Literary Latitude

The background of the partition of India provides a significant context for understanding how histories are written and how literature complements the reading and interpretation of history. The study of partition involves examining not only historical records but also artistic and cultural depictions like films, novels, and other literary works that present different perspectives. In the previous session, examples such as the films Pinjar, and Train to Pakistan were discussed to illustrate how cinema portrays partition-related themes. Students are encouraged to watch these films to better engage with the material in subsequent discussions.

Novels and literary texts play a critical role in understanding the period of the partition, as they capture the emotional, social, and psychological dimensions of that time, aspects that historical records may not fully convey. Since the partition occurred 70 to 80 years ago, it is challenging to reimagine the lived experiences of people during that era. Therefore, multiple layers of representation—through both literature and history—are necessary to gain a comprehensive understanding.

This concept of layered representation can be explored through the lens of New Historicism, a literary theory that emphasizes the interrelationship between history and literature. New Historicism posits that history is a form of text, and literary texts are a form of history. To fully comprehend either, one must study both. Without an understanding of the literary works of a period, the historical context remains incomplete, and vice versa. Literature and history should not be studied in isolation, as each enriches the understanding of the other.

Clifford Geertz, a prominent cultural anthropologist, discussed a concept known as “thick description” in his book Interpretation of Cultures. Thick description implies that no single explanation or narrative can fully capture an event or cultural phenomenon. Instead, events and cultures are composed of multiple, layered meanings. Each layer, when peeled back, reveals another beneath it, suggesting that cultures are built through complex, intertwined layers of experience and representation. In this framework, literary works, historical texts, and non-fictional narratives act as tools to uncover these layers, helping to construct a more nuanced and comprehensive understanding of events like the partition.

To understand the partition of India through thick description, one must consider various perspectives beyond conventional historical accounts. Reading histories written by different authors is crucial, but equally important is recognizing the diversity of perspectives within those histories. For instance, Indian authors writing about partition represent one perspective, and even within this group, perspectives can vary. Prior to 1947, individuals now identified as Pakistanis were also considered Indians, highlighting the fluidity of national identities before the partition. Therefore, the perspectives of those living within present-day India or Pakistan are shaped by their post-partition experiences, yet both are vital to understanding the partition as a whole.

This approach encourages readers to engage with multiple narratives, including literary and historical works, to uncover the complex and multifaceted realities of the partition. Each narrative offers a different layer of the “thick description,” contributing to a deeper and more layered understanding of this significant historical event.

The partition of India, which led to the creation of Pakistan and later Bangladesh, highlights the complex interplay of historical narratives, national identity, and ideology. Before 1947, the regions that now constitute Pakistan and Bangladesh were part of undivided India. The people living there, therefore, shared a common national identity under British rule. This shared history is crucial in understanding why, after independence, issues such as citizenship and nationality remained sensitive. The Citizenship Act in India and the references to foundational legal frameworks, such as the Government of India Act of 1935, reflect the legal continuity and the complications that arose when people migrated between India and Pakistan during partition. The constitution of India, particularly Articles 1 through 5, addresses citizenship and recognizes those who migrated under these circumstances.

When Indian historians write about the partition, their perspectives are often shaped by nationalistic sentiments, which influence the way events are framed. Many Indian historians have written partition narratives that portray India—particularly Indian Hindus—as victims and attribute responsibility for the violence to the creation of Pakistan and the Muslim community. This portrayal often presents Pakistan as the aggressor and Muslims as the cause of the unrest.

Conversely, historians and writers from Pakistan typically offer a different perspective. They argue that India, particularly the Hindu majority, was responsible for the violence and the partition. Pakistani historians often write from the standpoint that the creation of Pakistan was necessary to protect the Muslim community and that the partition was driven by the failure of Hindu leaders to accommodate Muslim concerns. Both sides, therefore, construct narratives that are shaped by their national identities, and these narratives often reflect one-sided interpretations of complex events.

The issue lies in the fact that prior to 1947, people in both India and Pakistan shared a common national identity as British subjects, without the rigid boundaries of “Indian” and “Pakistani” identities. The partition changed this, as new national identities were formed. The process of nation formation, or national formation, refers to how people begin to identify themselves within newly established national boundaries. In India, the concept of “Indianness” emerged, tied to the political and cultural framework of the new nation, which primarily defined itself within its post-1947 borders and often emphasized Hindu-majority narratives. Similarly, in Pakistan, a national identity was established that emphasized Islamic ideology and often positioned Hindus as antagonists in the historical narrative of partition.

These nationalistic formations significantly influence how partition histories are written, interpreted, and understood. In India, it is considered “safe” to argue that Pakistan and Muslims were responsible for the violence because the government and social systems generally support narratives that promote Indianness. Similarly, in Pakistan, it is “safe” to criticize Hindus and blame India for partition-related violence because the national ideology supports Islamic identity and protects those who align with the official historical narrative. Speaking against these dominant nationalistic narratives can result in social or legal consequences, such as censorship, criticism, or even punishment.

This dynamic shows that the writing of history is not objective or free from bias. Historical narratives are often influenced by the dominant ideology of the state, whether in India or Pakistan. Marxist thinkers critique nationalism, religion, and family as repressive ideologies that shape and control societal narratives. From a Marxist perspective, nationalistic ideologies serve the interests of the ruling class, perpetuating specific power structures and marginalizing alternative or dissenting perspectives.

Thus, history, as written in India and Pakistan, is often an expression of nationalistic ideology rather than a neutral account of facts. The truth of what happened during the partition is complex and multilayered, often buried beneath these ideological layers. Understanding this bias is crucial for critically analyzing partition narratives and recognizing that no historical account is entirely accurate or complete. Instead, multiple perspectives and sources must be examined to uncover a fuller, more nuanced understanding of the events surrounding the partition.

Repressive ideologies are systems of thought or belief that do not permit questioning or dissent. They require blind acceptance of their principles and discourage critical engagement. For example, religion is often considered a repressive ideology because it typically discourages questioning fundamental doctrines or divine authority. In many religious contexts, questioning God or religious practices is seen as unacceptable. Similarly, nationalism can be classified as a repressive ideology when it stifles criticism by labeling dissent as a threat to national security. Under such conditions, failures are ignored or silenced, while successes are highlighted and celebrated without scrutiny.

On the other hand, progressive ideologies encourage questioning, critical thinking, and change. Marxism is one such progressive ideology, as it critiques existing social and economic structures through concepts like class struggle. Feminism, which challenges patriarchal norms, and Dalit movements, which seek to dismantle caste-based oppression, are also examples of progressive ideologies that promote reform and social justice by questioning established hierarchies.

In the context of the partition, the nationalistic ideologies of both India and Pakistan play a repressive role by promoting selective narratives. In India, for example, the protection of Hindu interests, as the majority population, often results in blaming Muslims for past conflicts, particularly during the partition. Similarly, in Pakistan, the dominant narrative blames Hindus and India for partition-related violence. This selective blame serves the purpose of maintaining national unity and political control in both countries. As a result, communal conflicts that occur in either India or Pakistan often have cross-border repercussions because of the shared historical and emotional connections between the regions.

Histories, however, do not progress or unfold as neatly as they are written or narrated. There is a difference between the historical facts and their representation. National histories, particularly those of India and Pakistan, are heavily influenced by nationalistic biases. Historians from each side often portray their own leaders as more progressive, visionary, and justified in their actions, while depicting the leaders of the opposing side as flawed or blameworthy.

For instance, Ayesha Jalal, a prominent Pakistani historian, often defends and re-evaluates the role of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, portraying him as a misunderstood and strategic leader rather than the instigator of partition. In contrast, Indian historians like Bipin Chandra, Ramachandra Guha, and Sumit Sarkar emphasize the progressive vision of leaders like Jawaharlal Nehru and defend their actions during the partition. In this blame game, historians from both countries often act as protectors of their national ideologies, reinforcing narratives that serve the interests of their respective nations.

However, there is a third perspective—often referred to as the “colonial perspective” or the “white man’s perspective”—which is represented by historians who were British officials or scholars. Prominent examples include Dominic Lieven and William Dalrymple, who have written extensively about the history of India and the partition. Their writings claim to offer neutral or objective histories, but this perspective is also biased. British historians often portray Indians and Pakistanis as inferior or less capable, reflecting the colonial mindset. While their narratives may be free from nationalistic biases of India or Pakistan, they are influenced by the colonial lens, viewing the subcontinent as a region that required British intervention or control.

Thus, no historical account of the partition is truly neutral or objective. Each narrative—whether written by Indian, Pakistani, or British historians—reflects the biases, ideologies, and perspectives of the authors and the socio-political contexts in which they wrote. Understanding this bias is essential to critically engaging with the histories of the partition and recognizing the limitations of any single narrative. Only by examining multiple perspectives, including those of marginalized communities, can a more balanced and comprehensive understanding of the partition be achieved.

Understanding the history of partition requires more than reading a single book or relying on a single perspective. Historians and literary works reflect the biases of their authors, whether they are Indian, Pakistani, or foreign. Indian authors writing novels or stories about partition often portray Hindus as victims, as seen in Pinjar, while Pakistani authors, such as Bapsi Sidhwa in Ice-Candy Man and the film Earth 1947, depict Muslims as the victims. These differing portrayals reveal the limitations of individual narratives and highlight the need for a broader, more inclusive approach to understanding historical events.

The reality of partition is complex. No single narrative can definitively determine who was the culprit and who was the victim. Readers who rely on one perspective may easily assign blame to one group while portraying the other as victims. However, those who engage with multiple perspectives—reading different historical accounts, novels, and studies—are less likely to fall into the simplistic blame game. Clifford Geertz’s concept of “thick description” emphasizes the importance of understanding events through multiple layers of meaning. By doing so, one develops a more nuanced and informed view that avoids hasty judgments and acknowledges the complexities of cultural, social, and historical contexts.

The purpose of studying history is often misunderstood. Many are taught to view history as a tool for seeking revenge, driven by a narrative that glorifies past conflicts and frames them as unresolved struggles that require settling scores. For example, the portrayal of historical events such as the Mughal rule over India, British colonization, or conflicts between religious communities is often infused with the idea of vengeance. This sentiment can lead to the belief that historical wrongs must be avenged, whether by re-establishing dominance over perceived oppressors or reclaiming lost glory.

This cycle of revenge-driven historical interpretation is fueled by nationalist ideologies and propaganda. These ideologies often incite emotional responses rather than encouraging critical thinking or reflection. The danger of this approach is that it perpetuates cycles of hatred, violence, and misunderstanding between communities and nations. For instance, communal tensions between India and Pakistan often draw upon historical grievances that are exploited by political narratives to maintain divisions.

In contrast, the true purpose of studying history should be to learn from past mistakes and avoid repeating them. By understanding how and why societies were divided or colonized, one can develop strategies to prevent future conflicts and oppression. Instead of seeking to replicate past successes or retaliate for past grievances, a critical and reflective study of history encourages the development of peaceful coexistence and progress. Recognizing the tactics and strategies used in the past is valuable, but not for the purpose of repeating them. Instead, it should be for understanding how to build more inclusive, resilient societies that can withstand the ideological and political pressures that lead to conflict.

When studying partition, it is essential to move beyond the idea of revenge. The goal is not to blame the neighboring country or the religious community that one views as “the other.” Instead, studying partition should serve as a reminder of the catastrophic consequences of communal violence and the dangers of divisive ideologies. The lessons of partition are warnings against repeating those mistakes, emphasizing the need for dialogue, empathy, and reconciliation rather than perpetuating cycles of animosity.

When studying sensitive topics like the partition of India, it is essential to approach the material carefully, as it can evoke strong emotions and even hatred if not properly contextualized. A novel or literary piece focusing on partition can easily influence the reader’s perception of a particular community, especially if it portrays that community as the cause of suffering or violence. Therefore, maintaining a balanced perspective is critical when engaging with such content to prevent bias and foster critical understanding.

Most historical and literary narratives of partition have been shaped by elite, educated, and well-connected individuals who represent a small fraction of society, typically about 5 to 10% of the total population. These elites are the ones whose voices are published and whose perspectives dominate the mainstream narratives of partition. But what about the remaining 90% of the population? The poor, politically marginalized, and unconnected common people—those who were directly affected by the events—are often absent from these narratives.

During events like partition, it is the common people who suffer the most. Politicians and elites may shape policies and narratives, but the ones who bear the brunt of violence, displacement, and trauma are ordinary citizens, particularly those living in rural areas or in poverty. Historical records tell us that about 1 million people were displaced during the partition, and an estimated 300,000 people lost their lives. The majority of these were ordinary men, women, and children, not the elites who controlled the political and economic structures.

At the time of partition, India’s population was roughly around 50 crore (500 million). Among them, it was the rural, uneducated masses who experienced the most intense forms of violence and displacement. Their voices, however, were largely ignored or marginalized in mainstream historical accounts. To address this gap, authors and activists like Urvashi Butalia have attempted to document the experiences of common people through oral histories and interviews. In her book The Other Side of Silence, Butalia compiles testimonies from partition survivors, offering insights into the personal and often overlooked stories of those who lived through the chaos. Her work highlights the perspectives of villagers, farmers, and others who lacked access to education or political influence but endured the horrors of displacement and violence.

The common people Butalia interviewed provide a different lens through which to view the partition, one that contrasts sharply with the elite-centered narratives. These survivors often describe how their lives were uprooted, how properties lost their value, and how entire communities were destroyed. Many of them were unaware of the larger political decisions that caused their suffering. For example, during the partition, property prices plummeted as people fled across the borders, desperate to sell whatever they could. But who had the means to buy property during such a chaotic time? Only the wealthy and connected could take advantage of the situation, while the poor were left with nothing.

These stories show the importance of including marginalized voices when studying partition. Without them, the historical understanding remains incomplete, dominated by the perspectives of those in power. By integrating the experiences of common people, readers and researchers can develop a more comprehensive and empathetic view of partition, acknowledging the suffering of those who were forgotten in the grand narratives of history. Understanding these voices helps highlight the human cost of political decisions and ensures that future generations learn from the mistakes of the past, not to seek revenge, but to avoid repeating the same tragedies.

During the partition, trains became a symbol of both hope and horror. They were the only means for many to flee violence and seek safety, but they were also sites of unimaginable suffering and death. As partition violence engulfed regions, train tickets were sold in the black market at exorbitant prices, making it difficult for many to afford travel. The trains were overcrowded, with people packed in so tightly that there was barely any room to stand. Desperate crowds surged onto railway platforms, similar to modern-day stampedes seen at congested railway stations.

The chaos and uncertainty surrounding train journeys were heart-wrenching. Families were often separated, and many boarded trains without knowing whether they or their loved ones would reach safety. In some cases, one or two family members boarded a train while others were left behind due to the rush or lack of space. Those left behind had no idea if the ones who boarded the train would survive, and those who managed to get on had no way of knowing whether their loved ones left behind would be safe. Trains, which symbolized escape, often carried people to their deaths, as attackers would ambush them en route.

Violence during this period affected both Hindus and Muslims equally, depending on whether they were fleeing from or to India or Pakistan. The stories of people hiding in sugarcane fields, ditches, or abandoned buildings for days without food or water are common in partition narratives. Many endured brutal forms of torture and violence as they tried to escape.

One vivid example of the trauma of partition can be found in Bhisham Sahni’s novel Tamas. The novel includes a poignant account of Harnam Singh and his wife, an elderly Sikh couple living in Pakistan. Harnam Singh, around 65 to 70 years old, ran a small grocery shop with his wife. As the violence escalated, most of their neighbors fled to India, but Harnam Singh initially believed that, as an elderly couple, they would not be targeted and that the violence would subside. He hoped for the situation to normalize, but eventually realized that peace was unlikely to return. Reluctantly, he decided to leave everything behind and make the journey to India with his wife.

Their journey, however, took a tragic turn. Along the way, they encountered a violent mob. The attackers threw stones at Harnam Singh, and when he fell, bleeding and unable to get up, the mob showed no mercy. The scene exemplifies the brutal and indiscriminate nature of partition violence, where age, innocence, or non-involvement in politics did not offer protection.

Such narratives demonstrate that partition violence was not about one community victimizing the other—it was a shared tragedy. Both Hindus and Muslims suffered displacement, loss, and trauma. These stories, often excluded from formal historical accounts, highlight the human cost of partition and emphasize the collective pain experienced by ordinary people, regardless of their religion or nationality. Understanding these experiences is crucial to recognizing that partition was not just a political division but a deeply personal and devastating event for millions.

During the partition, violence was not just about killing; it was about inflicting maximum suffering. Torture was considered a form of revenge, a means of prolonging the agony of the victim. The brutal violence extended beyond physical harm to include psychological and emotional trauma. Women, in particular, were targeted in horrific ways, regardless of their community—whether Hindu, Muslim, or Sikh. The violence they endured during this time remains one of the most painful and sensitive aspects of partition history.

Wealthier people often found ways to escape or protect themselves, but ordinary people were left to face the violence with limited options. Many of these experiences were documented by Urvashi Butalia in her seminal work The Other Side of Silence, where she collected stories from survivors of partition. Among these stories, one particularly harrowing example involves a father with several daughters. When the attackers began breaking down the door, he knew what awaited them—his daughters would be raped, and he would be killed. In a heart-wrenching act of desperation, he took a kripan (a ceremonial sword common in Punjab) and killed his daughters one by one before taking his own life. The father’s act highlights the unbearable burden of “honor” in the patriarchal structure of society, where death seemed preferable to the dishonor of sexual violence.

The concept of honor was so deeply ingrained that even the perception of violation—whether real or not—was enough to drive families to extreme measures. In Bhisham Sahni’s novel Tamas and Amrita Pritam’s Pinjar, this theme is explored vividly. In Pinjar, Puro, a Hindu girl, is abducted but not physically harmed or violated. Despite her “chastity” remaining intact, her family rejects her when she attempts to return home, simply because she was abducted. For her family, the mere act of being taken away by an outsider, even without physical violation, was enough to render her “dishonored” and unwelcome. On the same night she returns, Puro is sent back to her abductor, highlighting the rigid societal codes that valued honor over a woman’s agency or well-being.

Many families took drastic measures to “protect” their honor. One such measure was the distribution of poison tablets. Families fleeing their homes, particularly women and girls, were given poison with instructions to consume it if they encountered attackers. The expectation was that death was preferable to being captured or violated, underscoring the deep societal conditioning that tied family honor to the perceived purity of women. Stories abound of women jumping into wells, taking poison, or being killed by their own family members to prevent dishonor.

This obsession with honor was pervasive across religious communities. Hindu, Muslim, and Sikh families all shared this code, though some groups, like Parsis and Christians, were largely spared from the violence due to their lesser involvement in the politics of partition. Parsis, in particular, remained relatively safe because they did not engage in communal conflicts, and Christians were generally viewed as outsiders and thus avoided being targets of communal violence.

The societal emphasis on honor over life reveals the deep-rooted patriarchy that dictated the actions of families during the partition. Women’s bodies became symbols of communal and family pride, making their perceived violation a matter of communal shame. The question of why honor was deemed more important than life reflects the oppressive nature of these societal codes. The value placed on maintaining familial honor often outweighed the value of human life, leading to tragic decisions where death was seen as the only solution to preserve dignity. This mindset not only caused immense suffering during partition but also left lasting scars on the collective memory of the affected communities. Understanding this dynamic is crucial to comprehending the full emotional and cultural impact of partition on survivors and future generations.

During the time of partition, societal structures were deeply patriarchal, and the concept of women’s rights was virtually nonexistent. Women were often viewed as the property of men, with their identities and fates tied to the decisions of their male family members. Although the Indian Constitution, after independence, formally recognized women’s rights, such rights were absent during the partition, leaving women extremely vulnerable to violence and exploitation. At that time, families were uncertain about whether women’s rights would ever be recognized, so the existing patriarchal norms dictated much of their behavior and decisions.

One way to understand the violence against women during partition is through the concept of the “sacrificial social contract.” This idea suggests that men and women are bound by a social contract, wherein the conflict between two men extends to their families—particularly the women. If a man became the enemy of another man or group, the women in his family were also seen as enemies. But they were not seen as individual human beings; they were treated as symbolic properties of the family or community. Violating a woman’s body was seen as an effective way to exact revenge and inflict humiliation on the opposing side.

As a result, when partition violence broke out, women became direct targets of aggression from both communities—Hindus and Muslims. Violating the “honor” of women was viewed as the ultimate form of revenge, more significant than looting property or wealth. This fixation on honor led many families to take drastic and tragic measures, such as killing their daughters or female relatives to protect them from being captured or violated. In their minds, death was a preferable option to the dishonor associated with sexual violence.

The violence and trauma experienced by women during partition reflect the broader historical pattern of how women have been treated during wars and conflicts. In most historical narratives, wars are often framed around battles, political strategies, and the actions of men. Women’s experiences during wars, however, are rarely documented in detail. This lack of representation perpetuates the notion that wars primarily involve men, ignoring the suffering of women and the impact of violence on their lives.

Throughout history, women have often borne the brunt of violence when societies collapse during wars. When a party loses a war, the consequences are not limited to territorial or political losses. Entire societies are disrupted, and women frequently become the targets of exploitation by the victors. The notion that the “winners have the right to loot everything” extends to women, who are seen as part of the spoils of war. The defeated side does not just lose the war—they lose their society, their people, and the dignity of their women.

The partition of India offers a critical lens through which to examine similar incidents throughout history. It serves as an eye-opener, encouraging reflection on the human cost of wars, particularly on women. Whether it was the battles of Panipat, Tarain, or Haldighati, or the colonial conflicts such as the Battle of Plassey, historical narratives tend to focus on military victories and political outcomes while ignoring the experiences of women. For instance, Siraj-ud-Daula’s defeat by Robert Clive in the Battle of Plassey is often discussed in terms of its political implications, but little attention is given to what the common people, particularly women, endured during and after the conflict.

By analyzing the partition through this lens, one can see that wars and conflicts are never as simple as victories and defeats. The trauma, displacement, and violence that accompany wars leave long-lasting scars on societies, and women often carry the heaviest burden of this suffering. Partition, therefore, teaches an important lesson: understanding history requires not just an examination of battles and treaties but also the stories of those who suffered in silence, particularly women, whose voices have often been excluded from historical narratives. Recognizing this gap is crucial to building a more comprehensive and empathetic understanding of the past.

Understanding history requires more than reading simplified narratives of battles and moving from one war to another without reflection. For instance, when we read about the Battle of Panipat or the conflict between Akbar and Hemu, we often treat it as a simple, linear story—Akbar won, and Hemu lost. But real historical events are much more complex, layered with personal experiences, political strategies, and cultural consequences. To grasp these complexities, one must consult thick descriptions, including a range of documents, cultural artifacts, and firsthand accounts.

The partition of India is one such example where understanding the human side of history is essential. Partition archives—such as photographs, journals, and eyewitness testimonies—offer invaluable insights. Many of these black-and-white photographs capture only fragments of the chaos, yet even they fail to fully convey the depth of the human suffering experienced during that time. For instance, journalists who documented the partition often struggled to put into words what they witnessed, but their photographs remain a testament to the pain and tragedy. In places like Amritsar, archives have been curated to preserve these visual records, allowing future generations to reflect on this history.

In literature, novels like Bhisham Sahni’s Tamas offer another layer of understanding by depicting the experiences of common people. The protagonist of Tamas, Nathu, belongs to the Chamar caste, which positions him as a marginalized, common man. Nathu is deceived by Murad Ali, who offers him 5 rupees to throw a pig near a mosque, inciting communal violence. To Nathu, the offer of 5 rupees seems irresistible, as it represents a significant sum of money in 1947. To provide context, 5 rupees was an enormous amount at the time. In the 1960s, for example, a monthly salary of 3 rupees was considered sufficient for a working man. Even in the early 2000s, a salary of 2,800 rupees per month was considered a decent income for a common family.

The economic and social contexts of the time highlight the vulnerability of common people like Nathu. They were easily manipulated by those with political motives, as they had little understanding of the larger implications of their actions. Nathu’s decision was driven by the economic hardship faced by many marginalized families, illustrating how poverty and desperation made ordinary people pawns in the larger political game surrounding partition.

This story and many others like it reveal that historical events are not merely about leaders, battles, or treaties. They are about the everyday struggles of common people who lived through these events and often paid the heaviest price. Understanding their experiences through thick descriptions—whether in archives, literature, or oral histories—provides a richer, more humanized understanding of history. It also serves as a reminder that history is not just a sequence of victories and defeats; it is a collection of individual stories, each with its own weight and significance.

The partition of India highlights the devastating impact of political decisions on common people—those who had no role in shaping those decisions but bore the brunt of the violence and displacement. For individuals like Nathu in Bhisham Sahni’s Tamas, 5 rupees in 1947 was an enormous sum, equivalent to at least 5 lakh rupees in present-day terms. To contextualize this value, in the 1970s, 500 rupees could buy 5 bighas of land, including orchards and agricultural fields. At that time, land prices were significantly lower, and even if buyers didn’t have the money upfront, they could pay it off later. But many common people, like Nathu’s family or the speaker’s grandfather, often missed such opportunities due to economic hardships or lack of foresight.

This reflection on the purchasing power of money underscores the economic conditions of the time and the stark contrast with today’s reality. While 15 lakh rupees today might seem like a modest sum, during the 1960s, it was equivalent to at least 15 crore rupees in today’s value. For common people like Nathu, who lived on daily wages, even 5 rupees represented a year’s salary or more, emphasizing how small economic incentives could manipulate and exploit the poor.

Despite independence, Nathu’s life remained unchanged. Before partition, he was a Chamar, a member of a marginalized caste tasked with menial jobs such as skinning dead animals, and after partition, his situation did not improve. This highlights a significant critique of the promises of independence and national progress. For the elites, politicians, and wealthy classes, independence brought political representation, economic opportunities, and a sense of national pride. However, for the common people—those who lived at the bottom of the social and economic hierarchy—independence did not transform their daily lives. Nathu continued to perform the same demeaning tasks, reflecting the failure of independence to bring substantial change for the marginalized.

The discourse surrounding nationalism, independence, and partition largely benefited the elite and politically connected classes, not the common people. Political leaders like Nehru and Jinnah shaped the partition, and although their decisions determined the fate of millions, they themselves were largely insulated from its immediate consequences. When partition violence erupted, it was the common people—farmers, laborers, women, and children—who became the first and most direct victims of the chaos. They lost their homes, families, and livelihoods, while political leaders survived and continued to shape the future of their respective nations. Jinnah died shortly after partition due to health issues, and Nehru lived for several more years, but neither experienced the kind of suffering that the ordinary people did.

The irony is stark: political decisions made by elites resulted in death, displacement, and trauma for people who had no say in those decisions. Commoners paid the price for miscalculations and political ambitions, enduring violence they neither incited nor understood. This leads to the question of why wars, conflicts, and political upheavals consistently target ordinary people instead of the policymakers themselves. Why didn’t political leaders like Nehru and Jinnah directly confront each other, rather than letting their ideological conflicts spill over into violence that affected millions of innocent people?

The key lesson from studying partition—or any conflict—is the need to understand the cost of political and communal decisions on those who are most vulnerable. Wars and violence are never fought only on battlefields; their true cost is measured in the suffering of common people who lose their homes, loved ones, and futures. The partition teaches us that political conflicts should not be glorified or romanticized because they often leave the powerless to suffer the consequences.

Understanding this history is essential not to fuel hatred or seek revenge but to recognize the importance of protecting innocent lives from the repercussions of political failures. The tragedy of partition underscores the need for empathy, reconciliation, and a commitment to preventing future conflicts. By reflecting on the stories of ordinary people—like Nathu and countless others who were caught in the chaos—we can learn the importance of addressing social and economic inequalities, ensuring that no community remains vulnerable to exploitation or violence in the name of nationalistic or political goals.

The harsh reality of political conflicts, such as the partition of India, is that common people rarely benefit from the outcomes. Instead, they are often the first and most severely impacted victims of political decisions. The elites and political leaders, who negotiate and shape the outcomes of conflicts, may gain power, wealth, or influence, but the ordinary people—those who live in villages, work on farms, or perform labor-intensive jobs—are left to suffer the consequences, whether through violence, displacement, or economic instability.

Given this reality, the key takeaway for common people is to avoid getting blindly involved in the ideological battles fueled by politics, especially those that promote communal hatred or division. Instead of becoming pawns in these conflicts, common people should focus on understanding the political forces at play and thinking critically about how to minimize the negative effects on their lives. The solution is not to withdraw entirely from societal issues but to engage with them rationally and strategically, ensuring that decisions made by political actors do not disrupt their lives unnecessarily.

The most effective way to protect oneself from the fallout of political turmoil is through information and education. Being informed allows common people to anticipate risks, recognize manipulation, and seek solutions to protect their families and communities. Whether it involves understanding the socio-political environment, the economic consequences of certain policies, or the risks associated with communal tensions, knowledge empowers individuals to navigate complex situations more effectively.

For example, during partition, many common people were caught off guard by the sudden outbreak of violence because they were unaware of the political negotiations and communal tensions brewing beneath the surface. Had they been better informed, some could have prepared themselves or taken early steps to protect their families. Similarly, in today’s context, understanding political and economic trends can help people make decisions that safeguard their financial security and social well-being.

Thus, the primary lesson for common people is this: do not let politics consume you, but do not ignore it either. Stay informed, think critically, and focus on solutions that can help you mitigate the negative impacts of political decisions. In this way, common people can protect themselves from becoming collateral damage in conflicts that they did not create and cannot control.