While the Customs officers along with dockworkers were going around inspecting the luggage of different groups of families, I also sauntered surreptitiously, quickly shuffling along in my old chappals to observe their modus operandi. They just put a cross and an initial with a white chalk on the piece of item in which they were not interested and cleared it for loading on the ship. I casually walked back to where our family and luggage were gathered, making certain to pick up a piece of chalk on the way. The rest was simple. I sneaked a few chalk cross marks and scribbled the initials on the luggage items. […] When the Inspector arrived, I just had to tell him that we had already been cleared. The Inspector was silent for a few seconds while we all held our breath. Then suddenly he shouted, ‘What are you waiting for? Hurry up. The ship is leaving in half an hour.’ Thank the Lord!
I had noticed a mild mannered porter and tipped him well. He quickly loaded all the luggage on the ship, spread a sheet at a secluded corner on the lower deck, arranged all the trunks around the perimeter and made a cozy resting space which was to be our home for the [six] of us on a four-day voyage to a new life.35
Notes
1.Free Press Journal, Bombay, 13 September 1947.
2.Sri Prakasa, Pakistan: Birth and Early Years, p 37.
3.As quoted in Lata Jagtiani, Sindhi Reflections, pp 436-437.
4.Interview with Javhar Advani, as quoted in Lata Jagtiani, ibid, p 429.
5.Ram Buxani, Taking the High Road, pp 18-19.
6.The Times of India, Bombay, 8 October 1947.
7.Sri Prakasa, ibid, pp 77-78.
8.Sri Prakasa, ibid, p 13.
9.Free Press Journal, Bombay, 11 September 1947, letter to the editor from K. S. S. Raghavan, Mahim, Bombay.
10.Sri Prakasa, ibid, pp 20-21.
11.The peengho, or large swing, was a common fixture in a typical Sindhi household.
12.As quoted in Lata Jagtiani, ibid, p 351. See also Janki Lalvani, in Lata Jagtiani, ibid, p 386.
13.Jamal Abro, Disi Doh Akhiyun Seen, p 153.
14.As quoted in Lata Jagtiani, ibid, p 24.
15.Atu Lalwani, interview, October 1997.
16.Allah Baksh Soomro was assassinated in his home town of Shikarpur in May 1943. He was shot dead by four unknown men, while he was on his way in a tonga to the civil court. Khuhro, his political rival, was accused of masterminding the murder, but was acquitted after a trial. While his murder is yet to be solved, some believe that Soomro was murdered by Hurs.
17.Nimmi Vasvani, interview, April 2012.
18.Chetan Mariwala, Hikde Dinhan-a Ji Gaalh, pp 137-144. My translation.
19.As quoted in Lata Jagtiani, ibid, p 436.
20.Ritu Menon and Kamla Bhasin, Borders & Boundaries, p 43.
21.Kamla Patel, Torn from the Roots, p 194.
22.Kamla Patel, ibid, p 194 and p 230.
23.Yasmin Khan, The Great Partition, p 133.
24.Mira Advani, A Saga of Trials and Triumphs of Sindhis, p 66.
25.Mohan Makhijani, interview, March 2009.
26.Descendants of African slaves in Sindh.
27.Popati Hiranandani, ibid, pp 67-71. My translation.
28.Popati Hiranandani, ibid, pp 71-72. My translation.
29.The Times of India, Bombay, 20 September 1947.
30.See Allen Keith Jones, Politics in Sindh, p 153.
31.Roger Pearce, Once a Happy Valley, pp 471-472.
32.As quoted in The Times of India, Bombay, 29 September 1947.
33.As quoted in Saaz Aggarwal, Sindh: Stories from a Vanished Homeland, p 169.
34.Navalrai Bachani, interview, August 2000.
35.Nari Hingorani, Voyage of No Return, pp 3-4.
CHAPTER 5
The Role of the Sindh Government1
Economic Crisis
By mid-October 1947, the price of imported cigarettes had skyrocketed in Karachi: A packet of American cigarettes now cost as much as twelve annas instead of the usual four. Sindh’s regular supply of cigarettes had been poached by dealers from West Punjab, NWFP and Baluchistan. These provinces, which normally bought from Saharanpur, found that their supplies had dried up owing to the disruption of trade and communications between India and Pakistan.
Against a backdrop of India’s ravaged post-war economy, and with demand swiftly eclipsing the supply of essential goods, Sindh was witnessing staggering inflation. The economic and financial structure of Sindh was stretched beyond its limits, with the descent of the Pakistan government on Karachi and the arrival of vast numbers of refugees. This structure, which had depended greatly on Hindu businessmen and moneylenders for centuries, now came to a near-collapse with Hindus leaving and taking valuable assets with them. By February 1948, Sindh would have a deficit of Rs 2.57 crores for 1947-48.2 Khuhro describes ‘the unprecedented crisis’ that had descended on Sindh:
Our economy has been threatened by the sudden dislocation of vital channels of trade and the drying up of sources of credit, with the result that we have had to face unprecedented difficulties in marketing our food and commercial crops, and by the danger of diminishing revenues. On the other hand, the mass influx has placed an almost super-human burden on our comparatively slender resources, and has made it impossible for us to avoid a vastly increased amount of expenditure.3
Consequently, Khuhro’s government had pertinent reasons for banning the removal from Sindh of various goods: bullion and jewellery as well as ‘essential’ items – ranging from cloth and soap to surgical and optical goods, from foodgrains to building material and machinery. Moreover, many Sindhi Hindus in the central government service had opted to work in the Government of India, after they had been given a choice between working for either of the two new nation-states. These Hindus (as well as those in the Sindh Provincial Service) had been, not just the backbone, but the bulk of the administration, and their departure in large numbers left many government offices and courts semi-paralysed, at least in the months soon after Partition; many banks and businesses had also curtailed their operations.4 While the government soon employed muhajirs and Punjabi Muslims to take the place of the Hindus, these were obviously new to the province, and were not acquainted with Sindh, or the Sindhi language, which was the main language used with the junior staff and haaris.
Apart from the central government employees, many non-Sindhi Hindus and Sikhs had left Sindh. These included Punjabi Sikhs, who were manual labourers and carpenters, and Hindus from the United Provinces, who were washermen and masons. Their departure at the critical time when Pakistan was still in the process of building itself presented the authorities with a serious problem. Many newspaper vendors in Karachi were also from UP; their departure brought newspaper distribution in the city to a standstill. Workers in the Karachi-based factories returned to their hometowns in India, and this led to a slump in production.
In response, Khuhro’s government attempted to curtail the exodus of the Sindhi Hindu merchants and bureaucrats. The Sindh government’s efforts to placate and retain the Hindus began in an amicable fashion. A Peace Board – comprising Khuhro himself and prominent Muslims and Hindus of Karachi5 – was established to reassure the Hindus and to hear as well as redress their complaints. Senior members of both the Sindh and the central governments – including Governor Hidayatullah and Premier Khuhro – made visits to Hindus in Karachi, assuring them of their security. Khuhro even made a public statement inviting those Sindhi Hindus who had already left Pakistan to return to their home province. Fazlur Rehman, the central government’s minister for the interior, made a public statement promising the minorities of Pakistan that they would be fully protected, in order to forestall their exodus. Extra police pickets and security measures were provided on the occasion of Dussehra and Bakr-Id, which coincided in 1947.
Trying to stem the economic crisis, Khuhro’s government also produced the Sind Economic Rehabilitation Ordinance, which was passed in late October 1947. Under this ordinance, a rehabilitation off
icer was appointed, whose job was to monitor any unoccupied land or building or business. The rehabilitation officer also had powers to order the original owners of the business to resume work if he was not satisfied with their reasons for closure. Any failure to do so would result in the seizure of the business by the rehabilitation officer, who could then take possession of it, lease it to incoming muhajirs, and arrange for the resumption of the business. This effectively amounted to the forcible taking over of Hindu businesses by the state.
The Sindh government also clamped down on the Hindu press, which was highly critical of the state. Publication of the Hindustan and the Sansar Samachar had been banned for two months at the end of October 1947. Pre-censorship was imposed on the Sind Observer, which had been critical of the government; this paper then appeared without any headlines. Khuhro had issued a warning to the Hindu press, threatening strong action against them ‘if they continued to write editorials and articles savouring of complete disloyalty to Pakistan and looking to outside power for succour.’6 The Sindh government had also banned Qurbani, a Sindhi daily, as well as Al Jamait, an Urdu weekly, and had arrested the editor of the latter for making public speeches in which he incited Muslims against the Hindus. However, according to Dr Choithram Gidwani:
It is clear that in banning the two Muslim papers along with the two Hindu dailies, the intention is to create an impression that the Premier has been impartial. But the facts are that of the two Muslim papers, one is edited by a nationalist Muslim, while the other has already ceased publication. […] The Muslim papers, the ‘Dawn’, the ‘Al-Wahid’ and the ‘Hilal-e-Pakistan’, which are, day in and day out, preaching a hymn of hatred against the Hindus, and which by their violent propaganda against the minority community are striking terror in their hearts, have remained untouched.7
On 22 October, following rumours of anti-Muslim violence in the dargah town of Ajmer, a crowd of about 2,000 muhajirs in Hyderabad (Sindh) threatened to attack the Bombay Mail, full of Hindus departing for India.8 The Bombay Mail had already left the platform, and apparently it was stopped a short distance away. The muhajirs retreated only when the police rushed to the spot and fired in the air. The passengers were allowed to sleep in the train, and returned to their houses the next day under police protection. The following day again, nearly 800 muhajirs lay on the railway tracks in protest against the Ajmer violence, and did not allow the train to proceed. For the next three days, which covered both the festivals of Dussehra and Id, the Sindh government banned the movement of refugee and special trains in and out of Sindh; religious processions and fireworks were banned; and police pickets on main roads increased. Khuhro’s remark, that he was seriously considering ‘placing a ban on the exodus of non-Muslims from Sind for the sake of their own safety as well as the maintenance of peace’, gave birth to a fear among Hindus that their departure would be prohibited. Now the Sindh government announced that it would institute a system wherein persons wishing to leave Sindh would have to give two weeks’ notice to the government.
The Sindh government also took other steps to ensure that day-to-day life in Sindh would not come to a standstill. After his home was raided, and the Punjabi police officer advised his mother that she should send her daughters away to India, Mohan Makhijani wanted to take his sisters to Bombay. Then a valued staff member with the Karachi Port Trust, he describes what happened to him as an employee in what was considered ‘essential services’:
You see, I was on the restricted list – which means, the people who were not allowed to leave, because they were useful to the government. And I had heard about the list because two of our relatives, both of whom were elderly doctors, turned up from Hyderabad at 11:30 one night at our house, in a car. They had a small bag each.
We asked them, ‘What happened?’
They said, ‘We have heard that they are going to issue an ordinance for people in various professions, holding them back: “You can’t leave. Essential services.” Our names are on that list.’
These two doctors had a lot of Muslim friends who must have told them. They managed to get two tickets on an Air India aircraft that used to bring paan from Bombay to Karachi, and from Karachi it used to go to Punjab. It was a cargo plane, with rough seats. Those days, it used to go practically empty. There was hardly any cargo.
I thought, ‘These two old fellows, they get scared for no reason.’ Anyway, they left the next morning. But this incident stayed in my mind.
In September, I wanted to take my three sisters to Bombay. So I managed to procure four tickets on Air India, in the black market, at an exorbitant rate. I said, ‘I will go to Bombay for two or three days. From there it will be easy to get a ticket, and I’ll come back.’ I went to office and I asked for leave. My friend, Iqbal Qureshi, had become my boss. We had grown up together. I asked for time off. He said, ‘No, you can’t go.’
I said, ‘What are you saying? This is urgent. I will come back. My family is here, my parents are here. I won’t give up my house, I won’t give up my job and everything else.’
He said, ‘No, you can’t go.’ He refused me leave. I got very, very angry. Along the way, he also got dejected, because he felt sorry about his response; he knew that I was going for an essential reason.
When Qureshi went home, he was disturbed, smoking cigarette after cigarette. His wife asked him, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ he said. He started fighting with his wife.
She said, ‘Something is wrong.’
So he blurted out that I had asked for leave to go and drop my sisters and he had refused me permission.
His wife didn’t observe purdah with me; I had access to their house. She went at him, hammer and tongs. ‘Get the hell out of here! Go on! Get out! Shameless tyrant! The things you do!’ She threw him out.
In the meantime, since Qureshi had refused me permission, what was I to do? I went and got the name on the ticket changed to my brother, Moti’s.
In my absence, Qureshi had visited my house. He wanted to see me. Before leaving to change tickets, I had told my mother and everybody what he had done.
When Qureshi entered, my family was livid with him. They gave him the cold shoulder. They told him, ‘Go away, Mohan is not at home.’
When I went home, they said, ‘Qureshi had come for you.’ After some time, Qureshi returned. He said, ‘You can go. But don’t tell anyone. Don’t put in a leave application. Just go.’
I said, ‘It’s too late. I have changed the name on the ticket. But why did you refuse me?’
He said, ‘Swear by your father that you won’t divulge this to anyone. You are on the restricted list. Therefore, when you go, nobody should know.’
I said, ‘Well, I can’t leave now.’
But I said to myself, ‘One day I will leave.’
I was on the restricted list. How do they create this list? Qureshi must have given my name. I can’t swear by it, but who else would have done it? I used to do all the work. The entire department was created by me, run by me; he used to just fool around. He must have given my name, since I was in his department.9
Mohan Makhijani resigned himself to staying on in Sindh, at least for the time being.
As mentioned earlier, central government employees were given the option of choosing whether they wanted to work for India or Pakistan. Employees in the provincial government services of Punjab and Bengal were given a similar choice. This choice was not given to Hindu and Sikh employees in the Sindh provincial government, many of whom now wanted to migrate to India. Over 2,000 such employees addressed a mass petition to the governments of Pakistan and India, asking for transfer to India on an exchange basis, with Muslim civil servants in Indian provinces going to Sindh. Although India was amenable to this suggestion, their request was denied by the Sindh government in late October. Khuhro was reluctant to assist them ‘in getting away from the province’, and thus hamstring his government. (Undeterred, G. T. Vazirani, general secretary of the Sind Pr
ovincial Congress Committee, wrote to the Congress-run United Provinces government, enquiring if it would absorb Sindh provincial service personnel out of a sense of sympathy.)
Consequently, in November 1947, the Sindh government openly announced that employees of the Sindh government, the Karachi Port Trust, the Karachi Municipal Corporation, the East India Tramways Company, the Karachi Electricity Supply Corporation, the Cantonment Board and four petroleum firms were not permitted to leave Sindh without the written permission of the district magistrate. Khuhro’s government was adamant that these ‘essential services’ should not come to a standstill, and so banned the departure of Hindu employees in such services. This prohibition came on the heels of an announcement by the Sindh government stating that its non-Muslim employees would not be granted any loan or advances from public funds. The Sindh government’s fear was that the Hindu employees would take the funds with them and migrate to India, thus defaulting on the loan. Soon non-Muslim government employees were warned that the act of sending their families to India would be construed as disloyalty to Pakistan and, in the absence of a satisfactory explanation, they would be summarily discharged from service. Hindu government employees were not allowed to take casual leave or to go outside Sindh on holiday without a permit.
Yet these measures to restrain the departure of Hindus were only for junior and middle-level employees. Muslims were preferred for senior-level posts. More than 12 executive engineers, all Hindus, were asked to retire prematurely, even though they still had to complete between two to five years of service. Out of nine Hindu deputy superintendents of police in Sindh, five were asked to proceed on leave. Not surprisingly, these measures only served to fuel Hindu fears and amplified their urge to leave Sindh.
THE MAKING OF EXILE: SINDHI HINDUS AND THE PARTITION OF INDIA Page 14
