India was partitioning. I was six years old then. People were thoughtlessly boarding and deboarding the trains without a single clue of where they were heading to. It looked as if they were a herd or cattle driven by an invisible intimidating force. We were going to Mumbai from Lahore. Suddenly a group of people carrying swords in their hands came and started using it recklessly on the maddening crowd. I lost my father then. My father was a nice man. He used to say to me, "Beta, always follow the path of truth and principles." Everybody told me to forget the incident and get over it.
And I moved on...
Few years later, my brother was fighting the Indo-Pak war, combating the intruders. One day I received a letter that said that my brother had become a martyr fighting the war. He received Param Vir Chakra posthumously. Consolation letters started to flow in from everywhere. Life doesn't end here they said to me.
So still I moved on...
Today i stand in midst of rubble, blood and corpses. Few hours ago, I received a telephone call. I was playing with my three year old grandsons. They are twins, beautiful kids. My nephew was on the other end. He told me that there have been blasts in Mumbai local train and if everything was okay. Everything was not okay. My son was travelling in one of the trains.
And now the blood-stained body of my son lies in my arms, lifeless. Blood trickles down from the forehead to the ear and finally onto my fingers. I wiped it with my shirt sleeve. He is looking so disturbed, as if wanting to ask "What just happened?"
People are running, crying, shouting at the top of their lungs. My ears are filled with deafening shrieks yet it seems everything is mute. My legs want to get up but it seems there is a lot of load that they won't be able to carry. My eyes want to cry but they are dry. Somebody is trying to say something to me but it can't reach me. Looks like as if they are still asking me to move on.
But now I will STOP...I will not MOVE ON!
Ever since I was a child I was encouraged to not let anything stop me. I lost a father in partition, a brother in war, a son in terrorist attack. Was it my fault or theirs that the partition happened or the war happened or the attack happened? Somebody on the top decides that the country will be divided or we will fight a war and we just comply. Year after year wounds were inflicted on me in the form of these things but I stood still but now my limbs are giving way. They can't take the burden anymore and even if they can I won't let them. Time has come when I stop and start asking questions that why are we bearing the consequences of partitions till now? Why is it that it is we who face the partitions, wars, famines, attacks and they sit at their homes all cozy and at peace? When we moved on after the last terrorist attack, we were appreciated that we did not let the so-called "Mumbai-spirit" die, but what was done after that?
My moving on has become the excuse for leaving behind the past. I moved on but the government is still there where it was at the time of independence. IGNORANT. Of us, the aam janta. For me each memory is still fresh and will always be. What I went through, I will not let my grandchildren go through the same. I won't move on any more but will stop and snap back.
"I Rise"
