Rampur, July
1947.
“You have
lived your life,” Yakub Khan said to his mother. “Mine lies ahead of me. I don’t
think there’ll be a future for Muslims in India.”
Major Yakub
Khan was a young officer in the British Viceroy’s bodyguard. Lord Mountbatten,
the Viceroy, had drawn up the details of the country’s partition. Soon the landmass that the British called
India would be cut up into three segments and two nations. True, the Pandit and
the Mahatma had not given in to the demands of the extremists to name the new
country Hindustan. True also, the Pandit and the Mahatma were magnanimous
enough to let the new nation be secular. But a time will come when puny-minded
people with small hearts in big breasts will rise to power and create a nation
of heartless citizens.
“I don’t
understand this,” his mother told Yakub. She looked out at the drive that led
to their family mansion. Her husband was the Prime Minister to the Nawab of
Rampur whose palace stood a stone’s throw away.
“We have lived
here for two centuries,” she said with a sigh that did not suit her royal
demeanour. “Hum hawa ki lankhon darara
aye, we descended here on the wings of the wind. We fought, fought and
fought. Your great grandfather was executed in the Mutiny. You are a fighter
yourself. So is your brother Yunis.” She paused a moment and added, “Our graves
are here.”
Yakub’s gaze
went beyond the drive on which Rolls-Royces drew up until recently. He
remembered the eminent guests who came to their mansion and dined in their
capacious banquet hall. The balls and the music. A rich life, it was.
“Nehru wants
to make a socialist country, Ma,” he said. He thought that would convince her
mother to leave India and join him on his journey to Karachi.
“I’m old, my
son,” she said. “My days are numbered. I don’t understand the present politics.
I am a mother more than anything else and my desires are selfish. I’m afraid I’m
going to lose you.”
“I’ll come
back once I settle down in Karachi. I’ll take you with me to Pakistan, the Land
of the Pure.”
He left the
next morning. It was a beautiful summer day. His mother waved goodbye as she
stood there on the veranda wearing a white sari, the Muslim colour of mourning.
He did return
a few months later. But not to Rampur. He led a battalion of Pakistan Army up a
snow-covered slope in Kashmir to attack India. On the other side marched the
Indian Army to defend their land. Yakub could see the leader of the other side.
It was his brother, Yunis Khan.
The ending gave me chills.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully narrated.
The episode is borrowed from the great book Freedom at Midnight.
DeleteSuch is life.. Haalat Bhai ko bhai ki jaan ka dushman bana deta hai
ReplyDeleteIndeed, life is full of tragic ironies.
DeleteThat IS our history. Brother against brother.
ReplyDeleteAnd the situation seems to have only gotten worse in the recent past. Now you don't even need a border to go brother-against-brother.
That's the sad truth. And the monster of hatred is fed by the government itself!
DeleteFrom the time of Mahabharata we have seen this. This is our histrory. Money, fame and what not had made brothers fight with each other.
ReplyDelete