“I grew up in Sargodha, Pakistan where we had a booming family business and lived in luxury. I studied until the 5th grade and was a topper, but then everything changed.
It was 1947. Everyday, we would hear about the partition on radio. And then it finally happened.
The military came and took us to a refugee camp. We were there for 20 days before we boarded a train to ‘new India’.
The journey was excruciating. There was no food, water, or toilets– we used plastic bags. The coaches were so crowded that people died of suffocation. The train stopped intentionally in the middle of jungles– passengers would be beaten with sticks and pelted with stones. I’ve seen so many deaths. People were stabbed in the chest; the rioters were consumed with killing. Each time the train halted, we held our breaths; waiting for death.
Two of my aunts and a cousin lost their lives because they had to cross the border on foot. We were lucky that the army protected us on the train.
When we finally got here, we felt relief — we didn’t have to fear death. At Sonipat, I met Nehru Ji. He comforted us, gave us supplies and told us, ‘Now you’re here, you don’t have to be afraid!’ His words were reassuring; we were hopeful again.
We were then set up in tents. We all got jobs- my parents worked as labourers and I sewed & sold clothes. A few weeks later, we got our ration cards, groceries, and essentials and the government gave us cottages to start over.
Finally, normalcy returned to our lives and within a few months, I got married and moved to Delhi. Back in Pakistan, we were well-established- from living in havelis to living on scraps wasn’t easy. But looking back, I’ll tell you this: We often hear stories about how friends and neighbors turned against each other during partition. To tell you the truth, we were helped the most by Muslim families. They risked their own lives to protect us and give us a safe passage to refugee camps. And once across the border, they welcomed us with open arms and made us feel at home. When we arrived, a Muslim family gave up their meal so that we could eat!
People often forget that there were Muslim families who were crossing the border too! We grieved for our loved ones and survived together.
I’ve always told my children that we never changed countries– the places on either side of the border were ‘home’. We simply moved from one to another. If it weren’t for all the families that helped us, we wouldn’t be alive.
