A Personal Account of Partition – 1947

My father-in-law, Col ( retd) Mohammed Sajid, is 95 years old! Despite his age, he has an amazing power of recollection, but is a man of few words. On one of those rare occasions that he wanted to share his experiences, in measured, thoughtful phrases, he recounted his experience of the Partition of India and Pakistan.

My Father Arrives

“I was doing my House Job at Mayo Hospital, Lahore. On Aug 8th,1947 ( 6 days before Pakistan came into existence), the clerk came and told me that my father (who was a Medical officer in a dispensary in Amritsar) was standing outside. I rushed out to meet him. He had his metal attaché case under his arm. At my surprise of seeing him there unannounced, he mentioned that he had taken the earlier train and the rest of our family would be arriving later that day. The family included my own family and the families of my four uncles who used to live collectively in our ancestral house in Amritsar. Two of my uncles were already serving at the Punjab University. They would take the Babu train and commute on a daily basis. Amritsar is only 35 miles from Lahore via Wahgah.” (Imagine that! Kind of like a commute between Castle Rock and Denver – you go to work every day, but then one day you can’t return to your own house/neighborhood!)

Escaping Amritsar

“Upon seeing my surprised expression, my father detailed the hard conditions under which refugees were arriving. They had barely any standing room on the train. A few days prior he had vacated his official residence as the Medical Officer ( he lived on top of the Dispensary where he worked) and had joined the rest of the family ( who had also vacated their ancestral house), and collectively they took shelter at a friend’s house outside of Amritsar.”
“The threats of violence by the Sikhs was extremely high so a suburban town seemed safer. It was only for a night or two as they arranged for three tongawallas to carry all the families and their belongings (a single suitcase per family was all they could bring), defying the curfew, and reaching the train station. On their midnight escape, they were shot at by Sikhs. Unfortunately, the friend who had hosted them and was fleeing with them, lost his mother in the firing en route. There was a mad, chaotic scene when they arrived at the train station. There were hordes of desperate people. Everyone was trying to board the trains, leaving only standing room. Packed like sardines. There was no way their belongings could come onboard with them. One of my relatives snuck under the train and tied all five suitcases to the bottom of the rails. These were later retrieved once they reached Lahore safely. Luckily, their train was spared the massacres that many other trains carrying refugees experienced.“

Mayo Hospital, Lahore

“On my end, I had started my house job/ residency at Mayo Hospital after having graduated in 1946 from King Edward Medical College. Ironically, a few months before I started my studies in King Edward, my mother had been rushed in an emergency from Amritsar. She was in acute pain. Her diagnoses was acute intestinal obstruction due to earlier pre-existing conditions. She was operated by Dr.Kapoor, one of the senior surgeon. However, by the time she reached the hospital, it was too late. She passed away on 30th June, 1941 in the same hospital I was destined to join later. This incident increased my resolve to become a doctor.

King Edward Medical College, Lahore

Our batch of 1946 from King Edward had 100 graduates. Approximately, 40 were Muslim, 40 Sikhs and Hindus and the remaining came from other provinces or even other countries, like Burma. Of course, most of the Hindus and Sikhs left once Partition was seen as inevitable. There was a dearth of doctors.”

“Starting in May 1947, the unrest in Lahore was also palpable. Lots of Hindus and Sikhs were being targeted. Everyday their bodies would line the floor of the hospital. The numbers kept growing. I witnessed this personally. Local gangs and thugs started targeting them, and many of them fled to India leaving their houses abandoned, like ours was in Amritsar.”

Re-settling

“I was very lucky that I had been sharing a house (official residence given by the hospital) with five other doctors who were also on their house job/ residency. Some of them were Sikhs and Hindus and they, too, ended up leaving. Some had either gone back to India or had been relocated to refugee camps. Hence, eventually, I had the entire house to myself. It was perfect timing for when my extended family arrived. I could give them shelter!”
“My family had arrived with completely demoralized spirits. They stayed for a few months with me. Someone suggested they go into Hindu neighborhoods that had many abandoned houses. However, they feared that local gangs would think they were Hindus and kill them instead. Luckily, a common friend was able to arrange for a house in Model Town, a safer area. It had been left in his care by a fleeing Hindu family. Unfortunately, he never did come back to retrieve his property. My uncles were able to settle in that house with their families. Meanwhile, my father chose to go to Rawalpindi since he had worked there previously, and was familiar with the job environment. But I did not go with him.”

“What became of me? On Dec 16th, 1947 I got an offer to go work in Azad Kashmir. On paper I was posted to Jhelum, a sub-surgeon but simultaneously they made papers for me to be posted as Civil surgeon (the senior-most rank of surgeons) in Mirpur, across the river from Jhelum. Interestingly, my office and living quarters were a former Gurdwara (Sikh Temple). The locals had put a makeshift shower with a temporary floorboard in the bathroom. One morning, while getting ready for work, I thought I felt something under the shower. I reached down, and to my immense shock, I had clutched at hair …still attached to a dead body! Can you imagine? After investigating further with the locals, it was revealed that it was the body of the Sikh caretaker of the gurdwara who had no doubt been murdered during those tumultuous days!

At 24 years, I had found my way to Azad Kashmir. My journey in the Pakistani Army was about to begin soon after!”

Happy 73rd birthday, Pakistan! So much was sacrificed so that we could reap the benefits. Far away but not forgotten!

Pakistan Zindabad!