been kind and has kept my dignity intact in this helpless situation)