THE MAKING OF EXILE

by NANDITA BHAVNANI

  The fact is, Doctor [Choithram Gidwani] would never question expenditure on education, even though we had to go begging for it.21

  Senior educationists such as T. M. Advani, the acting principal of the D. J. Sind College in Karachi and K. M. Kundnani, the then newly appointed principal of D. G. National College in Hyderabad were keen to not waste any academic time. They petitioned Bombay University and its various colleges and obtained permission to hold extra classes in the early morning hours in schools and colleges in Bombay for Sindhi Hindu students; many of the teachers in these classes were also Sindhi Hindu refugees. These morning classes enabled the refugee students (and often the teachers as well) to take up jobs or conduct their businesses during the rest of the day, and so earn a living.

  It did not take long for the idea of borrowing premises for education to be taken to its logical conclusion, and in a few years Sindhi Hindus began to establish their own schools and colleges. Several of these were simply transplants, with the students, teachers and the expertise of setting up and running educational institutions all imported from Sindh. Thus, K. J. Khilnani High School, Kamla High School and Jai Hind College, to name a few, established their new avatars in India by borrowing the premises of local schools and colleges.

  The Dayaram Gidumal National College in Hyderabad was shifted to Bombay under the slightly altered name of Rishi Dayaram National College. This was primarily thanks to the efforts of Khushiram Kundnani, the then college principal, and Hotchand Advani, a prominent barrister, both of whom had also migrated from Hyderabad to Bombay. Advani, whose clients included several affluent Bhaiband businessmen, arranged for funding from three of them: Kishinchand Chellaram (who insisted that his donation not be publicised), Wassiamull Assomull and Jhamandas Watumull. Kundnani even managed to bring his office chair (along with several books from the library and some laboratory equipment) from Sindh. These are now displayed outside K. C. College in Bombay, which he established in 1954 and then oversaw as a principal till his death in 1992. According to one account, some of the laboratory equipment of the D. G. National College in Hyderabad was packed in crates, which were then garlanded with flowers to give the impression that the contents were religious books, since the removal of the laboratory equipment from Sindh was banned.22 The Hyderabad (Sind) National Collegiate Board, which had been set up in 1921 to administer the D. G. National College, was also relocated to Bombay, where the number of its various institutions has now grown to a total of 27.

  Popati Hiranandani who had started teaching at the age of 14, finally resettled in Bombay after Partition. She continued teaching in Bombay, first in Sind Model High School and then in various colleges in the city. She recalls in her autobiography:

  After coming to India, the National College opened in Bandra, thanks to the efforts of Professor Khushiram Kundnani. Kundnani sahib possesses an unusual personality. There was a desolate jungle where the college is today. Sometimes he would be seen standing with his trousers rolled up, knee-deep in mud, with the labourers, and sometimes he would be seen sitting with the driver in a lorry laden with stones. From the raising of walls, to the appointment of professors, to giving admission to students, he would do all the work himself. Thanks to his labours, many colleges have opened in Bombay.

  […] Sindhi students would take the train from Kalyan at four o’clock in the morning and would come running at seven o’clock to attend the class. In those days, Sindhi students used to lead a strange existence. When I started working in the college in 1960, I used to see some of them wearing slippers held together with string, their lunch in one hand and an object for sale in the other hand.

  One student disappeared after passing his first year of science; three years later he was admitted to intermediate science. When asked, he said, ‘My brother could not afford to pay my fees the previous year. Since I was pursuing science [a full-time course], I could not take up a [part-time] job. So I stayed home for a year and earned money.’

  Some students would deliver milk bottles in the morning and come with sacks filled with empty bottles, some would arrive with a bag of cups and saucers so that, on the way home, they could sell the wares and earn a rupee or two. After attending college, most students would go to a shop or an office to work. Some would order slippers from Ajmer and sit on the footpath, some would learn business from their uncles.

  The local students, instead of showing them any sympathy, would ridicule them; you see, the children of the businessmen from the bungalows of Khar and Santa Cruz would also come to study in our college.23

  New schools and colleges were set up, often in extremely rudimentary ways, under the management of trusts, such as the Nav Bharat Vidya Mandal, Sindhi Vidya Mandal, Vivekanand Education Society, Sindhu Education Society and Sadhubella Education Society. When Vakil and Cabinetmaker conducted a survey of Sindhi refugees in Kalyan camp in 1952, they reported: ‘All the camp residents that we came in contact with expressed a keen desire to educate their children.’24 According to T. K. Karunakaran, a Sociology student from Bombay University who wrote his Masters’ dissertation on Ulhasnagar in 1958, the older Sindhi girls were asked to teach younger children. He goes on to say: ‘So small nursery schools came up within the barracks, run by Sindhi women with the help of two teachers. The primary schools grew into secondary schools and within six years, about thirty-two primary and thirteen secondary schools […] came up in the camp.’25

  Some of these schools were working in two shifts. Yet not all these schools were operating smoothly; Vakil and Cabinetmaker’s survey reports that while refugee students had been given scholarships and freeships, and schools had been given grants, some schools had turned into profit-making enterprises, where students were ‘sadly neglected’. They tell us that that they found several schoolchildren playing truant in Kalyan.26

  In most Sindhi-established schools and colleges, the professors and teachers were often Sindhi refugees themselves, who brought their own sensitivities to the classroom. Before he became an entrepreneur, Lakhmichand Bahirwani joined Jai Hind College. He tells us:

  Professor G. S. Kotwani would teach us how to start home industries based on the principles of chemistry. For example, he explained the making of soda which goes into papads, as well as the chemical composition of a papad. He taught us how to make soap, explaining its chemical composition, and gave us tips on how to make soap with more lather. He assured us, ‘You will never starve.’ All our teachers were motivated to assist us to achieve one [educational] stream or the other, and be able to earn a decent living for ourselves.27

  Partition, however, also brought about a great rupture in education for several young Sindhi Hindus. Many young boys and girls among the Sindhi refugees did not get a chance or have the financial means to resume their education. There were a considerable number of young Sindhis who had to abandon their education, or who had to complete their education before they had planned to, in order to earn a living.

  A rare case is that of Dr Narayan ‘Bharati’ Paryani, who had migrated from his native Kambar in Northern Sindh to India in 1948, when he was a 16-year-old. In his memoir, Narayan ‘Bharati’ writes:

  In March 1948, I passed the eighth standard. Shortly thereafter, in the month of May, we left Sindh and came here to Hindustan, on account of Partition. We reached the Bombay docks on 20 June 1948, and made our home in Kalyan camp.

  I wanted to learn further, but my studies were impeded. My family wanted me to sell snacks and other items in local trains, like so many other boys, and help with the finances. Consequently, the year 1948 also went by without any education.

  At that time there was no proper school in Kalyan camp. In 1949, the Sindh National High School opened at what is now Vithalwadi, and what was then James Siding. Thanks to the efforts of Mohan ‘Kalpana’ [my friend and fellow writer], I got admission to the tenth standard; this, despite the fact that I had not even passed the ninth standard yet!

  There were neither books, nor school fees, nor proper clothes. (I
n those days, there were neither the uniforms nor the OBC [Other Backward Classes] reservations of today.) There was no question of taking tuitions.

  In 1949-50, I passed the tenth standard, and in 1951, the eleventh standard. And then again my studies came to a halt. In Kalyan camp, which later became Ulhasnagar, there was no college. For college education, one had to go to Bombay. My family did not want me to study further, nor was there was any money.

  I wished to study further, however, and I borrowed money for the admission fees and the term fees from my elder sister, and sought a seat in Bombay’s Jai Hind College.

  Since college started at seven in the morning, each day, I had to board the five o’clock bus from Ulhasnagar in order to reach Kalyan Station and catch the train. I’d reach V.T. at half past six; then I would walk down to Jai Hind College at Churchgate, or I would change trains at Dadar and reach Churchgate by Western Railway. I would get only eight annas from home. I would reach late every day.

  I possessed simple khadi kurta-pyjamas, and wore slippers on my feet. Even if my clothes would get wet in the rain, I had to wear them to college and sit in the class. I started to feel inferior to the other students. When the other students would sit in the canteen, I would stand outside in the corridor, or linger in the library. At that time, Professor Chetan Mariwala was the head of the library, and he would encourage me.

  The truth is, I had been granted money for the first term fees on the condition that I would find a job and meet the remaining expenses on my own. If I failed to meet this requirement, my education would stop. I took admission in the college in June. The second term was to begin in the month of November. In the meantime, I failed to find a job or a proper source of livelihood. When the second term of college started, a list was put up on the notice board, which included my name among those who had not paid the fees. If I did not pay the fees within the requisite period, my name would be struck off the college rolls.

  Finally, in despair, and because I had not paid the fees, I had to leave the college in the second term.

  I resumed my education when the present R. K. Talreja College opened in Ulhasnagar. In 1974, I passed my BA, with a second class, from Pune University (in those days the R. K. Talreja College was affiliated with Pune University). I had left college in 1952 and 20 years later, I had passed my BA.28

  Narayan ‘Bharati’ subsequently acquired a PhD, and became head of the department of Sindhi at Bombay University. Today he is one of the Sindhi community’s rare writers on its folk heritage, as well as a prominent Sindhi newspaper editor and publisher. He epitomises the drive and perseverance of other Sindhi refugees after Partition.

  Still other young Sindhi students chose to turn to business at a young age – propelled by their desire to earn money, which in turn was at least partly fuelled by the exigencies of Partition – and so actively turned their backs on education, even if they could afford to study. Nanik Rupani was merely six years old when his family migrated from Tando Adam to India. His father Kisharam settled down in Bombay, where he started a cloth commission agency at Masjid Bunder. Rupani, however, was preoccupied with finding innovative ways to earn money, even as a schoolboy. In Nanik Rupani’s words:

  Those were hard days and even young people took up odd jobs to see themselves through school and college. I actually did not have a need to earn my fees, but the prospect of earning was so exciting that I gave it a shot anyway. I would buy small items at cheaper rates in the market of Masjid Bunder and then give them to my school friends to sell at a profit, which we would then share. This was done with great secrecy. No one got wind of our little enterprise, not even our parents. For me, this provided a thrill. I knew then that I was hooked. I simply had to become a successful businessperson.29

  Today, Rupani is an extremely successful businessman and philanthropist.

  Transplanting Religion

  As with their educational institutions, Sindhi Hindus found creative ways to transplant their religious shrines from Sindh to India. An interesting story is that of the Kambar Darbar.

  The Kambar Darbar is a temple in the village of Kambar Ali Shah, near the town of Larkana in Northern Sindh. Following the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita and the Guru Granth Sahib, it is centred around the samadhis of three gurus, Vali Vilaitrai, Jiwatsingh Shewaram Sainani, and Vishindas Karamchand Sainani. The darbar was managed by a trust set up by the last guru, Saiin Vishindas. It became particularly well-known for its annual three-day Diwali festival, where all devotees and visitors, both Hindu and Muslim, were fed.

  After Partition, most of the congregation had migrated to India; a few had stayed behind in Pakistan, in Kambar as well as in Karachi. Those who had migrated were keen to start the darbar in India, for which they wanted to transplant the samadhis in Bombay. But bringing the samadhis to India became a thorny issue as Vali Vilaitrai’s grandson Saiin Radhakrishan, who had then taken charge of the darbar in the absence of the trustees, refused to allow them to be shifted; he had appointed security guards to maintain a strict vigil.

  The congregation in India made several unsuccessful attempts at bringing the samadhis to India. Finally, in 1957, Kishinchand Vilait (the great-grandson of the first guru) believed that he had, during meditation, received a ‘message’ from Vali Vilaitrai to go to Kambar along with three other devotees for the purpose of transferring the samadhis.

  Consequently, Kishinchand Vilait and three other devotees travelled to Kambar, where, one night (with the help of a mason and a goldsmith) they opened the samadhis, collected a portion of the ashes, and carefully reinstated the marble and silver covers. The security guards remained asleep during this procedure. This was considered a miracle by the devotees in India.

  In India, the partitioned ashes from the samadhis were kept in sacred urns in Gyan Ghar, the Khar home of Nanik Motwane. Once the new darbar was constructed in 1959 at Kandivli, a western suburb in Bombay, the ashes were installed there.

  Today, the Kambar Darbar is a bustling and thriving centre for its devotees who come there to worship and celebrate festivals; it also provides free and subsidised medical treatment and scholarships to needy people. The original Kambar Darbar in Sindh continues to have the partitioned ashes in the original samadhis, but given the few devotees left in Sindh, it has become a shadow of itself. It continues to hold its annual Diwali festival, however.

  Despite the transplantation of samadhis, at least some of the devotees who continue to live in Sindh believe that the souls of the three gurus have ‘flown back’ from Bombay to Kambar, to the original darbar. As Sundri Gangwani,* a resident of Kambar, said, ‘Saiin Vishindas was born here, he lived here, he died here. How could his soul stay there in India?’30

  Another interesting example emerges in the story of Nimano Faqir. Originally a widow from Shikarpur, Nimano Faqir saw the then pir of Sachal Sarmast’s dargah in a vision, and subsequently became a devoted follower, despite great opposition from her family. Over time, she acquired a following of her own among the Hindu community. They migrated with her after Partition to Baroda, where she set up Sakhi Kutia. Throughout this period of upheaval, she continued being devoted to Sachal Sarmast. The then heir to the gaadi, Khwaja Abdul Haq II, visited her in Baroda in 1956. When she died in 1963, in accordance with her last wishes, her ashes were interred, partly in Sachal Sarmast’s dargah in Daraza in Northern Sindh and partly at Sakhi Kutia in Baroda.31

  Other Sindhi Hindu shrines have also been relocated to India. For example, devotees of the famous Sadhbelo temple at Sukkur set up a Sadhbelo Ashram near Mahalakshmi Temple in Bombay; they also brought with them a bowl, considered to be sacred, which belonged to Swami Vankhandi Maharaj who had established the original temple in 1823. Baba Ramdas Sahib brought his Khatwari Darbar from Shikarpur to Bombay, but did not bring the cot on which he used to famously meditate, since he and his devotees expected their exile to be temporary. Later, when it became evident that there was no question of returning to Sindh, he had a replica cot built in India; this con
tinues to be held sacred by his devotees after his death.32 Similarly, to name a few other shrines, the Halani Darbar has been relocated at Ajmer, the Shadani Darbar at Raipur, and the Bhiria Darbar at Bhilwara. Sadhu T. L. Vaswani migrated from Hyderabad (Sindh) to Poona, where the Sadhu Vaswani Mission has mushroomed over the last 60 years.

  Thus, the Sindhi Hindus have managed to recreate their spiritual geography, mapping their original temples and darbars in Sindh onto fresh territories in India; their religious centres have become thriving shrines, and some have followed the Sindhi Hindu diaspora abroad. (Apart from transplanting educational and religious institutions, at least two Sindhi Hindu newspapers – the Hindustan and the Sansar Samachar – were also restarted in India.)

  Redefining Religion

  On both sides of the border, the ‘other’ community has been made a scapegoat for the trials and tribulations of Partition. In India, Muslims are viewed, especially by erstwhile refugees from Pakistan, as having ‘caused’ the trauma of Partition by demanding Pakistan; in Pakistan, on the other hand, Hindus and Sikhs are viewed similarly, for having resisted Pakistan. Many Sindhi Hindus too blame their Partition sufferings on the ‘other’ community.

  As a result, the communal prejudice that existed in some sections of the community has become even stronger. This, combined with the need for resettlement, resulted in some instances where Sindhi refugees forcibly occupied Muslim property, like the muhajirs whose behaviour they had decried in Sindh. In certain cases, some of the Muslims in question had migrated to Pakistan; in other cases, the Muslims were still living in India.