Today, I sat with my grandmother and asked her about the partition. She didn’t say a word and yet her eyes held tears. She did not stop; she sighed and began a story.
A Sardar police officer came home in a hurry, he asked us to pack a few things and leave the house as soon as possible. We were supposed to go to the station, and then leave for Delhi with everyone else. My mother panicked, Papaji (her father) wasn’t at home. I still remember that morning she had boiled some ‘chana’ and cooked some rice. She packed all of it in a big vessel because we weren’t sure how long it would take for us to leave for Delhi. My mother, along with my three sisters and two brothers wore layers and layers of clothes because mother didn’t know if bags of clothes could be kept. And then we left our house in Lahore. That was the last time I saw it. We all rushed to the station and the police there told us that we would have to stay the night in a tent. Mother wasn’t sure about it but agreed ,seeing we had no other option. On the other side we could hear blood curdling screams, my older sister asked mother what it was, and she hugged us closer and told us that it was the Muslims, they were killing the Indians. Finally Papaji came back, and asked to spend the night in the bus, as it would be safer. We did so. We spent the night there and next day we left for Delhi, leaving behind our house, memories and Lahore.
When she finished telling me this, she held a strong face and did not cry. She continued.
Once we reached Delhi we stayed at my Aunt’s house, which wasn’t big but we managed. Soon some of our relatives came back, and we shifted to Kanpur. But some of them stayed there. They couldn’t come, even though they wanted to. They were tortured and killed by the Muslims, or they killed themselves because it was better than being tortured. That’s all I remember from those few days.
By the end, I realized that even though it was been years since this happened and we read about it only in our history textbooks, our grandparents have experienced this. The memories of those who died remain even today. The memories and the pain of the partition remains.
It was not only painful but also unforgettable.
Deepti Chadha is an aspiring journalist from India. She is currently a student in the 12th grade, studying commerce. She is an avid reader who loves all kinds of books. Deepti wants to travel the world, meet new people and learn about different cultures. Writing is a part of who she is today, and writing is what keeps her content.