‘It isn’t anyone’s fault, Ghanshyam. It’s a madness that has possessed us all,’ said Arjumand. ‘Now take me away from here, before I change my mind. And make sure we are ready with the Eid preparations when I return. The whole family will descend on us in three weeks.’

As if Nothing Had Happened

18 August 1947
Rawalpindi, Pakistan

The platform was stained crimson; strewn with bloodied bodies. People heedlessly stepped over the corpses as if they were fallen leaves, whilst they madly scrambled to wangle their way on to a train. Pushing and shoving to get a foothold—anywhere. On the roof. On a window ledge. Or on the footboard, hanging precariously by the door handles of the carriages. Just as long as they were aboard a train bound for the India that lay across the line.

It was on one such train that Toshi and her grandparents were being urged to get on to by their neighbours, Zulaikha and her son, Khalid.

‘Once you’re across the border, you’ll be safe, Chachajaan,’ said Khalid to Lekhraj. ‘Please don’t worry, I will look out for Baldev, Nalini and Tarlok and put them on the next train as soon as I can. Things are so bad here—these people will kill you if you stay.’

Lekhraj looked at Khalid with vacant eyes. ‘How do you kill someone who has died already?’ he asked flatly.

Khalid swallowed hard. Fighting back her tears, Zulaikha turned to Chand, ‘Do it for Toshi—please!’ she said, clutching Chand’s hands. ‘They won’t spare her life here.’

Toshi stood by Chand’s side, transfixed by what she saw around her. The ten-year-old’s porous gaze soaked up everything around her, especially things that adult eyes chose not to see. Like the train that had arrived a few moments earlier from India, with blood seeping out from under the carriage doors. Toshi watched wide-eyed as railway officials flung the piles of lifeless bodies that lay inside the coaches on to the platform, as casually as one might flick a piece of lint off one’s coat. She felt threads of nausea rise up in her throat.

‘They’re getting the train ready for you,’ said Zulaikha, doing her best to make this sound like one of the Sahni family’s usual jaunts to Bombay or Mussoorie for the summer.

The train’s whistle blew, signalling its imminent departure.

Zulaikha reached out and embraced Chand. Friends since they were newly-weds, they had spent a lifetime sharing each other’s joys and sorrows. Neither had dreamt that they’d see a day like this.

As she turned to go, Chand handed Zulaikha the crescent-shaped silver key ring that she always carried. Edged with tiny silver bells, it held the keys to their house, all the storerooms and almirahs—its jingling would warn Toshi and Tarlok of their grandmother’s arrival.

‘Will you keep these keys please, Zulaikha?’ she said. There was finality in Chand’s tone, as if she knew then that she would never be able to return home. Zulaikha held her close and silently wept. The train’s whistle sounded again. No further words were said. Toshi’s grandparents helped her clamber up the high steps on to the train, holding her little hands tight, and with heavy, unsteady footsteps, they too climbed aboard.