Partition

I started writing this during an immensely boring class of international relations. Ideas and suggestions are most welcome.. :)

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It was the evening of the 30th of August of the year 1947. India was still suffering in the after-math of newly-acquired freedom. Freedom, which brought along in its wake, a flood of newer problems. Communal violence and bloodshed were the order of the day, alongside the untiring efforts of an infant government to establish peace.

The scene outside the Lahore Government General Hospital was no different from the rest of India and Pakistan. A young South Indian couple were expecting their first child, and they planned to leave as soon as mother and child were well. Hindus were not welcome in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, and they were to move to Madras. Mr. Raman walked into the hospital’s over-crowded maternity ward. The sound of wailing babies and the unpleasant odour of the hospital surrounded him, and he walked towards his wife’s room when he heard the unmistakable sound of a child’s cry coming from within.

A sense of relief filled him, and he rushed towards the door, eager to see his wife and newborn baby. Happiness filled his heart as he stood at the door, and smiled at his wife, seeing a little bundle wrapped securely and held lovingly in her arms. She looked a little tired, but her face was radiant with happiness and she called him to come forward and take a little look at his daughter – their little princess.

A nurse rushed in, and took the baby away from them. They were asked to finish the paper work and vacate the room immediately. A number of expectant mothers were waiting for the use of this room. The delivery had been absolutely normal, with no cause for worry and no need to spend time occupying the hospital’s precious-few wards. Their daughter would be cleaned, checked-up and brought back to them in just a few hours, she said. A little upset, but eager to hold his baby in his arms, Mr. Raman rushed out to complete the formalities while his wife got dressed to leave.

A few hours later, they were all set to leave. Train tickets in hand, and a taxi waiting at the driveway, they waited for the nurse to bring them their little girl. Mr.Raman mentally reminded himself that his wife and child would have to undergo a complete medical check-up once they crossed the border. Right now, the most important thing was to get them to safer and more familiar territory.

A sudden commotion diverted his attention, and he noticed a large group of people coming down the road, armed with slogans that spoke of their desire to have all Hindus evacuated from the area. The situation was becoming increasingly volatile, and they urgently looked around for a sign of the nurse bringing them their baby.

A few minutes later, they walked swiftly into the waiting car, with the child in their arms – wrapped in a warm cloth and her face almost covered to keep away the dust. Violence would break out at any moment.
There was no time to cuddle the baby or even look at her upon reaching the train-station. Mr.Raman held his wife’s hand tight and helped her onto the train. It was only upon boarding the train, and cuddling the baby, that they realized the cruel mistake fate had played upon them. The child they held in their arms was not their princess, but a little boy…


To be continued...