“When we two parted in silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,to sever for years”
-Lord Byron.
Exactly 64 years from this day, on August 14th, 1947 I felt numb and frozen, not delighted and ecstatic as I should have been. My Uncle, despite his government job believed with more conviction every passing day that nationalist movement would usher into Bharat’s freedom. It did, but along came the partition.
At the stroke of midnight hour on August 15, 1947, two self governing countries legally came into existence. Early next morning, they were announcing on the radio that the ceremony for the transfer of power were already held a day earlier at Karachi so that the last British Viceroy, Lord Mountbatten could attend both the ceremonies- in Karachi and in Delhi. That is why August 14 was when Pakistan attained Independence, a day before its new neighbor-Bharat. Sir Cyril John Radcliffe, chair of the Boundary Commission, announced the Radcliffe line that partitioned Bharat. That line had the horrifying effect of turning me into an East Pakistani!
I was flabbergasted at the fact that Bharat was no more a Unitarian and a homogeneous nation, that too on the pretext of a communal clash. We had thoroughly identified ourselves with secularists. Though, I was never involved in politics, but even I knew that partition would be a messy business. Talks of partition had already started doing the rounds for some time now. I lost my Uncle in the dreadful series of riots which broke out during the Muslim League’s Direct Action Day of August 1946. He was lathi-charged to death by a Muslim. Not only him, but a hundred thousands of people were killed and many more were injured. As public order broke down all along Bharat, it seemed that the pressure increased to seek political partition of territories as a way to avoid a full-scale civil war which was looming by the time Mountbatten became the Viceroy. He had the only option to ‘cut and run’.
I don’t want to remember the dark decade and the years that followed when partition proved to be nothing but a long, protracted and unfinished business. I remember how even on 14th August, many Hindus and Muslims did not know where they belonged. They did not know if they were Indians or Pakistanis. This was because the Radcliffe’s Award was only published on August 17, after we were granted independence. So for those who rejoiced in the transfer of power ceremonies where Lord Mountbatten, Mohammed Ali Jinnah and Jawaharlal Nehru were the indisputable heroes, were only celebrating ‘notional boundaries’.
Therefore, initially no large population movements were contemplated. There was complete breakdown of law and order. Many died in riots, massacre or just from the hardships from flight to safety with much bloodshed on all throughout.
I and my family never wanted partition. Neither did the 11.4 million Hindus who suddenly found themselves in East Pakistan. A partition would inevitably mean living as a minority in a Muslim majority country, or migrating later on.
On April 23rd, 1947, the ‘Amrit Bazaar Patrika’ featured results of a poll where it had asked if Bengali Hindus wanted a ‘separate homeland’. An overwhelming 93.8% Bengalis voted in favor and 0.6% voted against the division of the province. But I was very suspicious about this poll, like many other public discourses which came to conclusions, completely neglecting the voice of Hindus living in East Bengal.
Unfortunately, our voices never reached the higher echelons of the political circles where decisions were being made. By March, we knew that the transfer of powers was inevitable. On June 20, the Bengal Legislative Assembly voted in favor of the western half joining the Indian Union. Hindus in Khulna could still hope to become part of the Union, but we knew that Chittagong, where we belonged to had no chance. We were too far off. Actually, even Khulna with its Hindu majority did not make it to India- one of the many examples that point to the rush job that Radcliffe did.
At that time, rail, road and water communication was completely disrupted between the eastern and western side of Punjab. My father was a jute cultivator. But every single jute mill was left behind in West Bengal, leaving him without a market to sell his produce. Even export of jute had become an anti national act for Pakistanis. My father had no option but to give away the raw jute to smugglers.
As I narrate this today, 64 years have gone past and I’ve become an old man. Formally, we started calling ourselves ‘Bangladeshis’’ after the Liberation War of 1971. Today, I have air to breath, cereals to live out of and nothing substantial to complain about. But there is one question that always haunts me, “What was the point of it at all? Was communal disharmony worthy of creating a historical divide?”
Deep inside me, I still believe that we aren’t separated from one another, just different names accredited to our status and existence-India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. Shakespeare had said, “What’s in a name? That which we call a Rose. By any other name would smell as sweet?” Irrespective of our nationality, we’ve all been instrumental in achieving independence from the British Raj. We all are worthy of a celebration.
I am content to carry Bharat in my heart. I wish to you and myself a Happy Independence Day.
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