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November 9, 2003
EXCERPTS: Looking for lost friends
Hameeda Akhtar Husain Raipuri tells the story of a mixed marriage and how the Partition of 1947 affected people’s lives
Seth sahib dropped in again the next morning. Amma Jan took him to the other room and I ran and stood in the veranda to listen to what they were saying. Amma Jan turned to him and asked, “I am amazed, how did this thought occur to you? Has ever a homespun patch been stitched on to brocade? You are an eminent seth and a pandit. I am from a different world. No doubt my daughter is a Syedzadi and a pearl, she possesses all the good worldly virtues. But given our status, how will this cruel world accept her? Such relationships are transitory and very painful.”
Seth sahib answered after some thought, “Begum saheba! Why don’t you speak the truth, that your actual objection is to the fact that I belong to the Hindu religion. If I become a Muslim then?”
“Where is Maji?”
“She is in her room worshipping,” he replied.
I was trembling all over, ‘Please God let everything be okay,’. When we came near the room he took the child from me and turned and said, “We are going into the den of a lion. Today your courage and intelligence will be put to the test.”
Zia sahib walked in front. I was behind him but as I stepped forward it seemed to me as though I was going backward. I wiped the sweat on my forehead with the edge of my sari. At the threshold Zia sahib took off his shoes. I too freed my feet from the slippers I was wearing. She was sitting on the bed, in a trance-like state praying, fingers busy counting the prayer beads in a long string. With a soft tread he went up to her and placed the swaddled baby at her feet and himself put both hands around Maji’s neck and said, “Your grandson has come to see you?”
Startled she quickly opened her eyes.
At her feet lay the swaddled infant. For a few moments she bent over it and stared and then suddenly she picked it up and began to shower kisses on its forehead, neck, chin and tiny hands. She clutched the baby to her bosom exclaiming, “My precious son’s precious son, the light of my eyes, you are like a piece of the moon”. Then she took his plump fair feet and while kissing it countless times wiped the tears from her eyes with the edge of her sari.
She looked up and saw her son who was embracing her with his arms around her neck. She kissed him on the forehead. Looking on at this flowing sea of maternal love I too felt tears of gratitude and happiness in my eyes.
Up until now she had not realized I stood behind Rahil, trembling and shivering with tears running down my face. Then without thinking I took a couple of steps towards the edge of the bed and kneeling down put my head in her lap. Weeping softly I was able to utter just one sentence, “Maji, forgive me.”
She put one hand on my head and the other under my chin and raised my head. She looked into my eyes with her tear-filled eyes in such a manner as though she was entering into them and mingling with my entire being. I closed my eyes. Her trembling lips kissed my forehead. My entire being swayed with a wave of happiness, my tears stopped flowing and I raised my eyes to look at her. She was smiling.
“How can I consider you to be guilty? You are the mother of my grandchild and Rahil’s bride and after looking at you neither can I lay the blame on Rahil? If my son was charmed and besotted by you then it was the right thing to have happened. And your eyes bear witness to the purity of your soul. My prayers are that you remain forever a wife and your motherhood be filled with bliss.”
I now got up from the floor and sat on the bed embracing her from the back...
She turned and said, “Rahil, take my sunshine in your lap. I want to go to my wardrobe for something.”
She opened the wardrobe, pulled out a drawer and took out a box from inside it. She came and sat on the bed and opened it, took out a munglesutra (a black beaded string with seven pearls) and put it around my neck. From a small silver box she took a pinch of sindoor in her fingers marked the parting of my hair with it and placed a dot on my forehead.
He raised his head and looked at me with anxious eyes, “Maji wants to celebrate Suraj’s mundan ceremony in her house where she will invite the entire family, friends and relatives and all the rituals will take place according to the Hindu tradition. She will introduce Pandit Suraj Mal and you to the family. But I stand a sinner before you. Out of discretion I have not told anyone that I have become a Muslim. I had thought that when the time comes I would tell them. Time is such a healer that it takes care of even the deepest wound.
“As time went by I would first have told Maji, but who knew that destiny would not give me enough time. As far as the fact that I married a Muslim girl goes, Maji did not mind because very often marriages have taken place between us Hindus and Muslims. The emperor Akbar’s queen was Jodhabai. As for me every person has been created by God and every religion has been divined by Him to cover mankind with the garments of humanity. As for my not announcing that I had become a Muslim you could think of it as my weakness or a compromise, but I am here in front of you ashamed that I took cover under discretion.”
“In my opinion, discretion has been attributed to man by nature. For such a long time many practised Islam in secret. They would secretly say their prayers, no public call to prayers were made. When the time was right then its practice was made public. Those brave people who had accepted Islam in their heart, did they become lesser Muslims because they prayed in secret? You have done no wrong. If I am even a bit suspicious or mistrusting then I am a sinner because in Islam no force is to be used on another in matters of faith.”
...I had covered my face with both hands and was weeping in desperation. Tears were flowing down Mughal sahib’s cheeks.
Mirza saheb got up and came near my chair, “You have heard what is in this letter, and what was Rahil’s wish. I have no control over not carrying out his wishes, neither is there the question of whether you agree or disagree. We have no alternative but to carry out our beloved Rahil’s wishes. Albeit this is not an easy thing for you to carry out or for me.
“I will not be able to come for a few days as I have to make arrangements with great care and this will also give you time to think and ponder.”
When he said his goodbyes and was leaving Mughal sahib called Mirza sahib to him and embraced him and said, “I do not have the words with which to thank you. Today by announcing your decision you have removed a great burden from my heart and mind.” Mirza sahib left. I sat stone-like on the chair weeping. Then I suddenly stood up and clutched Mughal sahib, “This is not possible for me.”
Mughal sahib shoved me away in anger, “I am really upset at your perception, Jahan Ara that you are unable to gauge the great depth of the love Zia sahib had for you. Look at what a good arrangement he has made for you to lead a respectable life after him.”...
...This is the way we set foot on the soil of our new country Pakistan. For India and Pakistan, it was a period of great madness. The trains did reach Karachi and Lahore and it became impossible to find out the fate of the loved ones left behind. I would often think of Chachijan. Where were they all and in what circumstances. For two and a half years I asked various people if they had any news of them but to no avail. Jigar Muradabadi and Josh Malihabadi had come from India. Akhtar saheb invited them over for dinner along with several other guests. I asked Josh sahib, “Do you know anything about Mirza sahib and his family?”
He replied, “Mirza too proved a deserter. He has recently come to Pakistan.”
I heaved a sigh of relief and thanked God, and then asked, “To which city did they come?”
“I have no knowledge of this,” he replied.
Then with great regularity I kept inquiring from friends and relatives and from those who were in Lahore, of their whereabouts. At last I got the news that they lived in a house in Pir Ilahi Bukhsh Colony, where the government of Pakistan had made the first houses according to a scheme for those who had migrated and come here. Here rows and rows of similar houses had been constructed. Four rooms with a courtyard in the centre, a kitchen and a bathroom, and in the front room was the door leading out. After searching for a week I found the house where Chachijan lived. The bamboo curtained door to the veranda was open. Those days it was not customary to ring the bell and without permission I walked in calling out ‘chachi’, chachi’. She was standing in front in the courtyard. She must have just washed her hair because her long hair hung over her shoulders. I rushed and hugged her, “When did you come?”
“Come first sit in the room then you tell me your story and I will tell you mine.”
When we came and sat down then she told me, “As you know Mirza sahib had no intentions of coming to Pakistan. You came here and we remained steadfast in our place. Many times the rioters attacked us. They entered and looted the house. Thank God they did not kill anyone. They took things from every cupboard, every box, clothes, in fact they tied up everything in bundles and carried them away. And listen to something funny, remember those two tin boxes, one of which contained dolls and the other doll’s clothes, they kicked these away and asked me with great anger, “Old woman do you still play with dolls?” ...
Excerpts translated by Aquila Ismail
Excerpted with permission from
Wo Kaun Thi?
By Hameeda Akhtar Husain Raipuri
Maktaba-i-Danyal, 2 Victoria Chamber, Abdullah Haroon Road, Karachi
Tel: 021-5681457
179pp. Rs165
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