THE DIARY OF 1946

12May 1956, Saturday- Weekends are always the days to enjoy. No schools, no office, but a day to relax and to re-energize oneself to handle the works in the upcoming week. But this weekend was something different for all of us. I, my aunt and my cousin had undertaken the uphill task of cleaning the whole house and arranging all the things which were thrown here and there, in the racks and cupboards. We were doing the work with full enthusiasm listening to soothing bhajans on the radio.

'Keshav, Keshav… Now, are you listening to me?' I was so much into the work that I could not hear aunt calling my name. She kept chanting my name 4 times and at last came near me and patted on my back. This brought my senses back and I responded in such a way as if I were out of the world. 'I got an old diary with your name written on the top, so keep it in your book rack', she told. I took the diary to the table and saw that it was written on the cover page-1946. It was an official diary that my father got as a gift when working as a post master. In those days these diaries were gifted to govt. officials on some special occasions only.

I turned to the first page of the diary. It was the introduction page, written in all block letters 

"NAME-KESHAV RAJ CHATURVEDI                                                                           

 PARENTS' NAME- GIRIDHAR CHATURVEDI AND AMBIKA CHATURVEDI                                                            

 AGE- 11 YEARS                                                                             

PLACE- RAWALPINDI,1946".

 I felt nostalgic getting back my old diary. I opened the next page and started reading it, the date was

29 August 1946, Thursday, 9:00pm

'Dear diary, I am very excited to get you. A lot of thanks to Baba for gifting you to me. Today I got one of my friends in you. Oh, really sorry, but you are still not my best friend because I already have my best friend and you know friends are many but best among them is one. My best friend is RAHEEM. I will show you to him tomorrow because he would have slept by now being exhausted owing to all the fun, we had today in celebrations.'

Raheem Ahmed, my best friend was son of Kabir Ahmed, who was a govt. school teacher and Farida Ahmed, who was house wife. He was my neighbour. Both of our family had thick bonding. His and my father were more like brothers than neighbour. Both the families celebrated every happiness, mourned in every sorrow, faced every difficulty together.

Now I continued reading,

 'Today is Eid Al-Fitr and both families celebrated together. Both we and Kabir Baba's (I called Kabir uncle as "Kabir Baba" as he always treated me like his own son) family helped each other decorate our houses and prepare delicious food. I and Raheem played several games. Then, we both enjoyed the food in my house, we had "Chhole-Bhature" made in our house. It was very yummy. Then we went to his house. They had a wonderful special dish for the occasion, wait what they call that umm… something with S... Oh yes, I remember "Sheer Korma", a wonderful dish made up of seviyan. Farida Maa has magic in her hands. I ate 3 full bowls. Then came the most awaited moment of the day. Oh yes, the gifts. All adults exchanged gifts and we kids were given lot of exciting presents. Like every year, this year also the best gift presented to my Baba was of Kabir Baba. He presented a framed family photo in which both the family were together. 'Kabira, tujhse accha tohfa kya kisine mujhe kabhi diya hai?' Saying this both of them hugged each other with a big smile on their face. I and Raheem also hugged each other. Kabir Baba had gifted me a red colored shirt today which I always wanted. Such a day is really unforgettable. Oh, its 10:00pm. Let me go to sleep, I will talk to you tomorrow my new friend. Good night diary.'

Reading the first page itself was enough for me to reminisce those days. Those days when everyone was happy and contented together. All the festivals were celebrated with joy and feeling of brotherhood. Everyone in the neighbour was like a family member.

I completed reading the first page and I heard aunt calling me, 'Keshav, would you not help us in the work'. I replied, 'Yes Aunt going. Just reading my old diary. I will join you in 15 minutes.'

'Oh, I just forgot something, aunt. Today is special for everyone. Today is Eid Al-Fitr.' Probably Aunt didn't give my words much attention. It is Eid today but it doesn't feel very special to me as it felt in those days of 1946. Now it is celebrated exclusively by our Muslim brothers. The charm of festive is lost. Religion has become a barrier in the celebrations and happiness. I wonder sometimes, if I could return back to those days.

In 1946 everyone was very happy to imagine a free India, the India of their dreams. With each passing day and with each speech of our freedom fighters, our imagination grew stronger. Everyone had belief that this time we would be surely free from the bondage of past 200 years. Amidst all happiness and rays of hope of a free India, growing was the tension between Hindu and Islam brothers. But this never affected my friendship with Raheem. Being 11 years old, we could never understand the reason of these baseless fights and preferred staying away from it. Moreover, our families never taught us to fight rather to stay with content with all fellow human beings. Kabir Baba and my Baba's friendship was so pious that our family never brought communal fights in between this relationship.

I watched my aunt and my cousin laboriously cleaning the house. I decided to join them but I felt as if something holding me back. It was as if the diary was telling me to re-read my past stories. I thought in mind, 'let me just read one more page then surely I will go to help aunt.'. With this thought I was proceeding to the next page.

Suddenly many pages fluttered owing to the cool breeze coming from the window near my table. It took me to a page of my diary which preserved the sad memories of the day which broke the pure bond of friendship between the families. I carefully started reading the page

09February 1947, Sunday, 9:30pm

'Dear Diary, today is the day which really broke my heart. I am so sad that I am hesitant to talk to you today. Today when I and Raheem came back from school holding hand to hand, My Maa hold my hands firmly and dismantled my hand from that of Raheem. She took me home and asked me to never meet Raheem again. I was unable to understand the sudden happenings. Upon asking, my Baba, he scolded me and told that, 'Never meet the son of that enemy.' Saying this he broke the huge photo frame which had the photo of both families together, which was presented to him by Kabir baba on Eid Al-Fitr. I could not understand what happened suddenly. Today I was not let out to play. Even when I tried talking to Raheem from my balcony, I was dragged to the house and the balcony door was closed. We peeped at each other through the glass pane of window but couldn't talk. We just looked at each other's depressed face. I cannot live without my best friend. May God unite both the families. Sorry diary, but this much for today. Good night diary.'

This was the shortest entry I made since the time I started writing this diary. At that time, I didn't know the reason of the sudden hatred that invoked in the heart of members of both of my families. But now I know the whole story.

That day an accident happened with my father as he was returning home. He was severely beaten by some people of Islamic faith claiming that he was a danger to their religion. The tyre of his bi-cycle, was punctured by those people intentionally. Many people witnessed the scene but didn't help my Baba owing to the fear of getting beaten up by those group of people. One of the persons from my baba's post office, probably his colleague helped him with first aid and lent him a ride to home on his lorry.

Soon the story of the incident spread like wild fire. It was revealed that Kabir Baba's younger brother Nadeem uncle was involved in this accident of my father. Upon knowing this, Kabir Baba reprimanded his brother greatly and even raised his hand on him for doing such misdeed. I knew Nadeem uncle was a good person by heart but probably he was blinded by the provocation of his other friends and his ears were filled with hatred towards us by those so-called religion savers who killed humanity in attempt to save their religion or should I say that they killed humanity to enjoy a gruesome fight among those who claim themselves to be the most intelligent creatures made by God. Kabir Baba also apologized for the deeds of his brother but owing to the heaviness of situation and the constant filling of ears by the other neighbours, our family sternly rejected all the apologies. 

After this dreadful incident, I stopped writing the diary for some days owing to the distress of tolerating everyday catfights between those who once were considered the closest persons to our family. Is it ever possible for me to bear fights of my family with my other family?

I was not let to step out of my house without a person of my family accompanying me, after that incident. Even, in those days parents didn't send their children to school, being terror- stricken by the outrage of the riots. In those days, the news of unrests and carnage were the only thing heard from the mouth of every people and in every radio channels. People didn't come out of their houses being terrorized. The streets which were earlier filled with joy and celebrations were now filled with bloodshed and sounds of people wailing.

After a few blank pages I found a written page of the diary. It was of

19 February 1947, Wednesday, 10pm

'Dear diary, amidst such conditions of turbulence and the strict supervision, today evening I found the backyard gate was not locked. Probably Baba had forgotten to lock it. I went secretly from the gate towards the boundary of Raheem's house. It was my good luck that Raheem was watering the plants in his garden all alone. I called him in a faint voice. He heard and came to me with fast but stealthy footsteps. Seeing him after nearly 10 days, tears rolled down my cheek. He wiped my tears as we hugged each other. 'You are a child of 11 with a nose,2 eyes and ears, and a mouth and I am the same, then why is that our parents ask us to stay away from each other?', he asked me in a dejected tone. I kept on weeping. He is the only person with whom I could share my all emotions and staying so many days away from him had junked my mind with emotions of gloom and despair. I told him, 'Promise me, that we would always remain friends.' He said 'I promise' as he kept his palm over my palm. Suddenly there was sound of thud in the gate of his house. It was Kabir Baba who saw us talking to each other. As he came near us, I started taking my steps back.

He exclaimed, 'would you return back without meeting your Kabir Baba, Keshav?' I was surprised and I returned back my steps, still weeping. He put his hands upon my head to bless me. I sobbed in front of him and told, 'Baba, I am disheartened with these fights. Am I so unlucky that I have to witness fights between my own families? Do something Baba.' He told me, 'Don't get disheartened my child. Everything will become normal soon. Continue praying and having belief on Allah. He would make everything right. Today I am bit pleased meeting my best friend than the past few gloomy days. Good night diary'

The only elder who understood our feelings and was the least influenced by the communal riots was my Kabir Baba. From that day I started meeting Raheem secretly, with the help of Kabir Baba and shared all my emotions with my best friend. I kept writing my diary in these days. All of this came to a tragic end with my mother seeing Raheem and me meeting on a fine evening of 25th February 1947. Probably she saw me moving towards the backyard and followed me to check the place I was heading to. She saw me and Raheem talking. Then she slapped me and brought me back home where she revealed my secret to the whole family. Everyone scolded me. Then after all scolding my mother used her powerful weapon and asked me to never meet Raheem or else, she would never talk to me in her whole lifetime. I was so grieved. Being 11 years child then, such words from my mother's mouth broke my tiny heart. Following this, I was locked in a room. As much I remember it was probably the last day, I had talked to Raheem properly and the last day I had written an entry in my diary.

Many bitter and gloomy days passed with me crying inconsolably inside my room. Meanwhile, the insurrections had grown to deadly levels in the city. On 5 March 1947, members of Rawalpindi's Hindu and Sikh communities took out a procession against the formation of a Muslim ministry within the Government of Punjab. The area's first Partition riots erupted the next day on 6 March 1947, when the city's Muslims, angered by the actions of Hindus and Sikhs started killing them in large numbers.

On 7 march 1947, some groups of men (probably Muslims as they looked from their getup) with swords and weapons started doing bloodshed in our colony targeting the Hindu and Sikh families. We being alarmed of these men coming towards our house started hiding in different places of our house. They stood in front of our main gate and started calling everyone to come out. We were very frightened. After few moments of calling us from our main gate, they broke it and started entering the house. I was trembling out of fear but was even unable to cry lest they would hear me. Then suddenly, we heard a familiar voice of a person telling the group that there was no one staying in the house then and all had left for Delhi the last night. It was my Kabir Baba. Listening to his voice, tears rolled down from eyes of my Baba who was probably remorseful over the fights he had with Kabir baba in the last few days. When the footsteps of those group of men started getting fainter, Farida Maa explained us that it won't be safe for us to stay at that place for a long time.

They helped us escape the place from our backyard gate. I hugged Raheem and bade him goodbye by waving my hands without speaking anything. I had premonitions that the promise of our friendship was coming to an end that day. Both of us had tears in our eyes which rolled down through our cheeks like pearls without making a noise, probably being afraid of the heartless riots which had made everyone numb. My Baba and Maa asked for forgiveness to Farida Maa. Amidst such unrest the reconciliation of both families filled my heart with subtle joy. Kabir Baba arranged a jeep for our family to escape the place and accompanied us to the bus stop. While travelling I saw the streets of my city filled with dried stains of red blood and houses and vehicles were put to mighty flames. People were shrieking and squalling here and there. These dreadful scenes burnt my heart with deep sorrow.

Kabir Baba made our family catch a bus to Delhi. At the bus stop Baba and Kabir Baba hugged each other tightly and cried. Baba for last time uttered the name Kabira, as he cried inconsolably and bade a grieved goodbye.

We reached Delhi safely only due to the help rendered upon us by Raheem's family, whom father had once called our enemy.

9 years has passed since independence of India and the partition of British India into India and Pakistan. My father and mother passed away a year later in the communal riots which started months before the partition and continued months after it. From then I live with my Paternal uncle, Aunt and their son.

These riots killed thousands of people of the newly formed countries. These riots preserved religion but forgot to preserve humanity. They who called themselves the protector of their religion by supporting riots were actually the one who killed their Dharma by forgetting the ethics taught by it.

These riots separated me from my best friend. In Delhi we were given a status of refugee and till date we are being stereotyped with this status only.The people here judge us and look upon us as a bad omen for them.Probably this diary had come with the important luggage that we carried for survival while travelling from Rawalpindi to Delhi.

All the events of my life from my childhood till being of 20 years (my present age) had started surfacing in my mind sequentially until when I heard my aunt calling, 'Keshav, it is an hour and your 15 minutes aren't over yet. Would you come after all the works are over?', she asked sarcastically. I gazed at her for some time as if I was completely into a parallel world in the last one hour and then quickly headed towards my book rack to keep the Diary and to arrange my other books.