Page 113 - Train to Pakistan

Not forever does the bulbul sing
In balmy shades of bowers,
Not forever lasts the spring
Nor ever blossom flowers.

Not forever reigneth joy,
Sets the sun on days of bliss,

Friendships not forever last,
They know not life, who know not this.

‘They know not life, who know not this,’ repeated many others with sighs.
‘Yes, Uncle Imam Baksh. This is life.’

Imam Baksh and his companions left the meeting in tears.

Before going round to other Muslim homes, Imam Baksh went to his own hut
attached to the mosque. Nooran was already in bed. An oil lamp burned in a

niche in the wall.
‘Nooro, Nooro,’ he shouted, shaking her by the shoulder. ‘Get up, Nooro.’
The girl opened her eyes. ‘What is the matter?’

‘Get up and pack. We have to go away tomorrow morning.’ he announced
dramatically.
‘Go away? Where?’

‘I don’t know … Pakistan!’
The girl sat up with a jerk. ‘I will not go to Pakistan,’ she said defiantly.
Imam Baksh pretended he had not heard. ‘Put all the clothes in the trunks and

the cooking utensils in a gunny bag. Also take something for the buffalo. We
will have to take her too.’
‘I will not go to Pakistan,’ the girl repeated fiercely.

‘You may not want to go, but they will throw you out. All Muslims are
leaving for the camp tomorrow.’
‘Who will throw us out? This is our village. Are the police and the

government dead?’
‘Don’t be silly, girl. Do as you are told. Hundreds of thousands of people are
going to Pakistan and as many coming out. Those who stay behind are killed.

Hurry up and pack. I have to go and tell the others that they must get ready.’
Imam Baksh left the girl sitting up in bed. Nooran rubbed her face with her
hands and stared at the wall. She did not know what to do. She could spend the