INDIA’S HOLOCAUST – MEMORY OF PARTITION

On the 22nd of October 1947, my grandfather, Maulvi

Irfan Ahmed Ansari was escorted by the police from the
local police station to the railway station in Saharanpur,
India. At the platform where he found his wife and 2
young daughters, he was pushed aboard one of the many
special trains bound for Pakistan.
A graduate of Aligarh Muslim University, my grandfather
became inspired by Muslim leaders demanding an
independent state for the Muslims of India. He went on
to pursue a law degree from Lucknow and started
practice in Saharanpur. He soon quit, joining other
young political activists to devote his time to the
freedom struggle being spearheaded by the Muslim
League. His activities landed him in trouble with the
police.
The journey in the jampacked commuter train moving
slowly along the railway track was fraught with anxiety
and dread due to the fear of attacks by Hindus and Sikh
marauders.
 An ear-splitting bomb blast tore through the
compartment, bringing the train to a grinding halt, as the
smell of blood and smoke choked the terrified
passengers. Peering through the train’s window, my
grandfather witnessed a scene that would haunt him for
the rest of his life - dismembered bodies of men, women
and children strewn like rag dolls. His shock was
penetrated by the sobs of a young boy, no older than
ten. He was to become a dear member of our family
from then on, as my grandfather assumed his
guardianship there and then. Having escaped unscathed
physically, the family finally made it to Walton Refugee
Camp, Lahore where a few weeks later, my grandfather
found a job. The endangered journey and the atrocities
they witnessed was a nightmare which left psychological
scars for life.
So, when in 1971, East Pakistan broke away, and a part of
the homeland my grandfather had passionately fought
for was cleaved off, he finally succumbed to a nervous
breakdown. In the bitter cold December nights, he would
toss feverishly muttering “Last night I dreamt I was on a
train to Pakistan.”