A Call From Pakistan

By Bhawani Singh Chhagan Singh Bhati

"A Call from Pakistan is a fiction novel that describes the lives of minorities. The story takes place before the partition in a village of central Pakistan. Where all religious people live happily. Then, suddenly news of the partition destroys everything. They who are friends turn foes and seeds of enmity start growing. 

Two groups a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9789361722752

Book preview

A Call From Pakistan

Bhawani Singh Chhagan Singh Bhati

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2022

Content Copyright © Bhawani Singh Chhagan Singh Bhati

ISBN

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

Contents

A City of Temple

Part I - Before Partition

Part II - Partition

Loot & plunder

Demolish Ancient

Prevent Text and symbols

Force conversion

News from India

History of Pakistan

Ek Brahma

Our Identity

About the Author

A City of Temple

Part I – Before Partition

Vedic civilisation chiselled on stone,

Text Rigveda were, here flown.

Amb, Pushkalavati top on a throne,

Lava, Kusha city did adorn.

I

was born in an ancient house. A tall, splendid house, which had fine carving walls and pillars all around. The work on the walls - an inimitable stone cutting design.The degree of abstraction, stylistic affinities very in detail. Yet its excellent sheen hammered by heavy blow as if someone really did hard to destroy it.  Although it was like a temple, but it had no top spire; pictures of deities: male and female, with those of nature’s symbols, were finely chiselled here. I craved to know the meaning of those abstruse symbols – leaves, lotus, flowers, and those letters, which were co-existed with the idols all around. They had some meaning, something extremely esoteric, which pull me again and again towards it. I know their sculpted form, swaying hips, bent arms were extremely elegant. One couldn’t keep away from their appealing appearance, subtle postures, it bears same semblance like my mother. From their bare breast, broad girdle, festooned armlets, adorned jewellery at the ankle, forearms – accentuating feminine Shakti. The nuance details of their supple contours as if they were alive to me, which I cooed to catch.

The alacrity with which, I ogled them from the lap of my mom. I know there was something hidden, something arcane! Thus, I often drag my knee, to grab them, to find out all those hidden cryptic mysteries. My tiny hands were ready to dig up all those inhume secrets, which my mom did not want to disclose to me. She was behind me, to drag me back to the place, from where I started. Thus, I grew up by investigating all those pictures, engraved letters, and symbols by circling on its ambulatory. There were twenty other abodes like my house, which were adorned with the same chiselled design, symbols all around, although they were less tall in size and width. But all confined by a tall wall with a big gate. This was not an ordinary gate but filled with a class of design, which disclosed the beauty of other, what it confined. It opens directly into the big market, situated in the centre of a village. And those twenty abodes, along with my house, belong to Muslim families. They were here among the dense Hindu communities. Who dominates the market, posh lanes, and big Havelis of the village. They were more in size, money, and rank. This was my village which was the biggest among seventy villages in the central of Pakistan.

Almost eighty percent of Hindus, ten percent of Muslims, and ten percent rest of all communities live here happily. They were all class workers, who rely on agriculture, industry, and other services. My village was famous for its temples. It is said that we had a grand temple, which, one could see from far miles away. A grand temple, which hears even today in local folklores, that was the temple who fed us all! Seventy villages fall under its feet – for food, for wages, and for salvation.

A family with which I belonged - where Mother Fatima, a widow; sister Sanaya and Uncle Taimor with his two wives, lived here in an ancient house. It is well known that we were warriors, who came from Arab and settled here. My father, who died a year ago, by leaving a shop and a house, for me and Uncle Taimor. Actually, my father was the only Muslim, who ran a shop in the Hindu dominated market, which he had built with the help of his Hindu friends Lalchand, Mahesh, and Magani-Raam. They lend him money and stood next to him until he did not settle his business. I saw them last time at his death bed. They were here to pray for his last journey; but after that, I never saw them, neither any Hindu at my door. By the time of my father, uncle Taimor was a sluggish struggler, who had eyes on Hindu properties. He hated them all and sometimes, even my father too for keeping Hindu friends. But he remained passive, inside of his own thoughts; regurgitate his anger, which more seemed to babble than shout out. After my father’s death, uncle Taimor took controller over the shop and the house. But he never accepted any of his friends by his heart. Although, he sneakily used them, to get information about how to get well in the business. But he failed. His shop ran into despair without money, and within six months it went bankrupt. Uncle Taimor lost everything, even whatever earned by my father. His fanatic thought did not allow him to bend against Kafir. Although he turned all stones but no use. At last, he fell on knee by searching all around about Heeralal and Gangaram – the two tycoons of a village. He was confident that they both are enough to bring his business on trek. Two prestigious businessmen who was trusted by everyone.  Gangaram was more social, his inclination towards work for people, where he insists social structure like a hospital, college, community centre, etc. whereas Heeralal who has often seen among shopkeepers to helping them. He helped them to rise who had nothing to start. Taimor knew where he had to set his eyes, therefore, he always eye on those events or meetings where he could see them. After two months of a long chase, he came to know when they meet with shopkeepers and when they do charitable work. Uncle Taimor collected all information about them who is close to them in the market and those who are working with them. He was certain that they both were enough for anyone in the market to make them successful. Their help enough either by lending money or goods on credit to boom their business. His aim was clear either get mercy from Gangaraam or burrow benefit from Heeralal. Here not only Taimor but everyone in the market always seeks their help. They want to do business with them. It was well known in the market, that their glance is enough to make, anyone wealthy. Taimor knew well, how important those two for him to make him rich. Thus, he started attending all those events where they were invited. There were not one or two events, but it was seventh business gathering when he got a chance to meet them. I know that day; he was so excited like he met a moving star.  He said to me -

Heeralal a man, so humble, down to ground that there is no iota of doubt about him. He is a man of character.  He gave me his words that he would consider my shop somewhere in his business.

Uncle Taimor was a covetous person, who had tenacious loyalty toward religion. And when it questions to choose a religion or business, he always had a heart for religion. Although he was not only religious, but aggressive too, and bias towards other religions; blindly believe that whatever he followed was only truth. His weakness was well-known to other people. Thus, he was easily gullible, and MawlawiMasudee knew this well. When he entered in his shop obliging manner, as if he discovered him, in the ocean of Hindu crowd, thereby he claimed –

I’m surfeited! You know. Overjoyed by heart, to see a Muslim, who stood in the ocean of Hindus! They are the same who do not allow us to grow! I never buy anything from them. Masudee started coxing, cunning, flattering by eulogising him.

Look at you; is anyone here in a village like you? I came here by crossing this ocean to meet you. – Masudee by unctuously.

I’m a shopkeeper, just like other normal people. – Taimor did not get him.

You are not ordinary; I know you alone enough to wreck their castle. I came here to encourage you that you are on the path of Allah! I mean who runs a business here? Among them, who are always sucking our blood. They do not allow anyone, other than their own self, they are kafirs. Masudee without knowing about Hindus, even though their temples bells ring, nine times in a day. Taimor hears the word ‘Kafir’ first time and, that he transported to the ears of Rizwan and Fatima. He puffed up with pride -

Is this big that I run a business with Kafirs?

Thus, their religious thought ran excessive over their mind, where they appeared more like religious fiends, who think, only they are true, rest all the world is false.

But in my case, I had lots of ambiguity about religious doctrine. I was still at those walls, where I could not understand what they have had?  I mean why my mother bedaubed all those images, pictures of deities, and those verses? Whereas they - the pictures of my walls did not want to disappear from my eyes. So, sometimes I could see their parts, come out, even after applying a thick layer of mud. Sometimes it protruded, here and there; down from the corner or deep down aside in the wall, those appeared things always fascinated me.

I vexed my mother, by calling over, again and again, the same questions, a constant knock to know what she is hiding from me. When she was over-exhausted by my nagging. At last, be upon upset over me, she threw me in the local school to shut my mouth. But that was also part of Heeralal’s favour. It was an obligation which he did when he saw me with Uncle Taimor. He suggested to him, what place would be better for my kind of kids – those who ask a lot of questions. Thus, he told him about a school, which he opened for my kind of students, who really searching for something in life. This way, I got admission in the school, Sakuntala Devi trust. A school which was for poor people. On my first day, I still remember, when I was passing through the Krishna temple. The strange thing, I saw here, was a Muslim sweeping temple steps. I was shocked, to glance at this man; and while returning from school, I stood there to see him, for to know about his activities. Actually, this man became puzzled for me. As I was told by my mother that we, Muslims would not go along with Hindus and those temples are Haram for us, so the same uncle Taimor averred. But then why this man here? I spent half an hour to observe all his movement and to watch all those spires, tall buildings, pillars, and designs, which were the same as I had in my home. Thereafter I drew closer to him, to know why my mom did hide all those symbols. To know more about him and curious about the quest of those puzzling things of my life. At last, I came to know the name of this person, Fakrudin, who had my answers for those words and symbols which he knows more than I do.

There was a story in eyes, his own world; pages of his own life which I eager to know. This temple was another way post for Uncle Taimor. Who came to know that Krishna temple is the same place where Heeralal visits every month for feeding poor.  After that I hear no - no from Taimor for Krishna temple. Thus, I spent more time here than home. After school this place became my second home, my playground and place of acquiring knowledge. We hung on its wall, playing many games and free time hearing stories from Fakrudin. I remembered, that was Monday when I came here with uncleTaimor, who was here for Heeralal. I saw Laxmi that time, in the line of poor and destitute people who were here standing for the food. She was at last, waiting for her turn to come. And when she had, she introduced herself by mumbling -

Sir, I’m Laxmi, an orphan. My parents died due to illness. She melted everyone with her voice.

She stared at me and Fakrudin, with her innocent smile. I saw her torn clothes, stunk with the muddy smell, which sprung me away from her. The next day in the morning, I saw her sleeping near the stairs over the side of paver block, where Fakrudin was doing his work. I went on my way to school, but while returning. I saw this girl sitting next to him, eating something. She looked clean without malodour. When we joined Fakrudin for stories, she became part of our team, which we created for fun. I never knew that when she became the answering machine for me. This girl, who was eight years old had expertise in answers to those questions which even Fakrudin did not have so much in detail. She was important not only for me but for other of my friends and for Uncle Taimor, who had his eye on her. Actually, uncleTaimor was watching these days Heeralal, who often had been visiting a temple, because of this girl. Somewhere in his heart, she carved a niche. He was a fan of her intelligent mind; never saw a girl, so much smarter. Her way of answers to all questions, which were created so much impact, that he was ready to adopt her.  Whereas uncle Taimor already calculated all mixing of his mind, thus he often been here with him, not for fixing what whirling in his mind, but to get skim by his condition. Thus, even before he could speak about anything, Taimor implored next to him -

Sir, speak up, don’t hide what you can’t.

No, I don’t. Everyone is fond of her coruscating wit, so do I.

She’s born with books, with a keen intellect. But she needs a platform which only you can give!

I’m always beside the right people.

I know sir.

No, you don’t know how hard it is to be destitute.

But she is not.

I wish she isn’t.

She is here for you. Fakrudin joined them after hearing about Laxmi.

She is destined to be a part of your family. Taimor little hasty to fill the gap of his thought and wish.

Even I wish to serve her as a father, but it’s not as easy as we think.

She is an orphan girl; you can adopt her! Taimor suggested even before Fakrudin said something.

What if people know about her? Heeralala hesitated.

Don't worry sir, nobody knows, it’s just among us, we three and we engrave it, in our heart - Taimor assured, but Heeralal gave them offer  –

No, I don't mind, if you need any favor. See, I think this girl is divine. He offered his help, which Fakrudin denied by saying –

I don't want anything, I’m a Fakir what would I crave?

Even I don't want anything. But I wish I could work under your guidance and learn something from you.  Taimor grasped what he was looking for which Heeralal consented by saying –

Of course, you can help me, or I can give you something that helps you, in your business.

Sir, your word is enough for me to shut my mouth. I'm your servant. – Taimor by bowing.

Thus, Laxmi became a member of Heeralal’s family. Whereas Taimor rewarded a big consignment for his shop, which almost doubled his income. Laxmi soon after joined Rizwan in his class. She became the part of his school friends, and now closer to him for his answer.

Their school was five rooms with an open area, inside the ancient Shiva temple, which was an old house of Heeralal, whose father was a priest here. The teachers of this school always tell the story of his father, that how he got boon from this temple; and how a family transformed into a rag to riches. This was really enchanting, the way from his home to school, where he woke up by the morning temple bells, and here in the school starts with bells too. It was great harmony of love and togetherness, without any malice to anyone. He often spent his whole day, here in Krishna temple, in quest, which he discovered secretly from his home; and here they discussed the meaning of those symbols, words, and idols. He learned one thing whatever on his home wall, fire, air, tree and those nature’s symbols were significant of nature’s advancement and its power in human life. Thus, ancient people always made it clear that we, without them, live no single day. Thereby they represent them as a god for us. So as Fakrudin always thinks the same way and so as those of his Hindu friends often bow next to nature. Now Rizwan came with the words written on his palm. That unknown language, which hard to write and read; the words which say – EkamBrahm, dvitiyanastenehnanaste… and who else would be explained better than Laxmi and Fakrudin this verse. But by reading this verse what Fakrudin felt something curse which he was washing here –

Well, this says, we fool, who do not understand the simple meaning of life!

Is this the meaning of these words? Rizwan confused by his words which Laxmi stopped by explaining –

No, it says God is one and none is like him.

Oh really! Is this the same thing that my mom says? 

Yes, God is the same things everywhere; you just call him with different names or in different ways.

I think you are not agree with her - Rizwan by looking at Fakrudin.

No, she is right, but this verse was told five hundred years ago, here, when a priest was under the sword. He was asked to convert himself, that time he spoke this line, to convince them, that the god they are telling, and the god which he is worshiping are the same. Disheartened Fakrudin disclosed.

Really, five hundred years ago, and who was that person? He was curious to know from Fakrudin.

Patriarch of my family who saved this temple.

Oh, that's interesting! But you are a Muslim. Laxmi was surprised to know his past.

Well, I’m. But my forefathers were not. They were those Hindus who did not save their parental identity. Although they did try hard to save this temple. He was the chief priest here, who converted himself to save this magnificent work of his forefather, with a pledge that whoso from his family would always save this temple at any cost. I’m a live example, who served here for his words. – Fakrudin, at last,