FEBRUARY WAS COMING to a depressing culmination and the Khatri families of the area had started to have sleepless nights. Those who had the resources were packing up and leaving, heading for anywhere that gave them a sense of security. The ones who had chosen to stay back were now stuck between a rock and a hard place. Reports of pillage and murder were flowing in from just about everywhere. Roads connecting the villages with major cities were deemed perilous and safe havens were few and far between. In Chakri, most Khatri families thought it wise to pack their valuables and seek refuge in Gurudwara Gulab Singh that was located right in the centre of the village.
The mobs responsible for their plight, it seemed, were following a carefully chalked out plan. The size of the marauders’ horde could range anywhere from about fifty to as many as two thousand, most of them armed with some kind of weapon. They would pick a particular part of the countryside and descend on a vulnerable village, followed by a second and a third. They roamed the area with absolute immunity, acting like they had the reins of the government in one hand and the judiciary in the other.
The various cogs in the machinery of the British government often worked hand in glove with the looters, starting with the village clerk to the magistrate in the court, from the lowly office boy to the police inspector. The police force in these parts was almost entirely Muslim and its members could often be seen not merely encouraging the looters but actively joining the mobs on their murderous rampage.
Before embarking on their raids, the leaders of the mobs had precise intelligence about the number of Hindu or Sikh homes in a particular village. They knew the neighbourhoods in which those homes were located and went after their targets with the certainty of one who has a detailed map of the village.
The misery of the victims had to be seen to be believed. Young and old alike were being butchered to death. Imagine the plight of parents seeing their young daughters being brutally raped before their own eyes, of husbands seeing their wives being dishonoured in their presence and brothers watching their sisters being violated or abducted while they could only stand and watch. Hundreds of girls and young women tried to escape this fate by jumping into the nearest well, by taking an overdose of opium or even by setting themselves on fire. They preferred death over dishonour.
These abominations gathered momentum in the Pothohar region in the first week of March and came in repeated waves. There were periods of brief respite when the violence ebbed. But any relief was short-lived because the mobs always returned with a renewed venom. And it went on and on. Until there was hardly a single Hindu or Sikh family left in all of Pothohar.
There was a distinct pattern in the modus operandi of the Muslim mobs. As they approached a village, they would split up into two groups. One would focus on the task of looting anything of value and carrying it out of the village. The other would round up all non-Muslim families and gather them at one location.
There were times when a wealthy family thought they would save themselves by voluntarily handing over their cash to the looters. The amounts could range from a thousand or two to upwards of a hundred thousand rupees. But the outcome was no different. The looters would lure the family into surrendering all their cash and jewellery, after which then they would go ahead and plunder everything else that was of value. Once they had taken what they wanted, they would often burn down the house, murder the men, and make off with the women.
In some cases, the hapless victims were offered a choice. They could convert to Islam and survive. But the choice was loaded with all sorts of riders, some of them so humiliating that the victims preferred to die rather than live with those terms. Here’s a sampling of the riders that had to be accepted after conversion to Islam:
1. After conversion, the man would have no claim on his wife. He would be obliged to divorce her and she would have to agree to be settled in a Muslim home.
2. All unmarried women in the man’s home, the young or the not so young, would be expected to marry Muslim men in accordance with Islamic customs.
3. The man’s property would remain in the custody of Muslims until he had provided sufficient evidence of his fidelity to Islam and Muslims were satisfied that he would not turn an apostate.
4. If the newly converted Muslim was seen to violate any of the above conditions, he would be put to death and all his property and assets would be confiscated.
If the first three clauses appeared too onerous, it was the compliance needed under the fourth that turned out to be the last straw. Who would want to live a life of such abject dishonour with the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads? Was that really a life worth living?
Some tried to find a way that could save their lives and also help them retain their religion. The method appeared simple. They would agree to convert to Islam since that was the only way to stay alive. Having averted the immediate threat, they would seek protection from the army and once they had been taken to a secure location, they would return to their original faith. The ruse worked for a while and quite a few Hindus and Sikhs lived to tell their tale. But it didn’t last too long. The marauders soon got wise to this survival strategy and returned with greater vengeance. The window allowing converts to stay alive was slammed shut and a new wave of terror was unleashed. Virtually every non-Muslim male, young or old, active or infirm, was fair game in the slaughter. Young women were taken into captivity and packed off to distant locations so that the perpetrators could claim innocence. Some of their compatriots had earlier been arrested when the army or police raided their homes and found the abducted women. There was neither respite nor any recourse to escaping this latest round of carnage. The marauders’ methods were well-established by now: loot anything of value, burn down the house, kill the men and abduct the women. Week after gruesome week, the same sequence played out in one village after the other.
But the Lord operates in mysterious ways. Our scientists and intellectuals would, of course aver that there is no such thing as a Miracle of Nature. There is an event, they argue, and there is a rational explanation for that event. Just like in arithmetic, where a question is posed and there is an answer for the question. And yet, we come across miracles for which the human mind—no matter how clever—has no real explanation.
One such miracle was unfolding before our eyes. We were seeing it happen, but the answer was beyond our ken. On one hand were the Muslims carrying out such a brutal massacre of Hindus and Sikhs, a bloodbath that threatened to turn our hallowed lands crimson with our own blood. We could see those heartless gangs descend on a village and turn prosperous homes to ash in a matter of minutes. Vibrant, living men being reduced to corpses. Wealth accumulated over generations being looted in seconds and precious heirlooms burnt without a thought. Wailing mothers saw infants being ripped from their arms and slammed mercilessly against walls till they were reduced to pulp. Young women being tied up like cattle and carted off into the unknown. But at the same time, on the same land and under the same sky, we were able to witness events that were nothing short of a miracle. Muslim families, firmly believing in the same God as the marauders, had taken it upon themselves to provide succour to their non-Muslim friends, often guarding them with the ardour with which a hen protects her flock of chicks.
Incidents like these weren’t confined to a village or two. Every village in the area had its own story of Muslims who provided shelter to Hindu and Sikh families and either saved them from certain death or tried valiantly to shield them. Isn’t it truly a miracle of the Creator that these two streams emerge from the same natural spring? One is laced with deadly poison and the other provides the water of life itself. How can the human mind fathom this mystery?
A miracle on very similar lines was also being revealed in our small village called Chakri where agitation was writ large on the faces of some seven or eight Muslim elders as they hurried towards Baba Bhana’s haveli. On reaching the haveli, they learned that the Baba had gone to see Sugara. A couple of members of the group were asked to stay back at the haveli while the others made haste towards Naseem’s place.
They had barely reached the door when they were joined by a distraught group of three or four men. In voices muffled by fear, they announced, ‘The entire Khatri quarter of Neela village has been burnt to ashes.’
The news sent a shiver through Chaudhry Fazal Karim’s group. Neela village wasn’t too far from Chakri. If the communal inferno had reached Neela, it wouldn’t take long before it arrived at Chakri’s doorstep. There was a renewed urgency in their steps as they entered Naseem’s courtyard. Their eyes first fell on Aziz and Naseem before moving on to Baba Bhana who was a few yards behind and heading towards them.
‘Babaji!’ the Chaudhry exclaimed. ‘You are sitting here without a care in the world while the marauders have already reached Neela!’
The Baba’s worried face showed a rare moment of annoyance before he regained his composure and replied, ‘Chaudhryji! If that is indeed the Lord’s wish, who are we mere mortals to be naysayers?’
‘This is no time for philosophical discourse, Babaji,’ one of the Chaudhry’s companions interjected. ‘It is best to move away from a blaze heading towards you. Come on, let’s get moving.’
‘Where to?’ the Baba asked in astonishment. Wide-eyed with fear, Naseem and Aziz looked at the visitors before turning towards the Baba.
‘There’s no time to discuss,’ the Chaudhry responded firmly. Looking at Aziz, he fired, ‘Listen, young man! Are you well? When did you arrive?’
Without waiting for a reply to his queries, he ordered, ‘Go across to the Baba’s place and help Boote Shah pack the valuables. I’ve left a couple of guys there to help.’
Still barefoot, Aziz rushed off to the haveli. The Baba arrived a few minutes later to see that some of their precious stuff had already been packed. Boote Shah and Rukman were fetching their jewellery and other belongings from inside while the Chaudhry’s men wrapped them in cloth to make small parcels, some of which were placed inside a metal trunk and others dropped into a couple of gunny bags. Aziz’s hands seemed to move at the speed of lightning as he helped with the packing.
Overnight, virtually everything of value was packed and moved to a store room at the rear of Chaudhry Fazal Karim’s sprawling house. This cleared the way for a lengthy and often heated discussion on the next big decision. The Chaudhry was insistent that the Baba and his family should stay at his home. Protecting them was a matter of honour and they would happily shed their own blood before anyone could touch them. Aziz, on the other hand, asserted that they would be safest in Rawalpindi and that he would quickly make the necessary arrangements for their move. Each side argued its case passionately. Aziz, as the younger party, had to speak with due deference to the Chaudhry, but his arguments couldn’t be dismissed out of hand. After they had gone back and forth a few times, Aziz summed up his position, ‘Chachaji! You are absolutely right when you say that anyone threatening Bapuji will have to kill you first. And I know that no one from our own village would dare to cross a line that you have drawn. Indeed, I wouldn’t be worrying at all if that were the case. But the real danger is not from our own village but from outside. What will we do if a mob of a thousand or so bandits descends on us? How will you protect Bapuji from them? In fact, there is every possibility that you will also lose your own lives.’
The young man’s logic was sound and for a moment, everyone fell silent to reflect on his words. An understanding was soon reached that the Baba and his family would first move to the safety of the Chaudhry’s home. They would deliberate some more on the issue and if Aziz’s plan was feasible, they would act upon it.
Next morning, the Baba, accompanied by Boote Shah and Rukman shifted to the Chaudhry’s place. They were followed a little while later by Sugara, Aziz and Naseem who also packed their relatively meagre belongings and brought them over. Each one of them volunteered to stay back and look after the house, insisting that being Muslims, they would be safe. But there was no agreement on who would be the one to stay back. Eventually, all three swore on the Quran that they would stay together wherever they went.