Kamini's Story...
Kamini’s grand-parents had lived in Pakistan and the little time we spent with our grand-ma was not enough to soak into the many wondrous aspects of her life in Sind-Pakistan. Sind-Pakistan was a merry mix of Sindhis and Muslims though at that time, there were all known as Hindustanis. Kamini’s grand-ma was a petite but beautiful lady who was mother to seven children. Yep, seven kids! It was natural then to have so many kids. Her husband was employed in overseas assignments around the world. Grandma was not educated but someone everyone looked up to. Their Muslim neighbours and her family enjoyed the camaradie they shared – be it fashion or food or a relaxing cup of tea. Grandma’s family enjoyed their tea strong, milky and flavoured with cardamom. Their neighbours, the Khans, would get a whiff of the cardamom (housed had almost negligible boundaries, with flat, open terraces – symbolic of the trust that existed amongst the folk then.
The Khans didn’t have to knock at Grandma’s door (which was always ajar). It was a ritual for the Khans to stop by at 4 pm sharp to enjoy the cardamom tea and then proceed to towards their respective sprawling shops.
One day Grandma asked Mrs Khan ‘Let me teach you the art of the cardamom-flavoured tea, it there is any teaching at all. You can make your father-in-law and your family members enjoy it to their heart’s content.’ ‘Why?’ was the loud reaction from Mrs Khan. ‘Are we not welcome anymore to your place?’ ‘Oh no, no. That was not what I meant’. The two young ladies would then laugh aloud.
The partition was ugly, evil and a monstrosity which destroyed trust and compassion which the Muslims and Hindus had lived on for perhaps, time immemorial.
A week before Grandma’s family had to leave Pakistan, the Khans very discreetly met them on the terrace. Some anti-Hindu mobs were on a killing spree and they feared for Grandma’s family. ‘Listen, you all better come and live with us until the day of departing for India’, Mr Khan told Grandma, tears rolling down his eyes. You are my sister and I fear for everyone’s safety. ‘But, what do we do, our goods, and all other things, this property, we are ruined’. Grandma was broken-hearted and worried.
‘Just come, please listen to me. Forget the material things. Right now, it’s everyone life that is at stake. Hindus and Muslims have turned arch enemies. They seem to have got possessed.’
The last twenty-four hours:
It was 2 am. Loud shrieks and sounds could be heard through the open windows. Grandma, a young mother to seven kids (she was married at 15 years) must have been in her mid-thirties. They had bundled whatever necessities they thought would see them through the unknown journey ahead and one by one each of them gently tread the stairs to the terrace and to that of Mr Khan’s.
Grandma was the last to leave. She glanced at the Japanese pottery her husband had brought on his last trip from Kyoto. The many, many valuable artefacts on the walls, their furniture, the lights, everything she had taken care of so lovingly. Their Victoria carriage was outside. ‘The horses!’ she exclaimed aloud but didn’t have the courage to go out and caress them for the last time.
She walked up the stairs of the terrace, crossed over into the home of Mr Khan.
There was a strange silence in the Khan household. Everyone had grim expressions. This was the last time they were going to be together. Mrs Khan hugged Grandma. ‘Oh Allah! What a day for us to experience.’ It was 4 am. They heard the holy Azaan and the Khans asked Grandma and her children to get some sleep. Perhaps, that was the last day of their togetherness.
The kids were asleep even as their heads touched the pillows but Grandma and Mrs Khan couldn’t stop weeping and hugging each other. ‘I don’t know when we will meet or ever meet again but what you have done for me and my children today …. God bless you for that immensely,’ said Grandma.
Late that evening, Mr Khan huddled Grandma and her kids into their car. Together with Mrs Khan they drove them to the cantonment area from where Hindus were being put on trains to go to India.
Grandma passed away a long time back but her vivid memories of her stay and life in Pakistan are still alive in her grand-children. ‘They were more of family to us than our own. What they did for us is unforgettable. They saved our lives, my children. The love, the warmth, can I ever forget it? I hope Allah has kept them safe.’ These were her words when she was recalling one of her many memories in Pakistan.
There is but one religion – love.
Canta Dadlaney