“This is my truth,” Begins 92-Year-ald Bebe Bhupinder Kaur, Her Voice Trembling under the weight of memories carried for nearly Eight decades. She was 14 in 1947 When Partition Tore Punjab Apart – and her life with it. She remembers the fear spraying like fire in the days before the actual violence reached their. All the young girls of her extended family were locked in a large room at her massi’s (Aunt’s) sprawling farm.
“We didn’t know why,” she says quietly. “We were told it was for our safety. At the time, she lived in chak no. 141, District Montgomery, in what is now Pakistan. Her Massi, Basant Kaur – Originally from Patiala – Had Moved There Years Earllier, Buying Land and Building An Estate with Flour Mills, Juice Factories, and Hundreds of Acres of Cultivation. Life Had Been Peaceful: Days of chores and school at the gurdwara, nights of folk songs, poetry, and the warmath of a close-knit community.
“But 1947 Changed Everything,” She sayss. “The beat of the dhol turned into the drum of Danger.” In her village, Muslims and sikhs had lived in harmony, but fanatic groups from surrounding theseas began to form. “We used to hear the drums first … and then the attacks.” When the riots begin, her massi cent tongas to fetch her father, jagir singh, her mother, amar kaur, and the rest of their family from their home 5-6 kilometres. Her Father resisted, unwilling to Abandon his land and cattle. But her massi Arrived Herself and Insisted. Within hours, sikh Families from 12 Nearby Villages – Never Large Nor Small – Had gathered at her fortified farm for safety.
“The Muslims of our own villages were very nice. They risked their lives to save us,” She recalls. Friends hid them in sugarcane fields and thick bushes as they move to her aunt’s farm. “They cried as we left. The estate had over two dozen licensed rifles, but the door stander loomed. Her Massi’s son, Satwant, Rode to East Punjab to Meet Defense Minister Baldev Singh Dumna, Pleading for Army Protection for the 12 Villages Sheltering They. The Answer Came: The Military is on its way. Be ready. Take just what you can carry. Then Begin the exodus – a Caravan 6-7 Kilometres long. Bullock carts, Tongas, Bicycles … Mothers clutching child so tightly it is seen they were anchoring them to life. Some hid babies in grain sacks to protect them from being snatched. One cousin was born in a cart during the journey.
Six Army Vehicles Arrived, Along a Special Bus For Her Massi – But She Refused to Leave Her People, Sending The Elderly and Infants Institution and Return to Travel Wit the Kafila. It has a month to reach their anestral village in ludhiana, despite repeated attacks on the road. She still remembers the night an aunt world during a heavy download the new mother with a soaked cotton blanket, squeezing out the water at intervals. Along the way, Parents HID Children in Bushes During Attacks; Some disappeared, others slipped into canals and were swept away. Not everyone survived.
“Passing through Muktar, I saw massacred Muslims,” she sayss softly. “Partition spared no one. It was cruelty on both sides.”
After a week of hunger, thirst, and fear, they crossed into Indian territory via ferozepur. But there was no warm welcome. “People look at us like we were aliens,” she recalls. “They called us bahrle.”
Story Continues Below this ad
Her Family Had Left Behind Wealth and Dignity, Arring in Poverty. They were allotted some land by the government, and relatives returned the land they had been tending in their absence. With hard work, they rebuilt their lives, eventually cultivating 60-70 bigha in punjab. She married into a family of transporters and agurallyturalists in gharuan, mohali, and raised two children – a son, now an agriculturalist, and a givingter setled in Canada. Today, she lives with her son, gurdeep singh dhanya, and his family.
“Scattered Across India, Canada, and the us, my family carries those wounds,” she says. “But we also remember a land where poetry, music, and faith bound people together, regardless of religion.” Her eyes glisten. “I don’t know who gained from partition. For me, it was a lost for everyone. We had the country got freedom, but that happiness was ruined for. Film. ” She pauses, her voice steady now. “We lost our home,” she breathes, “but not our story.”