When Freedom Meant Flight: A Grandmother’s Story from 1947

By Nadeen Pakyntein

On Republic Day, as we celebrate the adoption of the Constitution, we are often reminded of the freedom struggle. We also tend to dwell upon the times of Partition of India and the trauma and violence that came with it. Every year we celebrate these important days with festivities, pride, and speeches by the leaders of the country. We hoist flags and cheer our Independence. But August 1947 was not a time of celebration for a nine-year-old girl in Sheikhupura, northwest of Lahore. It was the day she fled for her life.

Historians tell us that Independence Day 1947 marked our freedom from British rule. That we had finally been able to win our struggle for freedom against the British who had ruled India for 190 years. Non-violence was the principle of this struggle, but the divide and rule policy of the British led to the division of the country on religious lines.
No one foresaw that Lahore district would be given to Pakistan. It was a last-minute decision by the Radcliffe Commission. The 1941 Census recorded the district’s total population as 671,659. Muslims comprised 60.62%, whereas Hindus and Sikhs collectively accounted for 39.38% of the population. But Hindus and Sikhs possessed 80% of the property in the city and the district. The redrawn maps resulted in an overnight upheaval. Hindu and Sikh families in Lahore and adjoining areas had to flee or die. They had no choice but to leave everything behind.
This is the story of a nine-year-old girl who fled with her family during Partition from Sheikhupura, a town about 35 km northwest of Lahore. She is now an 87-year-old grandmother who lives in Shillong. So, how did she end up in Shillong?
On that fateful day in 1947, she had just reached home from school. Her mother asked her to go to the nearby shop and get some curd for lunch. As she walked through the street, she saw a group of men in an auto shouting “Aaj khoon ki holi manayenge” meaning, “Today we will celebrate Holi with blood”.

Her father, Sardarji, was on duty as the station master at the local railway station. Around the same time, someone told him that Lahore is now under Pakistan, and that he should run home to his family, and prepare to leave immediately. The first thing he did was to cut his long thick hair, a painful step for a proud Sikh.
He ran home as soon as this was done. Her mother was making chapatti and vegetables. The tandoor was lit and milk was boiling on the mud stove. He told his wife to gather their money and gold. They took a few clothes with them and left behind their big house, their large piece of land and animals in the farm.
They fled leaving behind their homestead, their neighbours,and their friends. People were shouting behind them, “Bhago, goli chalane wale hai” meaning “Run, shooting will start”. Those words still ring in her ears. The young girl ran with her family through the narrow gullies of the neighbourhood. She heard gun shots behind her and saw scared children crying.
They hid overnight in the house of an aunt along with other families, and covered the doors with stones so no one could get in. The gun shots continued. In the morning, they had to leave. A Muslim man helped them out of the neighbourhood.He asked her father to give him their cows and buffaloes. Her father said, “Take them, they are of no use to us now.” The first house that was ransacked in the area was theirs. The mob took away all their possessions and left the house empty.
Some friends of the departing families arranged a truck to carry them and their meagre belongings. It would take at least a day to travel to Amritsar and reach safely. Feeling lost, scared, and cold, the family travelled with nothing left of their once prosperous life. They had no possessions now and no home to return to.
On the way as they passed through villages dominated by Muslims. At one place they were stopped and the Muslims shouted that they would not let the Hindus leave. They ordered everyone out of the truck and began interrogating them. They replied that they were leaving Pakistan to go to India. The Muslim men refused to let them go and threatened to imprison them. Scared, the men, women and children cried and began praying. They pleaded with their captors to let them pass peacefully.
A convoy of Indian military trucks passed by and stopped when they saw the chaos and the distressed captive families. The Indian soldiers separated the women and children and put them in their trucks, while the men continued in their own vehicle. They were given food and taken to Amritsar.

On reaching Amritsar, they went to a gurdwara. This was not just any gurdwara, it was The Golden Temple. They sat outside on the streets near the temple. They were homeless, they had no friends or relatives in Amritsar. They waited for alms, prayed for days, and slept on the streets. They were stricken with lice and skin infections, unable to take care of body hygiene, with little water and no toilets. They had become refugees. The gurdwara provided food and clothing.
Her father would visit the station every day, hoping to get a government job as he was a station master. One day as they waited for alms, a person gave them some food packaged in newspaper. The father saw a news article that stated that those who had government jobs before Partition could report for reposting. The family was transferred to Patti, an old town, about 47 km from Amritsar. The were allotted government quarters and began their new life from scratch. They had no furniture, and no kitchen appliances or utensils. The family stayed there for several years before moving to Jalandhar, Punjab.
Years later the little girl grew up and married. They travelled to Shillong, where they began life as husband and wife. They started a small business and won the hearts of many of their neighbours who would lovingly call the husband Mama Kalra. Eventually they settled in Shillong. Today, she is 87 years old, and she shares her stories of the Partition of India with her grandchildren, reminiscing on how much she had lost and gained. She remained in awe of her father who was her hero and saviour, and her patient mother though often in tears, always provided for her children’s needs before her own.
The celebration of Republic Day and Independence Day are always celebrated with much pride and joy, but we cannot forget the lives lost, the turmoil and trauma that affected generations of families. As we celebrate with pride, let us also remember that freedom came at a cost. It came with wounds that thousands of ordinary families bore with courage.
Republic Day thus holds significance as a day when India adopted its Constitution, defining rights and duties ensuring equality, freedom, justice in a diverse milieu.
(The author is an Associate Professor at the School of Social Work, Martin Luther Christian University)