Page 112 - Train to Pakistan

Chacha, we are so few and the strangers coming from Pakistan are coming in

thousands. Who will be responsible for what they do?’
‘Yes,’ agreed the others, ‘as far as we are concerned you are all right, but what
about these refugees?’

‘I have heard that some villages were surrounded by mobs many thousands
strong, all armed with guns and spears. There was no question of resistance.’
‘We are not afraid of mobs,’ replied another quickly. ‘Let them come! We

will give them such a beating they will not dare to look at Mano Majra again.’
Nobody took notice of the challenger; the boast sounded too hollow to be

taken seriously. Imam Baksh blew his nose again, ‘What do you advice us to do
then, brothers?’ he asked, choking with emotion.
‘Uncle,’ said the lambardar in a heavy voice, ‘it is very hard for me to say, but
seeing the sort of time we live in, I would advise you to go to the refugee camp

while this trouble is on. You lock your houses with your belongings. We will
look after your cattle till you come back.’

The lambardar’s voice created a tense stillness. Villagers held their breath for
fear of being heard. The lambardar himself felt that he ought to say something
quickly to dispel the effect of his words.
‘Until yesterday,’ he began again loudly, ‘in case of trouble we could have

helped you to cross the river by the ford. Now it has been raining for two days;
the river has risen. The only crossings are by trains and road bridges—you know

what is happening there! It is for your own safety that I advise you to take shelter
in the camp for a few days, and then you can come back. As far as we are
concerned,’ he repeated warmly, ‘if you decide to stay on, you are most
welcome to do so. We will defend you with our lives.’

No one had any doubts about the import of the lambardar’s words. They sat
with their heads bowed till Imam Baksh stood up.

‘All right,’ he said solemnly, ‘if we have to go, we better pack up our bedding
and belongings. It will take us more than one night to clear out of homes it has
taken our fathers and grandfathers hundreds of years to make.’

The lambardar felt a strong sense of guilt and was overcome with emotion. He
got up and embraced Imam Baksh and started to cry loudly. Sikh and Muslim
villagers fell into each other’s arms and wept like children. Imam Baksh gently

got out of the lambardar’s embrace. ‘There is no need to cry,’ he said between
sobs. ‘This is the way of the world—