Dawood Ibrahim
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The cost of Pakistan
PHOTO: AYESHA MIR
Name: Nasim Hazratji
Age: 79
Date of birth: 1936
Place of residence: Karachi
Click on the play button to hear our interview with Nasim Hazratji
Transcript in English:
I was born in 1936 in Gwalior. My father used to work in Delhi, where we lived for five to six years, and that is where we migrated to Pakistan from. We used to live 20 kilometres from our school and close to the school was my father’s clinic.
One day, my father asked us to join him on a visit to his maternal uncle Bekhud Dehlvi’s home. Bekhud (himself a popular poet at the time) was a disciple of Daagh Dehlvi (a famous Urdu poet). Bekhud Delhavi possessed an amazing personality. He had a large haweli that probably had at least 50 rooms. The drawing room was furnished with luxurious carpets and cushions. Back then people did not sit on furniture; they sat on the floor.
So we went to his home in the morning, but when we were about to leave after dinner, Bekhud asked us to stay another day, and we obliged. The next morning I went to school.
Around 11, 11:30 in the morning, my father came looking for me in a state of panic. When I turned around, I saw that many other parents had come to collect their children from the school. He told me that there had been a clash (between Hindus and Muslims), and Muslims had been massacred.
Although I had heard some commotion in the morning, I had still gone to school unaware of what had transpired. We would later learn that the Hindus had attacked and killed a lot of Muslims. This was only after a day or two of our independence.
My father said, “Let’s go, let’s go. The Hindus have attacked during the night.”
The attack had taken place where we lived -- we lost everything. My father would never be able go back, no one would let him. Although he tried, Bekhud sahib forbid him from doing so.
Anyway, my father grabbed my hand and led me (out of the school). Bekhud Dehlavi’s house was an hour away from the school. On the way, we passed Hauz Qazi, where someone threw a large stone slab from atop a building. When we turned around we realised that the slab had just missed us as we were running fast. My father didn’t let me think. “Keep moving, let’s go from here,” he yelled.
For two or three months, we lived at Bekhud sahib’s residence. His family provided us with clothing and food. His daughter-in-law let us stay in the upper storey of a house she owned nearby
But then my father considered if it would be better to move to Pakistan. He eventually decided to send his children and his wife first. In those days, people had to stay at Haji camp and wait for their turn to get a place on the trains that were leaving for Pakistan. They were transported in freight trains.
One of my father’s uncles used to live in Karachi 20 to 25 years earlier. He owned two shops there inside Khatri Masjid -- Mir Muhammad Delhiwalay. He was a distant uncle. That’s where [our father] sent us.
Bekhud sahib had us board the train directly, instead of having to wait at Haji camp, which was in a very bad state. Those 10,000 people who are arrived were all sitting on Jama Masjid’s stairs. There was no proper sanitation. Residents of the area would go and offer food to the people. Because this was a Muslim area, they were being fed. But for half a kilometre people would walk with a cloth on their noses. It was an unimaginable situation.
We boarded the train. Our father saidAllahafiz, and told us to ask for Juna market when we reach Karachi. There was a Khatri Masjid there, in which there were two shops owned by Mir Muhammad Delhiwalay. People will guide you, he said.
This next phase is very dangerous.
They stuffed train carriages with as many people as they could, like cattle. The first and second trains were massacred when they passed through Jalandhar and Amritsar. When the trains got here (Pakistan), bodies were picked up, stuffed in gunny sacks and then buried. The first train and second train were finished, and we were in the third one.
Our fortune -- somewhere after Jalandhar, [Indian Army] soldiers were divided -- Muslim soldiers were told to go to Pakistan. They had not left their weapons and the whole battalion would eventually board our train. They would tell us that we are almost in Pakistan, and not to worry -- they were there to protect us.
People were trembling with fear. Many even died of heart failure, because they were expecting to be killed. When the train reached Jalandhar, it had been two days since we had left Delhi, even though it was a two- to three-hour ride. At the station, we saw water gushing out of pipes that are used by fire brigades to put out fires.
We had not had food in two days; people were famished and thirsty. Everyone wanted to quench their thirst. The soldiers (mentioned above) had not joined us until this point. I could see the water gushing right in front of me. “Let me get off the train,” I said, but three or four men took hold of me and did not let me disembark. “If you get off the train, you’ll die,” they said. “A bullet or a kirpan will find you.”
The gushing water was a sight to behold, and we were just sitting there, thirsty and watching the water flow. And it wasn’t just me, people much older than me we were just as mesmerised by the sight, but no one would dare disembark the train to get a sip of water and run back, because the enemies were waiting to ambush us.
People were stuffed in the train carriages -- only God knows how many women, young girls, old people, children and others were there. But all of them had the same spirit -- to go to Pakistan. When we saw the soldiers, who were still in the Indian Army uniforms, they told us not to worry and that we’d reach Pakistan. After they boarded, the train sped up and eventually reached Lahore.
At Lahore, it seemed like we had stepped into a wedding -- there were people waiting for us with big daigs of food, bread, and so much more. They said, “All of you can get off the train; no one is going to touch your belongings.”
In Karachi, we disembarked on City Station. My mother asked where Juna market was. They gave us directions, which we followed, and we ended up in Juna market. We asked for Mir Muhammad Delhiwalay, and discovered that we were standing right in front of it. Mir Muhammad sahib was quite old at the time, he came out of his shop and asked a helper take us to his home, which was right opposite the shops. Do you know how many people were there? At least 50 families. How many rooms were there in the house? Four! But they (Mir Muhammad’s family) were very generous. They had given everyone a square yard of the floor.
Do you know how many people were there? At least 50 families. And how many rooms were there in the house? Four!
I received my secondary education from Bahadur Yar Jung school (which is right next to Central Jail Karachi). In those days, the jail did not have 10-, 15-foot high walls. It had two-foot walls! And school students used to play football in the jail’s ground.
We obviously did not bring any property documents with us. Someone told our father to go to the custodian department that had been formed to transfer (to Muslims) the properties that had been left behind by Hindus (who had migrated to India). My father told them he did not have any papers, upon which the person suggested that my father go anyhow (and try to claim property). Our father said, “What’s the point? They won’t give anything to us.” Our father never went to claim any property. This is how virtuous people were back then.
@dsr478 @war&peace @Zibago @LA se Karachi
