CHAKRI AND DHERI were two small villages that lay on opposite banks of the Soan. It was close to midnight and the Khatri quarter of Chakri was still smouldering when the occupants of the cowshed saw flames light up the sky above Dheri.
Every few minutes, one of the young men escorting the five refugees would step out of the cowshed and return with fresh information. Each new report was more depressing than the last. There was no need to hear anything about Chakri, Dheri or Kohli villages. Their eyes told them the whole story. But a similar tragedy was also unfolding in villages further away. ‘Two hundred and fifty Khatris have been killed in Gheelan … all Khatri homes in Sihala have been looted and burned … the Sikhs of Jhada put up a brave fight but eventually all of them were killed and their women have been abducted … the entire Khatri population of Maira has been decimated … there isn’t a Hindu or Sikh left alive from Dhudhambar and all the way to Talagang…’
Each blood-curdling report had the effect of delaying the onward journey of the five travellers as they absorbed the new information. At the same time, each minute lost meant an invitation to even bigger problems. The Chaudhry’s son Fatta, very much the leader of the twelve young men, decided that waiting any longer would be pointless. It was better to start moving.
But which route was safer? A small discussion ensued, and the first option was to get on the road to Rawalpindi even though it was a more arduous route. The hilly terrain and dense woods along the way, it was felt, could provide some protection if the situation became dangerous. The other option was to leave immediately and somehow reach Dulla village by dawn. The village had a police station and a small government inn. Besides, they had heard that a sizeable number of Hindus and Sikhs fleeing from neighbouring villages had gathered in Dulla and the army was making arrangements to evacuate them to safety.
It was a little after twelve-thirty that they emerged from the cowshed and started to move towards the Soan. They had barely taken a few steps when they saw two men coming towards them from the direction of the village. Apprehending that they might be hostile, the group braced itself. The duo came closer, and they saw that it was none other than Chaudhry Fazal Karim, accompanied by a worker from his farm. The worker was carrying two trunks, one in each hand. The Chaudhry himself was carrying a bundle of chapatis wrapped in a piece of cloth.
‘Here you go, Babaji. I’ve packed your cash, jewellery, clothes and a few other things into the large trunk. Including some of your precious silks,’ the Chaudhry spoke before turning towards Naseem. ‘This smaller trunk is yours, isn’t it? I told my fellow to bring it along. I didn’t have the time to open it but I gather it must be some clothes of yours that will come in handy.’ Handing the food to Fatta, he said, ‘I’ve packed some parathas and jaggery for the journey. Who knows when you will find something to eat!’
Looking again at Fatta, he spoke sternly, ‘Listen young man! Take good care of this trunk, will you. It’s got a fortune of at least twenty-five thousand rupees inside.’
Paying heed to the warning, Fatta picked up the big trunk himself and gave the smaller one to one of his compatriots.
The young men were getting impatient over the delay while the Baba and the Chaudhry had their arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. Neither wanted to let go until the Chaudhry took a step back and said, ‘Take care! May Allah be with you. And if the Lord is merciful, He will make sure that we meet again.’ Eyes moist with emotion, he turned to bid farewell to the other members of the family.
The group thought that the Chaudhry would walk with them for some distance but he surprised them by saying he had to take their leave immediately. ‘I hate to go back but I must. Unfortunately, it also falls upon me to break the sad news to Naseem.’ Looking at her, he continued, ‘My dear girl! Your mother has reached Allah’s home. It would be good if you came with me for her last rites. The final decision is yours.’
The siblings let out an agonized sigh. Their duty towards their departed mother brought a momentary pause but there was a larger purpose that beckoned. The tears accumulating in Naseem’s eyes coalesced into two large drops and fell at her feet. She put her arms around the Chaudhry and sobbed, clutching him as though she was at her mother’s bosom bidding her final farewell.
‘Chachaji! Please carry this embrace to my mother and…’ she found herself unable to complete her sentence.
The Chaudhry remained silent. The Baba stood next to Naseem and continued to recite ‘O Saviour Lord, save us and take us across.’ Without uttering a word, he placed his arm around Naseem’s shoulders and pulled her to his chest.
As the group got ready to move, the Baba again turned towards his childhood friend and said, ‘Chaudhry! The Lord alone can bless you for the way you’ve played with your own life to save us. Those devils have even set your lovely home on fire and you are here…’
‘Babaji’, the Chaudhry again threw his arms around the old man. ‘What’s the big deal about the house. If Allah desires, we’ll build it once again. At least I have the satisfaction that I could retrieve some of your valuables from the house before it burned down completely.’ He looked at the trunk Fatta was carrying on his head as he spoke.
Each of the five members again stepped forth to give the Chaudhry a warm embrace as the group finally embarked on its uncertain journey.