Mountains Are Calling (Story) - Chapter 4 -Partition Of India - Huge Impact On History - Malabika Ray Choudhury's Blog

Hello Soupers,

Here is the Chapter 4 of my memoir-style story (Not my autobiography) "Pahar Amay Dake" - Mountains Are Calling. You may remember, this is a translation of my own book in Bengali (an indian regiional language). 

Links to previous chapters are below. Your comments are very welcome! 

Link To Chapter 1:

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/blogs/blog_detail.aspx?PoetID=125554&BlogID=40519

Link To Chapter 2:

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/blogs/blog_detail.aspx?PoetID=125554&BlogID=40519

Link to Chapter 3

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry/blogs/blog_detail.aspx?BlogID=40648&PoetID=125554

Chapter 4: Bidyamoyi School - Partition Of India 

I and my sister, Rekha, both joined Bidyamoyi School - in those days, the best and most famous school for girls in Mymensingh District. Here again, many students looked at me with surprise, and many stared at me for long…some of them couldn’t resist asking questions about the scars on my body. They were the same age as me, they couldn’t hide their feelings or surprise. “What are those scars on your body? Do you have them from birth?” Usually I did not reply, but my sister got angry and harshly answered, “That’s not your business. Why are you asking?”

At that point, we started wearing sarees, still I could not hide the scars on my face, arms, or legs. I did not want to see my face in the mirror - but I had long, dark, beautiful hair, my sister-in-law used to make my braids with. She used to admire and say “Oh, how beautiful is your hair! My grandmother oiled my hair every day, shampooed with tea-leaves, or amlaki-soaked water, but nothing happened, my hair remained too soft and thin. My grandma used to grumble in disappointment, because there was no result even with so much care.” 

Before I joined the school, I knew I would be a target of uninvited universal curiosity; and I would have to face many cruel questions and remarks. Don’t know how, I was not afraid of facing such questions any more. The curious eyes of people did not hurt me any longer. I knew - this was going to happen, because people didn’t want to see anything beyond normal. I did not care whatever way they stared at me, whatever comments they made - I did not feel perturbed! The teachers loved me, because I studied hard, and books were my companion. My maternal grandma had a library of her own, probably I inherited that reading genes from her, I felt strong enough to fight with the life surrounding me. 

My sister, Rekha, loved sewing and embroidery, more than books. We used to wear sarees from when we were barely ten or eleven, Rekha used to sew our blouses, for me and for herself. We were not taught English very much, more focus was given on the literature of our mother-tongue, Bengali. I read Rabindranath Tagore, Bankimchandra Chattopadhya, Saratchandra Chattopadhya’s writings quite early in my life. I wished to become a writer like them. When Saratbabu wrote about strong women, I felt delighted. I used to see ourselves in his female characters - in Rajlakshmi, Avaya, or Barodidi - as if they were my mother, sister-in-law, sisters, or me. 

At that time, we did not read much by any female writer.  A few women from aristocratic families in Kolkata, started writing, even publishing, which ignited my ambition of being an author. I started thinking - can’t I be a writer like them? 

Who did I inherit my mental strength from - mom, dad, my brother, or sister? But I completed my schooling quite successfully, unperturbed by any unpleasant stares or words. Gradually and slowly, the questions from people became less and less. My father worked as the manager of a bank. My other brother, Shyamal, was studying medicine in Dhaka. My father studied law, a coveted profession really attractive to people...boys from wealthy families used to go to England to study law, but the focus was gradually shifting to technology. 

Boys were going to schools and colleges, and working, but girls were not - most of them spent their life doing only housework and raising children. Nobody encouraged me, don’t know how - I started looking up to my brothers. I was preparing myself to get a job like them, and live an independent life. I did not plan to get married, and be a housewife. I realized - my life would be different from other women in our society. My parents realized that too. But anyway, my mother taught me and my sisters all kinds of work in the kitchen - starting from how to cut vegetables really fine, how to clean fish, to cook a delicious meal - vegetarian, or non-vegetarian. 

Cutting vegetables was like a fine art in those days! We did not bat our eyes looking at the slicing of cabbages by our aunt from Sylhet. How could we not learn excellent cooking when our mother was an excellent cook, and prepared finger-licking, mouth-watering, scrumptious dishes! There were many rituals, celebrations and  festivals throughout the year - worshipping godesses like Lakshmi (Goddess of Wealth), Saraswati (Goddess of Learning), Brother’s Day, New Year - no dearth of occasions ...went on and on throughout the year! 

On those special occasions, We used to observe fasting with our mother, used to assist mom to cook khichuri (rice and dal medley), fried eggplants, and a mixed preparation of many vegetables. When my mother prepared pancakes (taler pitha), and sweets with condensed milk - the whole house smelled inviting and pleasant with that flavourful aroma. I, my sister Rekha, and sister-in-law Kalyani, used to help my mother - It would be impossible to prepare sweets and desserts for so many family-members by herself. So many kinds of pancakes were prepared - with sweet potatoes, lentils (chhola dal), dried milk (khoya). Pancakes with Tal, a large fruit with a hard shell, was a huge hassle - but my family prepared anyway - and many friends and relatives were invited to  share the food and the festivities. Wow! How many kinds of sweet-balls (moya) were prepared - with coconut, puffed rice, roasted flattened rice, til, and even khoi - each incomparable in its own way! People used to say - cuisine of Banigram family!!! That is something incomparable and heavenly!

We mostly lived in the city, went to school in the city - visited our ancestral home occasionally, during vacations. My eldest brother, Sisir, went to Kolkata, to study engineering. He was academically brilliant, and wanted to study in a reputed engineering college, Bengal Engineering College in Shibpore, Kolkata. Being highly intelligent, he had no problem in getting admission, but he was informed by the family that they could not afford the expenses. Textile engineering would cost half of the money, so he took admission in Serampore Textile Engineering College, and graduated from there. It was a bit sad that a motivated student like him was refused financial support from his own family, and could not pursue his goal. He never got over this disappointmment - the unfulfilled ambition caused pain in his heart forever. 

At some point he started telling our elders, “The future of this country is not promising, and uncertain.” The freedom movement was going on, countrymen wanted to get liberated from a foreign rule...even my maternal uncle joined a revolutionary group, and spent months in prison. My aunt, with her five children, stayed at her father’s house for most of her life ! My uncle fell sick of tuberculosis resulting from his imprisonment for months and months…he passed away in his thirties leaving five young children. 

This is what my eldest brother, Sisir, used to explain to the elders, “Looks like, after all, India is going to be free, the British Government is no longer capable of taking care of a colony so far. But, the conversation between Nehru, Jinna, and Mountbatten points to a partition of the country - India will be divided into two countries - India and Pakistan. Gandhiji is not in favour of of partition, and very much opposing it, but the other selfish politicians are not going to listen to him for long. Both Nehru and Jinna are super-ambitious, both want to be Prime Ministers. How is that possible if there is only one country? Who cares about the trauma, sufferings, and deaths partition will cause to ordinary people?”

My father and uncles became worried with what Sisir used to say, but they did not believe in his opinion. Sisir’s outlook  was always very modern, he was well ahead of his time - our parents’ beliefs did not match with his opinions. “What do you say - what will happen to our East Bengal?” They used to ask. My brother used to answer “I am assuming…because this part of the country is mostly inhabited by Muslims, this region will join Pakistan, Hindus will have to leave”. Our parents used to scream “What are you talking about? This is our ancestral property…how is it possible that we have to leave?’

My brother used to stick to his opinion. “We should sell our lands right now, and move to Kolkata. If we are late, it would not be possible to sell.” My father and uncles did not trust his judgement, and said “Oh, he is always a hot-headed rebel! It is entirely impossible. We are not going to sell our land, and leaving our motherland, we are not going to move to another country." 

But at last, the impossible became possible. 

Finally India was divided into two countries - India and Pakistan. Gepgraphically, East Bengal was far from Pakistan, but still the decision was - because the majority of population was muslims, it should belong to Pakistan. West Bengal remained with India. A huge change in history occurred right in front of our eyes, which impacted indians for many many years. Jawharlal Nehru became the first Prime Minister of India, Jinna became the first of Pakistan. After deciding the fate of millions of people, based on a data collection for a few weeks, Mountbatten triumphantly returned to Britain. The partition of India happened based solely on religion.. Pakistan became an Islamic State, India stayed a secular country. 

We realized - we had to leave our country, our ancestral property, and move to West Bengal, most probably to Kolkata. For two reasons, our move was fast - firstly, my brother, Sisir, was very familiar with life in Kolkata, so he decided to rent a house there. Secondly, my all-powerful uncle, Surendra Mohan Choudhury, was threatened to be attacked by Muslim opponents. Their accumulated anger and aggression were focused on this Hindu landlord. The terrorist groups declared - they wanted to behead this man.

Surendra Mohan was the eldest among the three brothers - he had the largest property, but there was never any discord among the brothers related to ownerships. Surendra Mohan made a will - he was not happy with the extravagant lifestyle his only son was pursuing, so he made his daughter-in-law, not his son, his successor. He had immense faith in Jyoti, his daughter-in-law, to protect and take care of his property and heritage. It was a very tough decision, but Surendra Choudhury was a strongly decisive man, and he knew how to keep up with the modern age. What a turn of fate - his will did not make any sense when they had to leave the coumtry - their huge house, acres and acres of land, ponds and orchards - everything! Surendra Mohan and his family had to leave their huge property, their country…overnight, to settle in a rented house, in a country they had no idea about!

The British Government was aware of the antagonistic attitude of some people against my uncle. They took responsibility for safeguarding my uncle and his family. Overnight my uncle, his wife and grandchildren were escorted to the airport in a police van, so they were able to safely take a flight to Kolkata. My sister-in-law boarded the same flight with her two little boys. She wore her wedding benarasi saree, and put on all the jewellery belonging to her. There was the chance of all her jewellery being taken away at the border, if she did not. If anyone was carrying even a few rupees with them, the employees at the border of India and Pakistan, were consficating, taking away even that small amount of money, without any hesitation.

 My uncle arrived and stayed in the house at Parkcircus, which his nephew, Sisir rented. But after leaving all his property, and his power behind, he was distraught, and unable to sleep. Day and night he used to walk around the house where he lived temporarily. In this way he did not live for long, he passed away after two years of anguish and sufferings. 

My parents, and we, two sisters, also moved to Kolkata sometime before India was officially free on August 15, 1947. They did not have the opportunity to sell the huge house, or acres of farming land - we felt relieved that we were able to move to a new country unhurt and alive. The whole extended family took refuge in the house at Parkcircus, which was the center of the city - the house which my brother rented for hundred rupees a month. But he himself was still working at Dhakeswari Cotton Mill in Dhaka, staying alone, by himself - he sent most of his salary to support the huge family in Kolkata, just uprooted from their own land. We did not end up starving and dying at Sealdaha Station like many other refugees from East Bengal did, waiting for government support, but our life was drastically changed - from now on, it was a life of struggle and suffering. 

To Be Continued....