When this was reported in the newspapers the following day, it caused great furore among the general Pakistani public, who had also heard accounts of food supplies being loaded onto ships carrying emigrating Hindus to Bombay. The Sindh government was forced to clarify that the normal procedure for incoming muhajirs was to take them to the Karachi transit camp, where they would be given food and water, and accommodation for 48 hours. Since, on 7 January, the muhajirs were immediately taken to Hyderabad, the Sindh government claimed that they did not have any opportunity to be taken to the transit camp and given any food or water. So they were fed on board the ship before disembarkation. It also clarified that Hindus and Sikhs were not permitted to carry out foodstuffs, that the muhajirs were put in goods wagons only because of a shortage of passenger bogeys, and at least they had been put into covered goods wagons. (A short while prior to this, some refugees sent from Punjab to Sindh in open wagons had died due to overexposure in the bitter cold of winter.)
The public, however, continued to be critical of the fact that there had been no facilities provided by the Sindh government to incoming muhajirs, either at the transit camp or at the docks, where thousands of muhajirs were sprawled without any food or volunteers to look after them, for days on end, and with nowhere to go. They were also critical of a news item which had appeared in The Times of India, Bombay, which claimed that vessels from Bombay to Karachi would sail without any Muslim civilians during the period between 12 January and 19 January, so as to avoid disturbances at the Karachi docks between incoming muhajirs and emigrating Hindus and Sikhs. This was pursuant to an order by the district magistrate of Karachi. The consequent perception was that Indian Muslims ‘in distress’, who were waiting to come to Pakistan, were being neglected. (It was later clarified that the ships sailing between 12 and 19 January did not arrive empty; they were carrying not civilians, but Muslim troops who had opted for Pakistan.)
There was considerable resentment about the swift action that the Sindh government had taken to quell the violence; the Sindh government, and Khuhro specifically, were perceived to be pampering the Hindus at the cost of the muhajirs. Soon after the riots, Liaquat Ali Khan is said to have told Khuhro privately, ‘What sort of Muslim are you that you protect Hindus here when Muslims are being killed in India. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You have even killed some Muslims [in the police firing].’17
Vazira Zamindar also tells us, ‘Khuhro was targeted for his statements blaming muhajirs for the violence, and led one editorial to state “the premier of Sind is a friend of the Hindus and does not want to see Hindustan’s Muslim muhajirs in Sind.”’18
Articles in the Dawn had titles like ‘Sind Government plans to “control” Muhajreen and protect Hindus’.19 Muhajirs in Karachi took out an effigy of Khuhro and shouted death and destruction to the Sindh government. The Pakistan (Class 4) Employees Association also passed a resolution condemning the Sindh government. Further, there was pressure on the Sindh government from the Pakistan central government to release those rioters and looters who had been arrested; ultimately these prisoners were released without trial.
On 28 December 1947, Maulana Shabbir Ahmed Usmani had addressed a gathering of about 25,000 muhajirs at the Idgah Maidan, in which he deplored the ‘narrow provincialism’ which was growing in Pakistan. He ‘warned’ the Sindh government that they ‘owed their present position and prestige to the sacrifices made by the UP Muslims and that people who had given them power could also take that power back.’ Shortly after the Karachi violence, he reiterated similar sentiments, warning the Sindh government ‘against further injuring Muslims’ feelings’. Although he condemned the violence, he claimed that the Sindh government’s measures in imposing curfew for so many days were excessive and detrimental to the general public. He also denounced the arrests of muhajirs and their subsequent flogging in the jails.20
The maulana’s voice was significant. A prominent Khilafat leader, he was one of the few Deobandi alims who had supported the Pakistan movement. In Karachi, he was the president of the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam, as also the president of the Jamiat-ul-Muhajireen, a newly formed organisation of muhajirs in Sindh; he also became a member of the Pakistan Constituent Assembly. At the ripe age of 61, he was considered to be a rare sheikh ul-islam, an authority on issues pertaining to Islam. At Jinnah’s behest, he was the person to hoist the Pakistani flag for the very first time; later, he would lead the ritual prayers at Jinnah’s funeral. He gave voice to the sentiments of a large number of his compatriots, and by virtue of his status, he ensured that their sentiments were heard publicly, and also possibly influenced other Pakistani Muslims.
The distinction between Sindhi Muslims and muhajirs was also made by the Hindus, several of whom had been saved by their Sindhi Muslim friends and neighbours in the Karachi riots. After the violence had subsided, senior Hindu leaders had requested Khuhro for the creation of ‘minority pockets’ in the city. These minority pockets were to be localities reserved for the residences of Hindus and Sikhs: effectively ghettos. However, given their familiar relationship with Sindhi Muslims and their experience in the recent riots, it was also mentioned that the Hindus may permit some Sindhi Muslims to live in these minority pockets. This caused a great furore among the muhajirs, who were outraged by both the preference given by Hindus to Sindhi Muslims, as well as the audacity of the Hindus to claim that they could pick and choose who they wanted as their neighbours. The move was termed as ‘obviously insulting to Muslim self-respect’.21 Muhajir indignation was further kindled by reports that Muslim requests for similar minority pockets in the United Provinces, Bihar and Delhi had been denied. The fact that the Karachi Municipal Corporation, dominated by Hindus, was yet to be dissolved only added fuel to the fire. It was soon decided that the corporation be dissolved, and re-elected in order to reflect the new composition of the city’s population. Shortly after, the rent control and allotment of houses – in other words, control over property – was also handed over to the Pakistan central government. The issue of minority pockets died a natural death shortly afterwards, due to the large-scale migration of Hindus from Karachi.
The Torrent Continues
By the end of May 1948, more than 7,00,000 muhajirs had entered Sindh, with more than three-quarters of them settled in Karachi.22 Fresh waves of muhajirs migrating to Pakistan continued well into the 1950s, mainly owing to the severe communal discrimination that Muslims had to face in India, both from the state and from the Hindu-majority public. According to various sources, thousands of Muslims entered Pakistan every month till at least 1953, and in Pakistan this torrent was colloquially referred to as Sailab-e-Nuh, or Noah’s Flood.23 The Pakistan government, as well as the governments of Sindh and Punjab, were clearly besieged by the vast numbers of refugees, which continued to grow as the days passed. By the end of August 1948, the situation had deteriorated to the point where the Pakistan government declared a state of emergency, and also gave itself the power to send 2,00,000 refugees to Sindh instead of 1,00,000.24
However, it was no longer so easy to cross the border. The Indian government had introduced the permit system in mid-July 1948 in order to regulate and check the large numbers of muhajirs, dissatisfied with Pakistan, who wanted to return to India. Many Indian Muslims who wanted to migrate but did not want to deal with the time-consuming and arduous red-tape to obtain a permit, or had already been refused a permit, chose to travel through the illegal route via Khokhrapar. On the Indian side, entry from Pakistan was strictly monitored and therefore not easy. But on the other side, it was relatively easy to enter Pakistan, and this gave rise to a stream of muhajirs crossing the border. Khokhrapar, a small, dusty village in the Thar desert had earlier been connected by rail to its Indian counterpart, Munabao, but by the 1950s the train service run by the Jodhpur state had been discontinued. Muhajirs travelling by this route took a train to Munabao, and then crossed the border by foot or by camel. From Khokhrapar, they had to either wait for an empty freight train which wo
uld take them to other cities in Sindh, or take a camel ride (provided by the local villagers) to refugee transit camps, 40 miles away in the desert.25
Most of these muhajirs headed straight for Karachi. But Karachi was reeling under the vast number of refugees that had flooded the city. The 1951 Census recorded over 6,00,000 muhajirs in Karachi, by which time they had a majority of nearly 58 per cent in the city.26 Dominated by Hindus for two centuries, Karachi became a Muslim and a muhajir city in a matter of months. Sindhis – Hindu and Muslim – were reduced to less than 10 per cent of the city’s population.27 The muhajirs did not take long to leave their imprint on the city. As Sarah Ansari points out, ‘different Indian communities tended to congregate in particular areas’ in Karachi, as they did in many other cities in the subcontinent.28 Just as Lyari was for lower middle class Sindhi Muslims and Balochis, Cincinattus Town was for Goans, and housing societies by the names of Amil Colony and Parsi Colony were self-explanatory. Now after Partition, lakhs of muhajirs from different parts of India transformed Karachi’s landscape by establishing their own neighbourhoods: Bihar Colony, C. P. and Berar Society, Bangalore Town, Agra Taj Colony, and so on. But in 1954, there were still about 2,50,000 homeless people – presumably muhajirs – living on the streets of Karachi.29
The Pakistani cricket umpire, Ferozuddin Butt was a young boy of seven living in Delhi in 1947. Since his father had died young, his mother had remarried, and Butt lived with his maternal grandmother and his two mamus, maternal uncles, who were only slightly older than him. Butt and his family took a train to Bombay, where they spent about 10 days living in a transit camp for emigrating Muslims, at Bhindi Bazaar. Then they sailed to Karachi. Butt’s story depicts the unsettled life that many muhajirs experienced for several years after Partition, as well as the uphill task they faced in settling down in Pakistan:
When we arrived at the Karachi docks, we were taken to the [Jutland] Lines Area. We took Bunder Road, which went straight from the docks to the Lines Area. It was a very large, open space but it became quite crowded. There must have been about 800 tents put up there for the muhajirs who had come from different parts of India. We were also given a tent. My mother and her in-laws were living in a tent nearby – they had come earlier to Karachi. We cooked on a kerosene stove inside the tent. There were community toilets, all in a line, some distance away. We would take our mugs and go and stand in line, early in the morning. There was also water shortage. There were extremely few taps for all these families living there, and the water was available only for a few hours. So people would wake up very early, place their water pots and buckets in the queue, and then wait for the water to come.
In Delhi, I used to study in Jamia Millia School. In Karachi, I attended Metropolis School. It was 3 or 4 miles away. I would go by bus, and the fare was 1 anna. I would get 4 annas every day – 2 annas for the bus, and 2 for a meal. But I never spent the 2 annas on food. I would always save it up and spend the money on something special once in a while.
Perhaps the elders were excited about having come to Pakistan. As a child, I don’t recall being excited. I just did what I was told, I went along with the adults. I do recall many elders saying, ‘We should have stayed behind.’
My two mamus were not educated. First, they worked in a bicycle repair shop and later they set up their own paan stall. In the initial years, my nani used to cook for others, and my mother sewed clothes to make ends meet. They really had to struggle a lot.
We stayed in Karachi for two years. Then my nani, my mamus and I came back to Delhi for two years. After that we returned to Pakistan via Khokhrapar in 1951. I don’t know why we left Karachi, or why we left Delhi again. I can only surmise that it must have been for financial reasons. We didn’t bring much luggage with us when we migrated, mainly our clothes.
In 1951, we came by train from Delhi to Munabao. We crossed over legally by train. Then we stayed in Khokhrapar for about 10 days, till we could get another train. It was extremely hot, with sand everywhere. There were many donkeys roaming around, and we would play with them. From Khokhrapar we finally took a train to Mirpur Khas, and then to Hyderabad. My nani’s brother had a big house there, and we lived with him for about a year.
In 1952, we finally returned to Karachi where we were allotted evacuee property, ground floor quarters in the Ratan Talao area.30
Although a section of the muhajirs brought much-needed industrialisation to Sindh (which in turn created many jobs for lower class muhajirs), the inflow of vast numbers of refugees who needed to be rehabilitated put enormous strain on the region. The machinery for refugee relief and rehabilitation mushroomed, creating the Pakistan Refugee Rehabilitation Finance Corporation, the Karachi-Sind Refugee Rehabiliation Committee, the Joint Refugee Council (to name only a few) and various trade guilds for muhajirs.
The non-stop flood of muhajirs made the process of resettling refugees extremely difficult for the Pakistan government. By now, even non-Sindhi Muslims began to come around to the Sindhi point of view that Karachi simply could not accommodate more refugees. As early as July 1948, the muhajir newspaper Dawn, changing its tune, criticised the ‘enormous unorganised influx into Karachi’ and demanded that new muhajir arrivals be resettled on the land.31 Unable to cope adequately, various government officials and muhajir leaders made announcements that Karachi was ‘full’, in order to discourage new arrivals, and to encourage those who had not been able to start new lives for themselves to return to India. According to Vazira Zamindar, in February 1949, Khwaja Shahabuddin, then the minister of refugees and rehabilitation, announced that ‘in regard to prevention of further influx into Karachi, the public has been warned through the press and over the radio that Karachi can accommodate no more Muslim refugees.’32
India had long been concerned about the numbers of muhajirs returning from Pakistan to India. Pakistan, on its part, was also perturbed by the vast numbers of muhajirs entering its borders. There had also been large movements of minorities, both Hindu and Muslim, crossing the border in both directions in the two halves of Bengal. In order to regulate this movement of refugees, India and Pakistan held various conferences which culminated in the Nehru-Liaquat Pact of April 1950. Also known as the Delhi Accords, this was a bilateral treaty to assure minorities equality of citizenship, freedom of cross-border movement and equality of opportunity in public life. In short, both countries hoped that, by reassuring their respective minorities of their rights, the flow of refugee traffic would stop. As a result, as many as 95,000 muhajirs registered to return to India. However, on account of the Indian government’s communal and discriminatory approach, not more than 24,000 of them were actually able to do so.33
Indian Muslims, on their part, continued to migrate to Pakistan in large numbers. Finally in 1952, the Pakistan government introduced the passport system in order to stem this influx of muhajirs.34 From the very beginning, the visa regime was marked by mutual harshness, with visas issued only for specific cities, and police reporting required in certain cases: stringent requirements that continue to the present day. The Khokhrapar route was closed after the 1965 war between India and Pakistan; it was reopened only in 2006.
Property
After Sindhi Hindus migrated to India, muhajirs began to vie with Sindhi Muslims for the occupation of houses and property left behind by the Hindus. The Sindhi writer, Fazal Ahmed Bachani, was then a boy of 13 in his hometown of Tando Allahyar, not far from Hyderabad. He remembers that the landed property left behind by the Hindus – houses and guest houses, temples and cowsheds, shops and storehouses – lay empty and deserted for quite a while. Some had been locked, some had been left with doors wide open. Bachani recalls that some ne’er-do-wells in the town used to enter these properties to commit thefts. Subsequently, this evacuee property was redistributed among muhajirs, who came ‘pouring into the town’. He also remarks on the ‘outstanding’ hunger for property among the Razakars35 and the Muslim League officials.36
Along with muhajirs, many Sindhi M
uslim zamindars had taken over the lands and houses of their neighbouring Hindus after they had left, producing documents of lease or sale to claim their new ownership. In some cases, these documents were forged. The Sindh government was compelled to take the high road, and insist that only those documents which had been registered would be recognised as valid.
However, it is important to bear in mind though that not all Sindhi Muslims were eager to usurp Hindu property. Yasin Khan Babar, then the 10-year-old son of a zamindar in Garhi Yasin, a village near Shikarpur, recalls how his family safeguarded their Hindu friends’ property for as long as they could:
There were many Hindus in Garhi Yasin – at least 40 per cent of the population. And the Sikhs were an integral part of our village as well. It was they who built a school in Garhi Yasin: the Dharma Khalsa School.
My father had a close Sikh friend, Sant Singh, who was the general secretary of Dharma Khalsa School; he secured my admission there. I was the first and the only Muslim child to get enrolled in the school. I had Hindu friends, and I remember celebrating Janamashtami and Guru Nanak’s birthday with them. I was a very bright student and got double promotions, so the teachers too were very fond of me.
My upbringing was mostly among Hindus. My father too was very attached to the Hindus of the village. Divan Teoomal, Divan Sadoromal, Divan Aildas – they all would come and chat with my father late into the night. I can still remember their names. We used to visit each other’s houses. I played with their children; we were like brothers and sisters.
THE MAKING OF EXILE Page 42
