summary on memory by urvashi butalia.
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Explanation:
TWO seemingly unconnected stories form the starting point for these reflections. Some months ago I visited Pakistan with Bir Bahadur Singh, a seventy-year old Sikh from Rawalpindi district. Previous to March 1947, Bir Bahadur’s family had lived for many years in Saintha village, the only Sikh family in a village of Muslims. When they sensed that trouble was brewing, his father moved the family to Thoa Khalsa, a Sikh majority village nearby. Ironically, and tragically, it was in Thoa Khalsa that Bir Bahadur’s family came under attack, and it was here his father took the extreme step of killing his daughter, Bir Bahadur’s sister, because he feared she would be raped and/or converted.
As Thoa Khalsa and its nearby villages had begun to come under attack, a group of Muslims from Saintha, led by the village headman Sajawal Khan, came to offer shelter in Saintha to Bir Bahadur’s family. His father refused because he no longer trusted the people he had lived with all his life. Bir Bahadur has never forgotten this rejection. This was the first time he was returning to his ‘home’ after that time.
As we wound our way towards Rawalpindi district and Saintha village, I asked Bir Bahadur what it was that he looked forward to most on this visit. What did he want to see, to do. ‘I want to see my home,’ he answered, ‘and my childhood friend, Sadq Khan (son of Sajawal Khan). And I want to drink the water from the village well, to drink it from the hand of a Muslim, and to eat in a Muslim’s house.’
I wasn’t surprised at this because Bir Bahadur had told me time and again that he regretted how Hindus had treated Muslims where he lived, and wanted to find some way to make amends. ‘After all,’ he said to me at Lahore airport, ‘once you have fought, what is left other than to make up.’
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