June 23, 2002

My mother, Princess Abida Sultaan, died on May 11. A fortnight before she went to hospital, she completed her memoirs with the help of a daily diary that she had maintained for seventy years. She had kept these diaries since 1930 when she was a girl of seventeen. The major part of the memoirs were drafted by my mother, herself. Only towards the end when her health and eye-sight were failing did she allow me to draft her thoughts and memories that she recorded on tape. She would then meticulously read through the drafts, changing phrases and descriptions that I had recorded inaccurately. Even at the age of 89 her recall was amazing and whenever in doubt we would refer back to the diaries that my mother kept in two large trunks.

Since her death, many people have asked why she left her heritage and a life of ease in Bhopal to migrate to Pakistan where life was going to be difficult. They ask if she regretted her decision. In view of the immense interest shown in her life, I reproduce a few extracts of my mother’s final manuscript that shed some light on this issue.

Princess Abida was brought up by her grand-mother Sultaan Jahan Begum under a stern discipline. She learnt the lafzi-tarjuma of the Quran by the age of eight after being put through gruelling tutorials by her grandmother. Sarkar Amman’s discipline often led to her rebelling against the draconian drudgery imposed on her. As she grew older, she realized that Sarkar Amman’s iron discipline was her gift of love. The following extract from my mother’s memoirs reflects the affection that existed between grandmother and granddaughter at the time of the Begum’s death on May 12, 1930.

“I was devastated by Sarkar Amman’s death. On her death, I realized as never before how much I loved her. All the torture and drudgery of my childhood, the discipline and the beatings were mostly confined to learning the Holy Quran which had developed into an obsession so that “My Abida” should finish the holy Quran during Sarkar Amman’s life time. This was her way of providing me with the faith and sense of values that she considered essential. These values were beaten into me often with draconian cruelty because I was born with genes that made me a rebellious, indomitable tomboy.

“Deep down, Sarkar Amman had admired my stubborn resistance to the enforced drudgery when I would refuse to break my silence in learning the Quran despite severe beatings or, later, skip out of reach of the flailing gray tigress. It represented a clash of wills which as time passed saw her increasingly on the losing side. Because of the devil born in me, my education was not an easy task for Sarkar Amman. It was more like breaking in a wild stallion but Sarkar Amman secretly admired my spirit, my dare-devil riding, my love of outdoor sports, my innate stubbornness, my love of music, my driving cars before my tiny legs could even reach the pedals.”

In 1928, at the age of fifteen Abida Sultaan was formally declared heir Apparent to her father Nawab Hamidullah Khan, the first male ruler of Bhopal after four generations of women’s rule. She describes her induction into state administration as follows:

“HH now started my training as heir Apparent. I had to accompany him on his official tours to the interior and he did not allow any woman from Sarkar Amman’s staff to chaperone me. I had to learn Hindi because our revenue records were maintained in Hindi. I had to go out in the fields with a Patwari to learn how to measure the fields, differentiate between soils, such as ‘Kali’ No 1, ‘Kali’ No 2, ‘banjar’, ‘beer’, etc., and memorize the rates of how they were taxed in the state.”

As India neared Independence, my mother describes an event that had a significant bearing in the making of Pakistan. On October 14, 1946 she had accompanied her father to Delhi where he was holding discussions with Congress, Muslim League and other party leaders. At lunch, the Nawab of Bhopal received a call, that Mr Gandhi would receive him. She records in her memoirs:

“I recall my father arriving back two hours later with a satisfied look on his face. He said that he had persuaded Gandhiji to accept that the Muslim League represented the voice of Indian Muslims. The next morning the national press was headlining Gandhiji’s acceptance, for the first time by a Congress leader, of a separate Muslim state — Pakistan. Subsequently, Gandhiji, called his acceptance of the formula ‘a Himalayan blunder’! But despite pressure from Nehru, Patel and others, he never disavowed his statement but only admitted his political error. I realized that it takes a great man to publicly admit that he had made a mistake. In fact, that remark from Mr Gandhi that eventually saw the emergence of Pakistan as a separate state probably cost Gandhiji his life.”

In 1945, Nawab Hamidullah Khan took a second wife. The decision created a deep rift in the family, especially between father and daughter who had been exceptionally close. As Independence drew closer, it was also apparent that the princely states were not going to survive. Princess Abida’s decision to leave Bhopal crystallized at that time.

“My decision to opt for Pakistan was based on two factors. First, I felt that my son’s future lay in a country where Muslims would be able to hold their heads high and compete on an equal footing. I knew that my 14-year-old son had the qualities to be able to stand with the best, and remaining in Bhopal — surrounded by decadence, flatterers and gorgeous, predatory girls — he would while away his life in leisure. Even if he chose to compete in India, I was not sure that in the new order, a level playing field would be available for a Muslim young man who was from a princely family. My son’s future in the egalitarian, free, dynamic Muslim state of Pakistan was the guiding beacon for my decision to turn my back on Bhopal and to move to Pakistan.

“The second factor was less rational and more emotional. It was pride and honour of a family that had ruled over the state for 13 generations and 240 years. The Bhopal royal family’s rule over the state had, in the main, been fair and enlightened especially by its founder Dost, its saviour Wazir, and then by the four remarkable Begums who had governed Bhopal for over a century. Pride in my family’s achievements was deeply embedded in my psyche. Sarkar Amman had hammered into me the values of justice, fair governance, tolerance, piety and enlightenment without which our family would never have succeeded in governing a 90 per cent non-Muslim population, surrounded as we were by Marhatta neighbouring states.

“I had been steeped in this culture since childhood and was immensely proud of my forbears. I could not bear to conceive that Bhopal that we had gained through blood and sacrifice was now to be meekly handed over to the overlords in Delhi. My emotions told me that I would rather die resisting such a takeover — just as Wazir Mohammed Khan had resisted the Marhatta siege of Bhopal in 1813 — but I realized that in the modern world such bravado would be crass and foolhardy. I decided therefore to simply walk away from the shame of handing over the reins of governance that we had proudly held for thirteen generations and to make a new life in Pakistan.”

In 1948, my mother decided to migrate to Pakistan via London. She describes her long wait in London for a visa in the following paragraphs.

“My intention of migrating to Pakistan was conveyed to the Quaid as also the fact that I was making my own decision, in opposition to the wishes of my father, who was one of Mr Jinnah’s closest confidants. I made it clear that I was my own person and my decision to migrate was entirely mine. Soon I received Quaid’s response through Dadabhai (the Nawab of Kurwai) who had called on Mr Jinnah in Karachi. He said Pakistan would welcome me with open arms but could not compensate me for all that I was leaving behind in Bhopal. He added that Pakistan would have a woman personality who could take on Nehru’s sister Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit. Responding to the Quaid’s message, I told Habib Rahimtoola (High Commissioner in London) that if it was a question of compensation for palaces, servants, jagirs, cars and jewellery, I would never have contemplated migration. I was going to Pakistan because of the Quaid’s vision and all that Pakistan meant for the Muslims of India.”

Meanwhile, Mr Jinnah died on September 11, 1948 delaying my mother’s departure for Pakistan. Determined to migrate to Pakistan, she returned to London in 1950 and waited for her visa.

“It was now more than six months that I had waited in London for permission from the government of Pakistan to migrate. I began to fear that the government of India and my father had prevented my move to Pakistan. During this long wait, my opting for Pakistan had become common knowledge. At the time I used to satisfy my craving for sport by playing squash — having become famous in the squash world by winning the All-India Women’s Championship the year before. One of my regular opponents at the India House squash court at South Audley Street was Khushwant Singh — the famous writer — who was an official in the Indian High Commission. Evidently Khushwant Singh told his High Commissioner, Krishna Menon, about me. On July 4, the spry, angular figure of High Commissioner Krishna Menon came to the squash court and watched us play from the balcony.

“After the game, over a cup of tea Krishna Menon told me, ‘I know you don’t get on with your father after his second marriage. But why are you turning your back on your heritage, your life and your family in Bhopal for Pakistan? You are a brave and determined girl but there is nothing for you in Pakistan. Don’t go. I can assure you that the Indian Government will look after you so that you are not dependent on scraps from your father. The example of the Princess of Berar is there. The government has given her complete financial security and more. We shall do the same for you. Don’t be emotional. Stay in India. There is a great future for Muslim women like you.’

“Krishna Menon was close to the leadership of the Indian Congress and his words were clearly aimed at preventing Bhopal’s heir Apparent from ‘defecting’ to Pakistan. India was prepared to pay the price for preventing it. My reply was polite and immediate. ‘Mr Menon, my differences with my father are our personal family matter. I would never have decided to take such an important step purely on emotional grounds. My decision to go to Pakistan is based on deeper considerations that I have weighed heavily for months. They relate to my son’s future as an honourable citizen, the destiny of Muslims like myself who are prepared to build a new nation based on the ideals of Mr Jinnah.’

“‘But Jinnah is dead,’ retorted Menon. ‘There is no one to take on his mantle.’

“‘Jinnah may be dead,’ I replied, ‘but Pakistan is alive — I have decided my future lies there.’”

Princess Abida Sultaan arrived in Karachi on October 2, 1950. She describes her feelings in the following words:

“On October 2 1950, the BOAC plane landed late at night in Karachi and I began my journey to the promised land. I felt an extraordinary sense of elation at arriving in Pakistan, a country whose soil I had never set foot on before. I had a feeling of freedom, of liberation from alien rule, of being part of a vibrant new nation. I had put all my trust in God to guide me in this odyssey which, for a woman in a totally new environment, was going to be difficult. Beyond sharing in Jinnah’s vision of a homeland for the Muslims of India, I did not know what to expect in Pakistan. I had nowhere to live, no close relatives to help me, a small sum of money in the bank, no sanctuary, no loyal support from Bhopali families. It was the beginning of a journey into the unknown.”

By 1951, my mother had moved into her half-completed house in Malir. There was no electricity or water, no roof, no windows, but she preferred to live in the rural expanse of Malir while the tube-well was being bored and camel-loads of furniture began arriving. In the evenings, she would eat by the light of kerosene lanterns, play her sitar and sleep in the verandah under a mosquito net.

In 1957, Princess Abida Sultaan was appointed Ambassador to Brazil. Earlier, she had been a member of the Pakistan delegation to the UN and to China. She did not enjoy diplomatic life and returned home in 1958 by which time electricity had been installed in Bhopal House Malir after eight years of living under lanterns. Then in 1960, her father, the Nawab of Bhopal, died. At the funeral, a large number of Bhopalis wanted my mother to stay on in Bhopal to claim her inheritance and rights that she enjoyed for 22 years as heir Apparent. Nevertheless my mother returned to Pakistan and had a meeting with President Ayub Khan in Rawalpindi that she describes as follows:

“After my return to Pakistan, I was summoned to Rawalpindi by President Ayub Khan on March 19, 1960. President Ayub was gracious in his condolence even though he must have been aware of my reserve towards him due to my friendship with Iskander Mirza. Ayub Khan asked me to dinner at which his Foreign Minister, Manzur Qadir, Interior Minister, General K.M. Sheikh, and the Mir of Khairpur were also present. Ayub berated me for returning to Pakistan. ‘You should have stayed in Bhopal to claim your right to succeed,’ he said. The Ministers joined the President in questioning my decision to head back to Pakistan.

“‘I returned because I am a Pakistani. My son is serving your government and I have no intention of appearing to change allegiances because of titles or palaces,’ I replied.

“‘There is no question of doubting your allegiance,’ retorted Ayub. ‘We know your sacrifice for Pakistan. Your father was a sincere friend of Pakistan, even as Nawab of Bhopal. We wanted you to replace him as one of Pakistan’s true friends in India. It is in Pakistan’s interest. We would preserve your Pakistan nationality even if you decide to return to India.’”

In 1962, my mother briefly entered politics supporting Miss Jinnah’s campaign in the 1964 Presidential elections. She then withdrew from political life to concentrate on projecting the liberal, compassionate and tolerant face of Islam that she believed in. She opposed the induction of religion in politics and believed that the Quaid’s concept of Pakistan was for a homeland for South Asia’s Muslim and not a religious state. She stated her views fearlessly in articles, pamphlets and in television interviews. Though she was also deeply disappointed in the leadership in Pakistan — both military and civilian — she never regretted, for a moment, her decision to migrate to Pakistan. Before her death she would refer to the Gujarat anti- Muslim riots and remark, ‘Now do people understand why I came to Pakistan. As for our leadership, I shall never forgive them, not even from my grave.’

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