In that dawn to be alive….Inder Malhotra
Memories of August 15, 1947, when everything seemed new and possible
Memories of August 15, 1947, when everything seemed new and possible
Nearly two-thirds of a century later, memories of August 15,1947, remain astonishingly fresh in my mind, and I would rather relive them than write about the state of the Union on Independence Days 64th anniversary, when there is so little to be cheerful about.
The first thing of which the younger generation might be unaware is that on the magic day, the whole of north India was almost completely paralysed. There was hardly any law and order or any rail and road transport. Even government offices were practically dysfunctional more often than not. This was so because the ecstasy of Independence and the agony of Partition were presaged by unimaginable carnage and the largest mass migration during peacetime in history. Madness prevailed on both sides of the new divide.
Yet the striking fact was that, as we woke up on August 14, there was an incredible change in the public mood. Over previous days one was used to witnessing a lot of anger, even fury, over the loss of loved ones and homes on the other side of the border. There were also threats of revenge at all costs. Now there was not a whiff of this. Everyone seemed full of joy. People were waving the tricolour, embracing one another and distributing sweets. My happiness was even more exuberant.
I was 17 then. Months earlier, together with my elder brother and three of his classmates, I had left the hostel of our college 150 miles away, and we were camping at my fathers house in a place called Nangloi, a small railway station no more than ten miles from Delhi, where my father was station-master. Now completely swallowed by the greedy maw of urbanisation that has made it a part of the national capital, Nangloi was then a nice, isolated place, surrounded on all sides by fields, dotted only by a small village.
We, the Gang of Five, had made up our minds to walk to Delhi and be there in good time to join the celebrations. But just when we were starting, I found it necessary to stop in my tracks. I was furious because the girl next door, trying to explain to her young brother what the huge excitement was about, silenced him by saying: Aaj Nehruji ki taaj poshi hai (today is the coronation of Nehruji). So livid was I that I wanted to go and tell the foolish girl that we were ushering in an independent and democratic India, not a monarchy. Luckily, my brother restrained me. For, over the years, I have sometimes wondered whether that semi-literate girl I was so angry with wasnt more prescient than I.
The padayatra to Delhi was tiring. At some stage we found a tonga. Its owner was willing to take us to Lodi Colony where our gracious host lived. After some rest and an early dinner, we were on the march again, this time to Parliament House where we reached in good time, but found that tens of thousands of people had preceded us. More and more men, women and children were joining every minute but the broad boulevards around the circular building could accommodate us all. At the midnight hour, we heard Nehrus magnificent tryst-with-destiny speech and wept with joy.
A while later we drifted on a sea of humanity towards Connaught Place in search of something to eat. It was awake, jam packed, and brightly lit. Food was also available in plenty. Almost every enterprising refugee had converted a wheelbarrow into a food stall.
While we were eating something absolutely unexpected happened. Someone shouted: Yeh azadi nahin, barbadi hai (This isnt independence, its destruction) the standard cry of displaced humanity. But almost everyone around him fell on him like a tonne of bricks. They told him, also in Punjabi, that he must not express such ideas on the Great Day. Other nations, someone said, had paid an even higher price to win freedom. A tall man with a handlebar moustache asked for silence to declare: I have left behind two buildings in Lahore. I will erect four here. So can all of you.
It was time to get home and to bed. How we managed to do this, I dont know. But we were fast asleep the next morning when the Chief Justice swore in Lord Mountbatten as the Indian Dominions first governor-general at Parliament House. Later in the day, we learnt that after the ceremony he almost failed to make it to the Government House, as the Viceroys House had been renamed until it became Rashtrapati Bhavan in 1950. Crowds outside Parliament House were so dense that even the 400-strong bodyguard could not force a passage. Ultimately, Nehru climbed on the roof of the carriage and waved away the crowd that obeyed him instantly. No one else could have done that.
The rest of August 15 was a succession of jubilation and parties across the city. Our destination was the main event at 6 the unfurling of the national flag at India Gate by Nehru. The army band was in attendance and an elaborate programme had been drawn up. As usual, we got there two hours earlier. But once again, around the appointed time, the crowds had become so enormous that the carriages of Nehru and Mountbatten could not get through. The planned military parade and speeches had to be abandoned.
From a distance, the prime minister signalled that the flag should be raised and the guns should fire the salute. As the flag broke on top of the pole, a lovely rainbow appeared in the sky behind it an auspicious sign.
It is only fair that I should record honestly the vision of five of us of independent India. We were agreed that within 20 years of Independence, curses like untouchability, illiteracy, bribery and dowry would disappear from the Indian scene. Moreover, as the Mahatma wanted, caste would also vanish, and now the British had either left or were leaving, there would be no Hindu-Muslim problem. How utterly naïve one can be!
The writer is a Delhi-based political commentator