The horrors of partition

Pratim Kalita 

(pratimk37@gmail.com)

Partition, in any form, is deeply painful, more so when it involves the displacement and suffering of millions. As we all know, India’s hard-earned freedom from the British colonial rule was the result of the unwavering sacrifices and heartfelt efforts of numerous freedom fighters. But the lesser-known fact is that the struggle did not end with independence; the nation had to perform the greatest sacrifice in the name of horrific partition. Let us not forget those innocent lives who were the victims of inhumane decisions made in the name of creating new nations.

Before India’s first Prime Minister delivered his iconic ‘Tryst with Destiny’ speech from the Red Fort on August 15, 1947, the anchor of All India Radio, Lahore, announced ‘Kabul-e-Subah-e-Azadi’ to mark the birth of Pakistan at midnight on August 14. The trauma of being split on religious lines not only dismembered the geographical entity of India but also established a horrific human tragedy. It was marked by the unspeakable brutality. The euphoric chants of freedom in Delhi were paralleled by the agonised cries of women, children and families torn apart across Punjab and Sindh. For those who bore the brunt of the brutality, independence was not a celebration; it was a funeral of unity and humanity.

On August 13, 1947, just two days before independence, chilling scenes started accelerating in Lahore. ‘Ladke liya Pakistan, hanske lenge Hindstan’ was the commonly heard slogan. The atmosphere was thick with tension, fear and eerie celebration of hate. On that day, armed mobs numbering in the hundreds stormed the railway station of Riazabad at around 11 ‘o’clock in the morning. Hindu and Sikh refugees were pulled out of the compartment and slaughtered inhumanly. Knowing no bounds of barbarism, the mobs laughed diabolically and dragged away the young girls; they were brutalised and paraded, a savage desecration of dignity.

On the same day, Chhevin Patshahi Gurudwara, a famous historic Sikh shrine built by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, was attacked by the mobs in the afternoon. The attack was led by Mujahid Tajdeen, once a familiar naan and kulcha seller of Temple Road, Lahore. Declaring it an act of faith, he ignited a fire that engulfed innocent worshippers in flames. He was the first to throw a petrol bomb into the Gurudwara; it was not just an attack on the people but on the soul of a community. That night Pakistan’s Qaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, usually very stern and impassive, hosted a grand banquet to welcome Lord Mountbatten. Jinnah served very expensive liquor lavishly to thank Mountbatten for the role that had been played in the final discussion on June 2, 1947. In the same way, on August 10, 1947, Beervan, a high-ranking officer from Jail Road, Lahore, was brutally killed. Just two days later, on August 12, hundreds of Sikhs and Hindus were massacred, and their bodies were piled on the roads of Lahore. By evening, the violence had spread to Gurdaspur and Layallpur. These are just a few glimpses of the bloodbath unleashed by the Partition.

The Partition was not only the outcome of the British “Divide and Rule” policy but also a tragic failure of the Congress leadership. One glaring example is Nehru’s decision not to invite Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, who had consistently opposed the ideology of the Muslim League, to the most crucial decision-making meetings. This remains unanswered to this day. Equally, the silent complicity of many key leaders, including Mahatma Gandhi, during incidents like the 1946 Direct Action Day and its bloody aftermath remains a historical discomfort that refuses to fade. The outburst of hatred should have been nipped in the bud by the leaders, like when Ali Jinnah, following yet another failed conference on the creation of a separate Muslim state, asked Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy to orchestrate Direct Action Day in Bengal on August 16, 1946.

On August 15, 1947, while the entire nation was celebrating the joy of independence, Mahatma Gandhi was in Beliaghata, Kolkata, trying to quell the raging communal violence. As ministers took their oaths to serve a newly freed India, Gandhi was busy writing letters to the ministers of West Bengal, urging them to ensure the safety and security of Muslim people. Meanwhile, Hindus and Sikhs were being massacred by fanatical followers influenced by Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Perhaps sensing the tragic consequences of Partition, Gandhi was deeply pained. That is why when a government officer from the Department of Information and Public Relations approached Gandhiji for an interview on India’s independence, Gandhiji simply replied he had nothing to say.

The violence did not cease even after independence. In fact, on August 17, 1947, the day the Radcliffe Line was officially announced by Sir Cyril Radcliffe, the brutality escalated to an unimaginable level. The irony lay in the fact that Radcliffe, a British lawyer who had never visited India before, was tasked with chairing the Boundary Commissions for both Bengal and Punjab. He finalised the borders within just five weeks, based primarily on religious demographics. The partition was not merely a line drawn on a map. It was a deep, violent wound that never truly healed. India lost not just land, but generations of peace and unity. No statistic can capture the grief caused due to the partition. Even today, the ill effects of Partition can still be observed from time to time. The decision to divide the nation gave birth to an ideology of hatred, which continues to persist among the citizens of both countries. But truth be told, when we observe the present political instability, religious orthodoxy, and social conditions of the partitioned region, we might feel that Partition was nothing less than a blessing in disguise. Otherwise, India would have had to bear irrelevant and prolonged troubles.

The fact remains that Jinnah and his associates were far ahead in strategy and planning compared to the Congress leadership. Partition might have remained a distant idea if the ideology of leaders like Subhash Chandra Bose had been given due importance. Bose was rejected primarily because he considered Mahatma Gandhi’s political philosophy impractical. Even years later, Shashi Tharoor, former Indian minister and diplomat, criticized Gandhi’s theory on economic development in his book ‘An Era of Darkness’. His constructive criticism on how Nehru and Gandhi failed to mitigate the colonial legacy is a truth bomb/wake-up call.

As we celebrate the milestone of freedom, let us never forget the price paid for it. Let the memory of partition not be just a chapter in history buta stern warning against communal hatred, blind politics and forgotten humanity.