दो लोग and Two by Gulzar

‘…one may cut a mountain in two, but people? 

It’s a hard task, Bhai, to cut one people into two. They bleed.’

This story of a group of Partition ‘refugees’ is in three parts. In part one, we are introduced to the main characters – Fauji, Lakhbeera, Tiwari, Master Karam Singh, Master Fazal and some more – all residents of Cambellpur (now Attock) a small kasba in the Punjab before the Partition. Simple people, living simple lives who do not understand the meaning of the division of a country – ‘Does a country break?’ They ask. This is the part that I found most ‘revealing’ and heart-wrenching because all partition stories that I have read, except Baldwins’s What the Body Remembers, have talked about the aftermath, the stories of the people trying to grow new roots. But this part, where the kasba-folk is trying to make sense of what partition would mean for them is very unsettling.

Karam Singh, a Sikh asks his Muslim friend Fasal, ‘If Pakistan is created, will you leave me and go to Pakistan? He did not know Pakistan was to be created right there, where he lived. And he would be the one who’d be forced to leave. When Master Fasal explains to him, his concern is still for his friend, ‘…do you want Pakistan? If it’s good for you, I will surely fight for your rights. My yaar wants Pakistan. All right then, Pakistan Zindabad!’

They piece together the idea of two nations from the rumours a truck driver brings of the rumblings beyond their world, news some hear on the radio that comes alive for four hours each evening and which they believe is the government’s voice. When the Hindus and the Sikhs begin to leave, it not just they but the Muslims watching the caravans leave in the silence and safety of pre-dawn, watching from the rooftops, who despair.

‘Where are they running off to?’ somebody asked.

‘Towards Hindustan.’

‘So where are we? We are in Hindustan, after all. Pakistan hasn’t been created yet.’

‘Who knows where it will be formed. This side or the other side. Is there a place where there are no Muslims?’
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At times, one smiles at the naïveté of these people, but immediately, the pathos overwhelms. They talk:

Will Lahore remain here or will it go to the other side?

Where will it go? It will remain where it is.’

With the advent of the year ’47, they hear the words ‘camps’ and ‘refugees’ for the first time and the Hindus leave, saying, ‘we’ll return when things settle down’ – this still tugs at the heart – the helplessness of the people who did not want partition, who just wanted to live in their own homes, carry on with their lives with friends and family. When the exodus begins – the Muslim truck driver decides to drive his friend, the cleaner, the Sikh Lakhbeera to the safety of ‘the other side’, along with others who have the money to pay for their safe passage. They embark on the long, dangerous journey. On the way, they rescue two young Sikh girls and a small Sikh boy who begs them to take his old grandfather who cannot walk anymore.

Still, no one has a clue where they are going. They watch the Muslims going in the opposite direction.

‘They are going to Pakistan,’ Fauji said.

‘Where is that?’ asked Panna.

Fauji had no answer. ‘It will be somewhere. Someday.’

PART 2: The truck breaks down and the group disperses ‘like dry leaves in a storm’ to join the millions walking towards Hindustan. The story follows the life of some of them.

PART 3: An Englishman who has lived in India and whose daughter was born in the Rajputana, now Rajasthan, is betrothed to a Pal who has become a Paul in England - a Hindu refugee in India from Pakistan. This part highlights the fact that in England, as in any other third country, there is no difference between Indians and Pakistanis who meet as ‘lost lovers’. Paul wants to go back to visit his home, to visit Pakistan and his bride-to-be, Hindustan.
But ‘batwara’ does not end. People keep getting partitioned – the hostilities that mean nothing to them keep flinging their lives asunder. The ‘84 riots – the senseless massacre of innocent people is told from the viewpoint of a Sikh shopkeeper who is saved by a Muslim truck driver. The old ‘refugee’ mother of his, when she asks if the Muslims have burnt their shop, is told that ‘these are Hindus’.

‘There were a number of people in khadi egging on the mob’, earlier too, victims of partition talk of those that are leading the rioting and looting, spreading rumours and instigating hostilities ‘will rule us one day’. Then comes the Kargil War of 1999. Without giving away too much, I’ll quote another ‘refugee’, an old fakir on the bombings, ‘There they go again, the rascals! They didn’t let me sleep all night.’ – a rather detached, matter-of-fact statement by someone not just tired of war but hopeless. It ends with the poignant lines below.

The stories will tug at your heart and you will feel the utter helplessness of victims. Not pass-me-the-tissue stories, they prise open despair. But the novel is also about abiding friendships, love, concern, hope and duty that are beyond the confines of religion – the friendship of Fauji and Lakhbeera, of Karam Singh and Master Fasal; of a Muslim father whose son in law has been killed across the border, who pays for the safe passage of a Hindu girl and her son; of the Hindu servant who does not leave Pakistan because he could not abandon his dog; of the Muslim butcher who saves the life of a Sikh schoolmaster. These keep our faith in humanity restored. The images are stark, the emotions raw. I was choked with emotion several times due to shared experiences. 

Should you read it? Seventy years after partition, to not forget the terrible tragedies that befell our own – this side and that of the border, the religious partitioning that has kept the embers of hostilities ablaze – yes.

Hindi or English? Hindi, if you can, English if you must. I read it first in Hindi and loved how beautifully it captures the subtle nuances of the dialects that our ears are accustomed to. It best captures the sensibilities of its ‘rustic’ characters. But because present-day Hindustani has cast off a lot of its beautiful vocabulary, it is also a little difficult to understand some words. I understood TWO in English better but the translation, with which two skillful translators and Gulzar sa’ab himself have struggled, is uneven, there are repetitions and phrases that one wants to reassemble again – but the story still reigns and still keeps one hooked.

Personal note: My parents-in-law migrated from the Mianwali district of Pakistan (of which there is mention in the book), they also came with the ‘we’ll come back when the ‘halaat’ are better’ reassurance. They were both 15 and before they settled in Jaipur, tried to first dig in their roots in Jalandhar, Rewari and other parts of divided Punjab. So, by the time I came into the family, like most others, they had closed that early chapter of their lives and were reluctant to talk about their homes across the border till I started compiling stories for them, searching the internet for images of present-day Mianwali. Then they shared some stories. When my father-in-law had to leave with the rest of his family, his father, a doctor in the Army, posted in the Kalabagh Salt Mines was away. Daddyji asked his best friend, a Muslim boy to somehow inform him that the family has left for Hindustan. The friend not only walked 15 km on foot to take the message to grandfather, but he also wrote a letter to inform Daddyji that the message had been delivered. By the time we started to search for this friend, memories had already faded beyond recognition. That is why this book is relevant because we must keep the memories alive. Because ‘ये बंटवारे थमते ही नहीं’…

PS: Have been looking for this book for over a decade now. Will appreciate all leads and help with finding ‘Wichara Watan’ by Harish Chander Nakra.