I have to shoot you, brother.

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.

PS. This is history, not story.