It seemed as though someone had closed the room just a few days ago and left. There were some clothes and towels folded and kept in the cupboard, next to which were some locked steel trunks, and lying on the floor next to these was a cloth doll. It had a plait, and on its chest were two breasts made of cloth; its entire body was naked. I cannot say whether the doll was Hindu or Muslim. Taking the doll in my hand, I kept looking at it, and I kept imagining its young mistress, who must have crossed Khokhrapar to reach Bombay or Banaras or Calcutta or some other city, empty-handed. I kept looking at this doll for quite some time and my relatives got tired of waiting for me. They kept calling out to me, but when they did not receive any answer, they started hitting the lock with the axe. To date, they are hitting the lock with the axe, they are hitting the lock with the axe, they are hitting the lock with the axe…14
Exodus from Sindh
The rate of migration which had in any case increased during the last days of 1947 and the beginning of 1948 now intensified. After the Karachi pogrom, there was an exodus of Hindus and Sikhs. Also, communal tension escalated sharply all over Sindh; Sindhi Hindus and Hindus from different parts of the province reported minor incidents and acts of aggression by muhajirs, which only heightened their fear and their desire to leave. According to one account, 4,78,000 Hindus and Sikhs were estimated to have already left Sindh by early January 1948,15 out of a total of 14,00,000. Out of these 14,00,000, perhaps about 2,00,000 were non-Sindhis: immigrants from Kutch, Gujarat, the United Provinces, Punjab, etc. Now even many lower middle class Hindus wanted to leave, regardless of the financial costs of migration; their travel costs were borne by the Government of India.
Starting from 9 January, once the city had quietened down completely, ships began to leave Karachi for Bombay and the ports of Gujarat, carrying the maximum number of passengers: about 3,000-4,000 each. Relatively few passengers purchased tickets for first class cabins; the rest were given free passage and free food, and were accommodated in third class, or on the open decks of the ship. Between 9 January and 15 January, about 18,000 Hindus and Sikhs left Sindh. In order to prevent clashes between them and muhajirs – both travelling in opposite directions, and both emotionally charged – the docking of these ships as well as entry of the general public on the docks was controlled – in Karachi as well as in Bombay. Given the prevailing chaos, there were a few hundred incoming refugees living by the quaysides of both the Karachi and the Bombay docks for several days at a time. During the previous weeks, several Hindus had taken to wearing Jinnah caps (astrakhans or qaraqul hats), carrying a copy of Dawn, or wearing a ‘Pakistan badge’ (of a star and a moon) in order to pass off as Muslims and thus evade violence or discrimination. Now many emigrating Hindus threw their Jinnah caps into the sea when their ship left Karachi harbour, and shouted ‘Jai Hind’, a step that Khuhro and other Muslims understandably resented as a ‘parting kick’.
Mohan G. Rohira was a boy of 12, who had travelled from his native Pir Jo Goth, via Sukkur to Karachi in order to sail to India. Although the family had left Pir Jo Goth on 3 January, they were still in Sindh, in Karachi on 6 January, and could not leave for a week because of the subsequent curfew. Mohan Rohira recollects when he and his family finally boarded the S. S. Netravati:
The ship’s passage was free. They were letting people board the ship on a first-come, first-served basis. There were two queues for boarding the ship, one for men and the other for women and children. The women and children’s queue started first, and since I was a 12-year-old, I boarded the ship with my family and that of my cousin.
When the women and children’s queue ended, the men’s queue started. But before all the men could board the ship, the dock officials shouted ‘overload’ and ‘house full’. They pulled up the gangway, at the instigation of the Pakistani officers. This is why many men were left on the Keamari docks, even though their wives and children had boarded the ship; because the gangway was pulled up, their families could not even come back down to the docks.
Among those men were my brother and two of my cousins. At that time, my brother tried very hard to climb the ropes binding the ship to the docks, and board the ship. But the policeman on duty did not let him even come close. In the policeman’s absence, one of my cousins (whose family had boarded the ship) seized the opportunity and also tried to climb the rope. Without any support below, dangling like a monkey, dropping a shoe into the sea below, he managed to reach the ship safely, wearing only one shoe.16
Mohan Makhijani, the Karachi Port Trust employee, had felt that his friend Iqbal Qureshi had betrayed him by putting his name on the restricted list, thus ensuring that he would not be permitted to leave Sindh. Makhijani turned his back on Qureshi: ‘I discarded him,’ he said. Yet during the Karachi riots, it was Iqbal Qureshi who gave shelter to Makhijani, whose family had migrated to India by then. Here Makhijani, an employee in ‘essential services’, relates how he managed to sneak out of Pakistan despite being forbidden to leave:
In the evenings, I would go to the docks as usual. I’d see Hindus with curfew passes and ship tickets; I knew they would leave for India. I’d go on board the ship and then return to the dock.
There was one Inspector Hanagan, an Irishman, who was on duty; I was on his watch list. He saw me every day, and he got used to it.
Once, he said, ‘You bugger, one of these days you’re going to run away! Don’t get me into trouble.’
I said, ‘No, no, I won’t.’
But his comment gave me an idea. On 10 January, I went on board the ship, and I just stayed behind, without a pass. You see, the captain had come to know me. He knew I had something to do with the Port Trust.
I left Pakistan totally empty-handed. I was wearing my Port Trust uniform. I had worn that shirt for four days after the riots. I had not shaved, I was gaunt.
The ship left, and Hanagan saw me on the deck. He brandished his fist at me; I just thumbed my nose at him.17
Many muhajirs in Pakistan became concerned about the fate of Muslims remaining in India, which in many cases included their family and friends. The muhajir newspaper Jang carried an editorial appealing for communal peace, for fear that communal violence in Pakistan would lead to reprisals in India. This editorial was titled ‘Karachi ke Fasadat Hindustan ki Muslim Aqliyat ki Dushman Hain’ or ‘The Karachi Rioters are the Enemies of India’s Muslim Minority’. This viewpoint was also taken up by Delhi’s Al-Jamiat, a pro-Congress Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Hind newspaper. There ensued a discussion in the Urdu press about how one could hope to provide some degree of security to Muslims in India, through the retention of Hindus in Pakistan18 – a continuation of Khuhro’s hostage principle. This belief was also articulated in H. S. Suhrwardy’s speech in the Pakistan Constituent Assembly on 6 March 1948, in which he asked for ‘a fair deal to the minorities in Pakistan’, as an extension of Pakistan’s responsibility to Muslims that remained in India.19 The hostage theory , however, collapsed completely after the Sindhi Hindu exodus and the near-emptying of Pakistan of its minorities.
Sri Prakasa, as well as V. Vishwanathan, the deputy high commissioner, and Navin Khandwalla, the Karachi manager of the Bombay Steam Navigation Co, toured the refugee camps almost non-stop for a week after the violence. Other prominent Karachi citizens who stepped up to help were Jamshed Nusserwanjee Mehta and Manghanmal Tahilramani, the evacuation officer. The Indian High Commission took over the management of these refugee camps and Sri Prakasa informs us that it set up the largest one ‘in an open space in the town [of Karachi].’ Yet this camp was not permitted to be in existence for very long, since there were complaints that it exuded an ‘evil smell’, which bothered Government House, Jinnah’s official residence, two miles away.20 It is true that many of these camps were in a distressing condition, in terms of both accommodation and sanitation.
These refugee camps survived till early April 1948, when most of them were wound up, and a new transit camp was opened at the New College gymkhana. Swami Krishnanand, a member of
the Sindh Assembly, stayed on in the Swaminarayan Temple in Karachi till 1949 and assisted with the evacuation.
On 8 January, in the wake of the Karachi pogrom, after a deputation of Sindhi Hindus, led by Dr Choithram Gidwani, called on Gandhi, Nehru and Patel in Delhi, requesting them to arrange the evacuation of Hindus and Sikhs from Sindh; speedy measures were taken. By 10 January 1948, the Indian High Commission was instructed to issue free steamer tickets to the emigrating Hindus, who would then receive free food on board the ship; all these costs were borne by the Indian government. Steamers of various shipping companies were diverted to ply the Karachi-Bombay route: the S. S. Netravati, Kalavati, Englistan, Jaladurga, Akbar, Khosrau, Karapara and Shirala. S. K. Kirpalani, then secretary to the Department of Relief and Rehabilitation in Delhi, recalls that, after the Karachi pogrom, the clamour of Sindhi Hindus for help was so great that the Government of India finally agreed to organise their evacuation from Pakistan. A few days after 6 January, Sardar Patel sent for Kirpalani. Patel asked him to coordinate the evacuation with the help of L. T. Gholap, controller of shipping at Bombay, who had been instructed to divert all available ships to Karachi. Since the distance from Karachi to Bombay entailed a round trip lasting an entire week, Kirpalani suggested that the Government of India enlist the help of the Kathiawar princely states. If these ships were to shuttle between Karachi and Kathiawar, they would be able to complete a round trip in three days’ time. Patel used his good offices with the princes to obtain their cooperation, thus expediting ‘Operation Evacuation’.21
Realising the gargantuan task of the evacuation of lakhs of Hindus still in Sindh – the Indian government appointed a directorate-general of evacuation on 14 January 1948, to oversee the process. The directorate-general of evacuation was attached to the Ministry of Relief and Rehabilitation, which had its headquarters at Delhi and two branches at Bombay and Karachi. Navin Khandwalla, who was a friend of Sri Prakasa’s, was appointed to act as the liaison officer between the steamer companies and the Indian high commissioner; he was also appointed as the evacuation adviser to the Indian High Commission. Vishnu Sharma, a friend and colleague of Dr Choithram Gidwani and also a Congress worker, was appointed liaison officer at Hyderabad for the evacuation of Sindhi Hindus by rail from that city. There, arrangements were made for the Sindhi Hindu evacuees’ boarding and lodging, and the permits that they needed to exit Pakistan; they were also helped during their ‘searches and seizures’ at the railway station.
Narayandas Malkani was then a 57-year-old Congress worker, who had worked closely with Gandhi in Delhi’s Bhangi Colony. He had narrowly escaped being attacked during the Karachi pogrom. After this, he and Govardhan Vazirani, secretary of the Congress, were deputed to fly to Delhi to convince the Congress high command to evacuate Hindus from Sindh. Narayandas Malkani recalls:
On arrival, I met Gandhiji and other senior leaders and I told them face to face about the Karachi riots. I was there for a week, and I met everyone about two or three times. Pandit Nehru told me to go meet Bajpayee, the secretary-general in the main office. I met him, and I briefed him about the conditions in Sindh; I told him that the time had now come for the Hindus to be evacuated from Sindh and resettled in India by the government. He listened to everything attentively and then I took his leave.
Finally, Vazirani and I came to the conclusion that our work was done and that we could return to Karachi by air the next morning, that is 31 January. Before returning, I went to meet Gandhiji for the fourth and last time, to take his leave. It was about four in the evening, and he was sitting outside Birla House in the sun, with a straw hat on his head. His voice was not weak any longer, and his bare body shone, burnt in the sun. When I rose to touch his feet and take his leave, he clapped me firmly on my back. This clap on the back used to be his blessing. He said, ‘Now you go and evacuate people from Sindh. You leave only after evacuating everyone else. Make sure you don’t leave before that. Give Mr Khuhro a message that I will come to Sindh and make efforts towards securing peace in Sindh. But for that, he will have to take Mr Jinnah’s permission and send me a telegram.’22
Malkani used to stay with Gandhi’s son, Devdas, whenever he visited Delhi. Shortly after he returned to Devdas Gandhi’s home, they were informed of Gandhi’s assassination. A grieving and distraught Malkani flew back to Karachi the next day, where he was astonished to find that staff from the Indian High Commission had come to receive him in a car, and that he had been appointed additional deputy high commissioner in Karachi, specifically for the purpose of evacuating Hindus and Sikhs from Sindh. Nehru’s decision to appoint Malkani to this post did not go down well either with Khuhro and his government (who did not want the Hindus to migrate en masse) or with the bulk of the high commission staff (who resented political appointments, such as those of Malkani or even Sri Prakasa). Nevertheless, Malkani supervised the work of evacuation in Karachi and Hyderabad, by turns, and also toured other towns in Sindh, to assess the situation of the Hindus there.
Special trains were run from Hyderabad and Mirpur Khas to Pali and Marwar Junction in present-day Rajasthan, where refugee camps were set up. These trains went directly – and safely – from Sindh to Rajasthan and had no need to traverse Punjab, with its history of violence. Moreover, the organised evacuation of Hindu and Sikh refugees from West Punjab by rail had been completed by the first week of December 1947,23 and now the Indian government could divert its attention and resources towards refugees from Sindh.
Owing to the determined intervention of the Indian government, and the assistance of Sri Prakasa, the Sindh government was obliged to facilitate the relatively smooth departure of non-Muslims from the province. The Sindh government announced that there would be no more searches of women among the departing Hindus and Sikhs. Also, a large number of Hindu government employees now wanted to either resign or to go on leave. The Sindh government relaxed its rules, permitting these employees to withdraw advances from their provident fund, and granted them long leave, thus enabling them to escort their families to India.
Yet, faced with this massive exodus, the Sindh government also took a few steps to protect its own interests. For example, post office savings account holders were only permitted to withdraw up to half of their balance, up to a ceiling of Rs 500.
The Sindh government was keen to avoid congestion in Karachi of Hindu emigrants from the interior of Sindh: by the end of January 1948 there were about 40,000 Hindus in the city waiting for passage to India, and many more in the hinterland. In order to control and slow down the passage of Sindhi Hindus through Karachi, and so minimise chances of renewed violence, Khuhro imposed a permit system on 15 February 1948, whereby no Hindu could leave his or her town of origin without a permit issued by the local authorities. While this was meant to preserve law and order, it only caused greater distress to the Hindus, impatient to leave. More often than not, local officials demanded bribes in order to issue permits. According to U. T. Thakur:
[…the refugees] were now required to produce certificates from Income-Tax authorities, Tehsildars, Municipalities and other civil authorities that no debt either of a bank or private individual was outstanding and that no ornaments of Muslims were pawned with them.24
Sri Prakasa recalls the flood of Sindhi Hindus who came to his office, requesting permits to travel to India:
In the office of the High Commission, we had to encounter heavy crowds. It was difficult to regulate them. Everyone wanted to get a permit as soon as possible so that he could go away. […] Everyone wanted to reach India […] as soon as possible.
The High Commission, however, had to act warily and to keep all practical considerations in view. We could give permits at a time only to as many persons as could be provided with transport. Even this tragic scene was not without its lighter side. One day I was looking after the arrangements myself. A woman came up to me and quietly told me that a particular young lady of her family was in an advanced stage of pregnancy. The child may be born any day. In these circ
umstances, would I think of giving priority to her? I did so; but the very next day, a strange scene presented itself before me. I found that all women suddenly found themselves in an advanced stage of pregnancy! They came to know that the High Commissioner was partial to women in that condition, and was willing to treat them with particular consideration. They thus found a good opportunity of saying that all of them were in the self-same condition. It was obviously impossible for the High Commissioner to get them medically examined! I had smilingly to tell them that I did not think it was possible that all of them would suddenly find themselves in such a delicate condition, and I was therefore compelled to give these permits in the ordinary course without making any distinctions between one person and another.25
Sikhs
According to the 1941 Census, there were approximately 32,000 Sikhs in Sindh. Some were Punjabi Sikhs, settled in Karachi and the Nawabshah area; others were Sindhi Hindu converts. Sindh was also home to a large community of Labana Sikhs, although it is difficult to ascertain their exact number (as distinct from other Sindhi Sikhs), either then or now. These Labana Sikhs were highly different from Sindhi Hindus. Coming mostly from the poorer strata of society, they made their living from manual or agricultural labour, weaving rope, making string beds, or carving wooden combs. Most Labana Sikhs were unlettered; the 1941 Census describes them as ‘extremely poor and ignorant [with] almost complete illiteracy’.26 Apart from occupation and class, they also spoke a different language – Labani27 – although most also knew Sindhi. Moreover, they claimed descent from a community of Sikh ironsmiths, originally from Jaisalmer.28 It is unlikely that Labana Sikhs intermarried with Sindhi Hindus, whom they referred to as ‘vanias’ or ‘Sindhis’. Their surnames – Varjitia, Dingnot, Kirnaut, to name a few – were also quite different from Sindhi Hindu surnames.
THE MAKING OF EXILE Page 22
