7. Ancestors

One summer evening
when everybody had gone to sleep
and Khizr was lying next to his grandma
with his head in her lap
while she was sipping Kashmiri tea
he looked at her graceful wrinkled face
and her wise charming eyes
and asked,
Grandma!
Can you tell me
Why am I called Punjabi?
and my family Kashmiri?
Can you share with me
the story of my ancestors?
His grandma combed his hair with her fingers
kissed his eyes and forehead
took a deep sigh and said,
Dear son!
Our story
is the story of our motherland
that we call Punjab,
a land that embraces five rivers
which irrigate our farms,
the farms that produce crops for the farmers
Unfortunately the farmers
never reap the fruits of what they sow
While those farmers
feed the whole country
their own children go to bed hungry
and they don't have enough money
to marry off their daughters.
Darling!
Whether they are rivers of Punjab
or any other motherland
they are all related
to the tall, graceful mountains,
the mountains who wear crowns of snow
upon their heads
when those crowns
melt in summer
they descend to the valleys
and flow as rivers.
As rivers
they acquire names and identities
but then,
one day those rivers
merge into the ocean.
In that process
who knows
what they gain and what they lose.
Dear son!
Our family is not any different
from those rivers.
We started our journey
From the mountains and valleys of Kashmir,
where our forefathers and foremothers used
to live
Kashmir was always known for
chirping birds
fragrant flowers
starry nights
sunny days and beautiful lakes
People from all over the world
used to come
to spend summers in Kashmir
a paradise on Earth
But then
our ancestors had to leave
that paradise
They packed their belongings
and carried their tents
on their backs
They said goodbye
to their motherland
It was the first immigration
within our family
it turned out to be
the first of many
When people leave their home
they sever their bond
with their homeland
and then they are unable to find peace
in any other homeland
So
the caravan of our family left Kashmir
and came to Punjab
where they attached their tents and their
hearts
to the new land
Those folks
who spoke Kashmiri
as their mother tongue
came to speak Punjabi frequently
two generations later
They believed
they found a new homeland
but it was an illusion
The happiness
the hope
the bond
the peace
they had discovered
was only temporary
The sword of History fell
and
cut the hearts into two
Not only Kashmir and Bengal
But also
the motherland of Punjab
became divided into two
and once again we became refugees
We had to move
from East Punjab to West Punjab
from Amritsar to Lahore
At first we experienced
The massacre of Jalianwala Bagh
and lost
many of our dear ones
and then one day
at midnight
the English masters left
but
the motherland became two
and two brothers
who were born from the same womb
breast-fed by the same mother
spoke the same mother tongue
cultivated the same farms
became bloodthirsty stepbrothers
They reminded us of the time
when Habeel and Qabeel
two sons of Adam
fought
and one brother killed the other
My son!
The second immigration
was far more painful that the first
In the first
our ancestors had only lost their homes
while in the second
daughters lost their innocence
and fathers their pride
The disasters of the first
we heard with our ears
the disgrace of the second
we saw with our eyes
God knows how many
mornings turned sad
afternoons remorseful
and evenings depressed
I used to sniggle up
with my children
in bed
sleepless nights were spent
in fear
your grandfather
who was a Kashmiri shawl merchant
in Calcutta
used to be away from home
for months at a time
and I
used to look after
the home and the children all by myself
Those days were hard
Every news that we received
was bad news
My brothers and sisters
moved to Lahore
and wanted me to join them
but I stayed behind
waiting for your grandpa
Every day that passed
seemed like a decade
every night like a century
Finally
when your grandfather arrived
we decided to leave
With empty hands
we moved on
We left behind
our property
our business
and a furnished home
The day we decided to move
your grandfather's friend
went to get us a taxi
but he never came back
We realized
he was killed
by a sword, a kirpan or a gun
Finally your grandfather
took the risk
and went to get the taxi
Halfway, he met a Sardarji
His childhood buddy Khwaja Sahib!

Where are you going?
To get a taxi for the children

Daleep SinghStop here!
If you go any further
they will kill you
Go back
I will bring the taxi
So he brought the taxi
hid us in it
and took us to the railway station.
The train at the station
was waiting for forty eight hours
the driver
afraid to be ambushed
people scared to be killed
men and women
clinging to the train
like honeybees to the honeycomb
People were sitting
in the seats
on the floor
on the footsteps
hanging from the windows.
We asked the children to wait
perhaps for a miracle
After twenty four hours
the train whistle blew
it was ready to depart
There was no room for us
Your grandpa had a dangerous but novel idea
Why don't we travel on the roof?
so we climbed on top of people's
shoulders
got to the roof
risking our lives
The train started to crawl
We covered a two hour journey
in twelve hours
holding our breath
when we crossed the border
Arriving at Lahore station
was like
escaping a death sentence
Your grandfather and I
had tears in our eyes
Mine were tears of joy
happy that my children were saved
his were tears of sadness
as he had lost his friend
That loss wounded
your grandfather's heart,
a wound that never healed
That immigration was painful
and heartbreaking
It was like crossing a river
a river of blood
a river of fire
a river of divided loyalties
broken faiths
and shattered dreams
Some stayed behind
some drowned halfway
and some arrived at the other shore
We would never know
for sure
what we lost
and
what we gained
on that journey.
After listening to the story
Khizr felt so sad
and tired
he fell asleep
in his grandma's lap