What do you think?
Rate this book
The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India
Oral History Association Book Award 2001
The partition of India into two countries, India and Pakistan, caused one of the most massive human convulsions in history. Within the space of two months in 1947 more than twelve million people were displaced. A million died. More than seventy-five thousand women were abducted and raped. Countless children disappeared. Homes, villages, communities, families, and relationships were destroyed. Yet, more than half a century later, little is known of the human dimensions of this event.
In The Other Side of Silence , Urvashi Butalia fills this gap by placing people—their individual experiences, their private pain—at the center of this epochal event.Through interviews conducted over a ten-year period and an examination of diaries, letters, memoirs, and parliamentary documents, Butalia asks how people on the margins of history—children, women, ordinary people, the lower castes, the untouchables—have been affected by this upheaval.
To understand how and why certain events become shrouded in silence, she traces facets of her own poignant and partition-scarred family history before investigating the stories of other people and their experiences of the effects of this violent disruption. Those whom she interviews reveal that, at least in private, the voices of partition have not been stilled and the bitterness remains.
Throughout, Butalia reflects on difficult questions: what did community, caste, and gender have to do with the violence that accompanied partition? What was partition meant to achieve and what did it actually achieve? How, through unspeakable horrors, did the survivors go on? Believing that only by remembering and telling their stories can those affected begin the process of healing and forgetting, Butalia presents a sensitive and moving account of her quest to hear the painful truth behind the silence.
The partition of India into two countries, India and Pakistan, caused one of the most massive human convulsions in history. Within the space of two months in 1947 more than twelve million people were displaced. A million died. More than seventy-five thousand women were abducted and raped. Countless children disappeared. Homes, villages, communities, families, and relationships were destroyed. Yet, more than half a century later, little is known of the human dimensions of this event.
In The Other Side of Silence , Urvashi Butalia fills this gap by placing people—their individual experiences, their private pain—at the center of this epochal event.Through interviews conducted over a ten-year period and an examination of diaries, letters, memoirs, and parliamentary documents, Butalia asks how people on the margins of history—children, women, ordinary people, the lower castes, the untouchables—have been affected by this upheaval.
To understand how and why certain events become shrouded in silence, she traces facets of her own poignant and partition-scarred family history before investigating the stories of other people and their experiences of the effects of this violent disruption. Those whom she interviews reveal that, at least in private, the voices of partition have not been stilled and the bitterness remains.
Throughout, Butalia reflects on difficult questions: what did community, caste, and gender have to do with the violence that accompanied partition? What was partition meant to achieve and what did it actually achieve? How, through unspeakable horrors, did the survivors go on? Believing that only by remembering and telling their stories can those affected begin the process of healing and forgetting, Butalia presents a sensitive and moving account of her quest to hear the painful truth behind the silence.
328 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1998
147 people are currently reading
3916 people want to read
About the author
Urvashi Butalia
26 books86 followersUrvashi Butalia is an Indian feminist and historian. She is the Director and Co-founder of Kali for Women, India's first feminist publishing house.
Butalia was born in Ambala India in 1952. She earned a B.A. in literature from Miranda House, Delhi University in 1971, a Masters in literature from Delhi University in 1973, and a Masters in South Asian Studies from the University of London in 1977.
She worked as an editor for Zed Publishing and later went on to set up her own publishing house. Her writing has appeared in several newspapers including The Guardian, The Statesman, The Times of India and several magazines including Outlook, the New Internationalist and India Today. Butalia is a consultant for Oxfam India and she holds the position of Reader at the College of Vocational Studies at the University of Delhi.
Recently, she was also conferred a Padmashree by for her contribution to the nation.
Urvashi Butalia started Zubaan, a renowned publishing house in 2003. Zubaan is an imprint of Kali for Women.
Taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urvashi_...
Butalia was born in Ambala India in 1952. She earned a B.A. in literature from Miranda House, Delhi University in 1971, a Masters in literature from Delhi University in 1973, and a Masters in South Asian Studies from the University of London in 1977.
She worked as an editor for Zed Publishing and later went on to set up her own publishing house. Her writing has appeared in several newspapers including The Guardian, The Statesman, The Times of India and several magazines including Outlook, the New Internationalist and India Today. Butalia is a consultant for Oxfam India and she holds the position of Reader at the College of Vocational Studies at the University of Delhi.
Recently, she was also conferred a Padmashree by for her contribution to the nation.
Urvashi Butalia started Zubaan, a renowned publishing house in 2003. Zubaan is an imprint of Kali for Women.
Taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urvashi_...
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 121 reviews
May 14, 2015
I was drawn to this book because my mother’s family came over to India during the Partition. The title was also significant as I learned very little of what happened, first hand, from my mother. She always told me that she and her sister had been sent off to India long before the bloodshed began. Many years after she passed away, a cousin sister told me that, in fact, my mother had witnessed the turbulence. She also told me that my mother was in some sort of post where she wore a uniform. But, she stressed, all this was to be kept a secret. For me, this was the other side of silence.
Urvashi Butaliawrites in a very bland tone, using the interview format at times, a dry descriptive note most of the time and, rarely, introduces an element of drama. We are launched into her experiences with her personal story, though, even in this, she maintains a neutral stance. Her maternal uncle chose to stay back in Pakistan and converted to Islam. She goes to meet him but her family remains convinced that he did it to acquire property. Not for a second does the academic style falter, yet it is not entirely shorn of heart.
Indeed, many such tales emerge, where some made use of the tragic turn of events to confiscate the property of others, even that of relatives. In this way, we see to what uses the Partition was put by diverse actors.
Throughout, Ms Butalia restrains herself from bias and, it was significant to me that she includes accounts of Hindu brutality to balance Muslim acts. I was, personally, shaken to the core when, after years of being fed, by my parents and ambient society, with the myth of Islamic tendencies to butcher, I heard a bloodcurdling first hand narrative.
I had joined a neighbourhood sewing class in my early thirties. A dear old lady ran the class. As is the habit of age, she was wont to entertain us with tales from her youth. Mostly, it was amusing-how her mother-in-law would lead her to her husband’s bed at night and escort her back afterwards, and how the double bed has destroyed our morals.
But, on one occasion, she graphically related how she and other young women stood on a balcony or terrace and watched Muslim families being burned alive and how they cheered. I think I grew up in that second far beyond the capacity of my physical age.
As must be expected from the founder of Kali for Women, she has a section on women which explores the violence against women. These stories range from suicides, failed and successful, honour killings where men killed the womenfolk before the other party “besmirched” the family honour and, of course, the expected rape and murder of women on both sides. Yet, the author manages to find the unexpected in all this -a love story albeit a tragic one where a girl, sold over and over, finally lands up with a man who loves her, only to be snatched from him in the initiative of the respective governments to restore abducted women to their families. Butalia, also, had to face being the object of violent loathing when she was personally party to one such restoration. It is not always simple and straightforward to set past wrongs aright.
One snippet stands out in my memory of the reading: an incident where a Britisher tells an Indian employee that they, the British, are leaving India but not without creating havoc. There is, thus, an indictment of sorts, something of which we are all, we who were and are, involved, aware at some level or the other.
Although the book is hard to read for the most part, given the textbook like nature of its treatment, it has places where a more human face emerges-a whole section is devoted to one particular lady. In this part, the style becomes more journalistic, following this woman’s experiences in the dangerous past down to her life in the present and even up to her death. It was a curious look at those violent times, seen through the eyes of a rather amazing person.
Reading this book in light of the ongoing attempt to record first person accounts from those times, raises questions: will all this lead to more heartburn?
I think not -silence is a cancer. Sweeping things under carpets is never very hygienic. And I am convinced that many stories will emerge showing the triumph of human goodness on both sides than those which make us all hang our heads in shame.
In seeking to write this review, I came across one article which referred to “the harkening back to an—often mythical—past where Hindus and Muslims and Sikhs lived together in relative peace and harmony”. I wonder at the cynicism. I was raised with descriptions of the warm friendships between Muslims and Hindus/Sikhs, of my grandmother’s Muslim besties with whom she hung out all day, smoking a hookah and having a great time. I wonder because,even today, it is so instinctive and easy for a Hindu Indian and a Pakistani to be friends-good friends.
What if such close bonds incur jealousy? After all, should our two countries be healed and embrace business and other partnerships, will not prosperity flourish in the region? What keeps us both down benefits those who would still like to see us as barbaric in our violence, those who, most probably, orchestrated all that bloodshed back then.
Urvashi Butaliawrites in a very bland tone, using the interview format at times, a dry descriptive note most of the time and, rarely, introduces an element of drama. We are launched into her experiences with her personal story, though, even in this, she maintains a neutral stance. Her maternal uncle chose to stay back in Pakistan and converted to Islam. She goes to meet him but her family remains convinced that he did it to acquire property. Not for a second does the academic style falter, yet it is not entirely shorn of heart.
Indeed, many such tales emerge, where some made use of the tragic turn of events to confiscate the property of others, even that of relatives. In this way, we see to what uses the Partition was put by diverse actors.
Throughout, Ms Butalia restrains herself from bias and, it was significant to me that she includes accounts of Hindu brutality to balance Muslim acts. I was, personally, shaken to the core when, after years of being fed, by my parents and ambient society, with the myth of Islamic tendencies to butcher, I heard a bloodcurdling first hand narrative.
I had joined a neighbourhood sewing class in my early thirties. A dear old lady ran the class. As is the habit of age, she was wont to entertain us with tales from her youth. Mostly, it was amusing-how her mother-in-law would lead her to her husband’s bed at night and escort her back afterwards, and how the double bed has destroyed our morals.
But, on one occasion, she graphically related how she and other young women stood on a balcony or terrace and watched Muslim families being burned alive and how they cheered. I think I grew up in that second far beyond the capacity of my physical age.
As must be expected from the founder of Kali for Women, she has a section on women which explores the violence against women. These stories range from suicides, failed and successful, honour killings where men killed the womenfolk before the other party “besmirched” the family honour and, of course, the expected rape and murder of women on both sides. Yet, the author manages to find the unexpected in all this -a love story albeit a tragic one where a girl, sold over and over, finally lands up with a man who loves her, only to be snatched from him in the initiative of the respective governments to restore abducted women to their families. Butalia, also, had to face being the object of violent loathing when she was personally party to one such restoration. It is not always simple and straightforward to set past wrongs aright.
One snippet stands out in my memory of the reading: an incident where a Britisher tells an Indian employee that they, the British, are leaving India but not without creating havoc. There is, thus, an indictment of sorts, something of which we are all, we who were and are, involved, aware at some level or the other.
Although the book is hard to read for the most part, given the textbook like nature of its treatment, it has places where a more human face emerges-a whole section is devoted to one particular lady. In this part, the style becomes more journalistic, following this woman’s experiences in the dangerous past down to her life in the present and even up to her death. It was a curious look at those violent times, seen through the eyes of a rather amazing person.
Reading this book in light of the ongoing attempt to record first person accounts from those times, raises questions: will all this lead to more heartburn?
I think not -silence is a cancer. Sweeping things under carpets is never very hygienic. And I am convinced that many stories will emerge showing the triumph of human goodness on both sides than those which make us all hang our heads in shame.
In seeking to write this review, I came across one article which referred to “the harkening back to an—often mythical—past where Hindus and Muslims and Sikhs lived together in relative peace and harmony”. I wonder at the cynicism. I was raised with descriptions of the warm friendships between Muslims and Hindus/Sikhs, of my grandmother’s Muslim besties with whom she hung out all day, smoking a hookah and having a great time. I wonder because,even today, it is so instinctive and easy for a Hindu Indian and a Pakistani to be friends-good friends.
What if such close bonds incur jealousy? After all, should our two countries be healed and embrace business and other partnerships, will not prosperity flourish in the region? What keeps us both down benefits those who would still like to see us as barbaric in our violence, those who, most probably, orchestrated all that bloodshed back then.
August 15, 2021
such. an. important. read.
February 9, 2020
Two days after the partition of Indian subcontinent, on August 17, 1947, the prime ministers of India and Pakistan finally decided to exchange the population of their respective countries. According to reports of the Ministry of Rehabilitation, by then, more than 500,000 people had already migrated to Pakistan from India and a similar number of people were expected to have moved to India from the newly-formed country of Pakistan. Twelve million people are supposed to have crossed the borders in both directions. 673 refugee trains had moved around 2,800,000 refugees within India and Pakistan between August and November 1947. An average of six to seven planes flew between both the countries every day. Roughly two weeks after the partition, 30,000-40,000 strong kafilas, kafila being a human column, grew, among which the largest consisted of around 400,000 people. These are some of the facts related to partition, facts which must be etched very deeply in government registers of both the countries, facts which are crucial for the academicians and students who are working on the partition history.
If life has taught me something in all the years I have spent on this planet, it is this – no matter how crucial facts are for understanding the consequences of a hasty decision, at the end of the day, what matters to a common person is if his/her family is safe or not. For a layperson who seeks to understand this bloody history of partition, facts are just illusions which keep him/her away from the real issue, that of the pain and losses of the partition.
A mother kills her own child because years after the partition of the Indian subcontinent, the government of both the countries decide to ‘restore’ the women of their countries, in most cases not even paying attention to what the concerned women wanted. A man kills seventeen members of his family because ultimately, honour means more to him (and probably to his family as well). A young girl goes from one house to another in search of the belongings of families who have left them behind. A married woman does not die even though she had jumped in a well to take her life because the well is full of human bodies and water in the well is not enough for her death. These are the stories of partition which finally made me realise how those who have had absolutely no say in the decision were almost always the ones who were the most affected. The stories of partition can get repetitive but once we look minutely at our collective histories, we will find that our histories tend to repeat themselves in one way or another.
If life has taught me something in all the years I have spent on this planet, it is this – no matter how crucial facts are for understanding the consequences of a hasty decision, at the end of the day, what matters to a common person is if his/her family is safe or not. For a layperson who seeks to understand this bloody history of partition, facts are just illusions which keep him/her away from the real issue, that of the pain and losses of the partition.
A mother kills her own child because years after the partition of the Indian subcontinent, the government of both the countries decide to ‘restore’ the women of their countries, in most cases not even paying attention to what the concerned women wanted. A man kills seventeen members of his family because ultimately, honour means more to him (and probably to his family as well). A young girl goes from one house to another in search of the belongings of families who have left them behind. A married woman does not die even though she had jumped in a well to take her life because the well is full of human bodies and water in the well is not enough for her death. These are the stories of partition which finally made me realise how those who have had absolutely no say in the decision were almost always the ones who were the most affected. The stories of partition can get repetitive but once we look minutely at our collective histories, we will find that our histories tend to repeat themselves in one way or another.
August 14, 2016
A tale of trauma is the partition of India in 1947. “History of pain and anguish that dogged the lives”.
This book is an attempt to vocalize the pain, anguish, sense of loss and the ultimate silence that has captivated the life of mass. Women and children in particular became the “unwitting victim of the tussle for pretty power between the two countries".
The title of book is quite befitting. But chapters are structured in a bland manner. The insights and analysis presented in between the interview is mostly repetitive.
The centrepiece of book is the multiple interviews that Ms Urvashi has taken over the years. The horrendous crime that people did or faced and its consequences and ramifications which still loom in their life are well pointed out in each and every saga. “History does not give you leave to forget so easily”.
The insane govt policies and act is also mentioned in between. Like “Abducted Person Restoration and Recovery Act-" a male child under age 16 yrs or a female of whatever age..." females of any age then could be a abducted person but with male children the question of their being abducted ended at age 16,the age at which they presumably moved from being minors to major-could it be that those drafting felt that the age of 16 a young male was capable of deciding which identity he wanted to adopt where he wanted to live and belong and that women -no matter what age - were not similarly capable?”
So this is kind of Hard Read but also an Informative Read
This book is an attempt to vocalize the pain, anguish, sense of loss and the ultimate silence that has captivated the life of mass. Women and children in particular became the “unwitting victim of the tussle for pretty power between the two countries".
The title of book is quite befitting. But chapters are structured in a bland manner. The insights and analysis presented in between the interview is mostly repetitive.
The centrepiece of book is the multiple interviews that Ms Urvashi has taken over the years. The horrendous crime that people did or faced and its consequences and ramifications which still loom in their life are well pointed out in each and every saga. “History does not give you leave to forget so easily”.
The insane govt policies and act is also mentioned in between. Like “Abducted Person Restoration and Recovery Act-" a male child under age 16 yrs or a female of whatever age..." females of any age then could be a abducted person but with male children the question of their being abducted ended at age 16,the age at which they presumably moved from being minors to major-could it be that those drafting felt that the age of 16 a young male was capable of deciding which identity he wanted to adopt where he wanted to live and belong and that women -no matter what age - were not similarly capable?”
So this is kind of Hard Read but also an Informative Read
April 16, 2017
This is a fantastic, incredibly important work; a careful, detailed, & thoughtful collection of “truths” about the Partition of India and Pakistan in 1947.
This brilliant author continually tries to deconstruct; and does an admirable job of recognizing her own voice in what is written. Unlike many historians she realizes that there is nothing but relative truth. She has collected memories, with all of the pros and cons of those, told by people who survived this human catastrophe, along with enough didactic history to allow those (me) with inadequate knowledge of the standard history to understand.
Folks, as usual, all seemed to have a piece of the puzzle. From the standard ‘history’ we know that as independence neared, religious differences took on massive import, not previously as prominent and certainly not as divisive. Many ideas as to the cause of the severity of the hostilities, once Partition began, exist. One (Hindu) survivor told of the inequity in treatment of Muslims by Hindus and Sikhs in pre division Punjab, and felt that to be the cause of the violence and anger:
“How can it be that two people living in the same village and one treats the other with such respect and the other doesn’t even give him the consideration due to a dog! How can this be? They would call our mothers and sisters didi, they would refer to us as brothers, sisters, fathers and when we needed them they were always there to help. Yet when they came to our houses, we treated them so badly. This is really terrible. And this is the reason Pakistan was made.”
Interesting that of the many supposed catalysts for all of the violence, it was a Dalit (Harijan) woman, someone from a very marginal oppressed group, who spoke of how everyone used to live together in community, with intermarriage between Hindu and Muslim, friendships and celebrations all shared. She pointed out that this all changed because of the English. She was the only one who spoke of the divide and conquer tactic used to convince all that the (newly described) “other” was at fault for all problems, leading to enmity and hostility severe enough to require the English to govern. This point was not even hit upon by others as particularly important.
The English were, of course, aware of this etiologic tactic:
a woman who had not previously told her story - tells of an English deputy commissioner - well before partition - who was complaining about how Gandhi has:
“...given us a lot of trouble...we’ll leave because we have to, we’ll leave, but not before we have taught him a lesson. We’ll leave such a state of affairs that brother will fight brother, sister will fight sister, there will be killing and arson and rape… (it will be so bad that) he will raise his hands and plead with god to send us back…..take down the date...That will happen - and everyone will say Oh god, send them back…”
This is so familiar to me as it is just the reason given by many USAians for why the USA can’t leave the middle east - “they’ll just kill each other! It will be chaos! Civil war!’ Arrgghh.
Hundreds of thousands of women were abducted, raped, killed, sold. The inadequate effort afterwards, to find and return them to their families was sometimes resisted by the women themselves - who, by then, had married and had children with their abductors:
“They refused to go back. Impossible as it may seem, there were women who...had formed relationships with their abductors or with the men who bought them for a price. At first, I found this hard to believe, but there is a kind of twisted truth in it. One might almost say that for the majority of Indian women, marriage is like an abduction anyway, a violation, an assault, usually by an unknown man. Why then should this assault be any different? Simply because the man belonged to a different religion?”
One abducted woman said:
“Why are you particular to take me to India? What is left in me now of religion or chastity?”
These stolen /raped/abducted women who desired to stay on with their perp was a much discussed issue AFTER Partition - "How could MEN allow this state of affairs to continue?" (the men wondered). The women were forced back, meaning they were separated from their children the ‘illegitimate’ products of these unions. Everyone else could choose which country they wanted. Except these victimized women. Males under the age of 16 and women of any age were to be considered abducted and forced back to their families whether they wanted to go, or not. Guess females never grow up.
“The women had to be brought back, they had to be ‘purified’ ...Only then would moral order be restored and the nation made whole again, and only then, as the Organizer (a Hindu newspaper) points out again and again, would the emasculated, weakened manhood of the Hindu male be vindicated.”
Many children were left behind, abandoned, especially during the most chaotic, acrimonious days of transition:
“the important thing was to save themselves…”
I wonder if a belief in reincarnation made these atrocious, inhuman acts acceptable to those who perpetrated them? Well, hey - they may die now, but there are lots of other go-rounds to be had….?
Many women were slaughtered by their own family in the name of “purity”. One man had witnessed all the women in his family killed - beheaded or drowned:
“Even today when I remember it...I cry, it helps to lighten my heart. A father who kills his daughter, how much of a victim, how helpless he must be…”
Yes, you read that right - what a victim HE must be.
Help me, Durga. Innumerable women were slaughtered by their own family in the name of the men’s purity. Why & how is this even remotely ok? These men, these murderers - precious souls...are celebrated for their bravery. Annually. In places of worship.
How is this different than Guyana 1978? Why is Jonestown deemed collective craziness, and this mass murder is, uh, ‘culture’??
“...such acts are represented...as valorous acts, shorn of the violence, and indeed coercion, that must have sent so many women to their deaths.”
Along with carefully trying to understand and listen to the stories of women, often actively suppressed by the family, Ms. Butalia sought the stories of marginal groups. The Harijans, (aka Dalits, untouchables) didn’t consider themselves Hindu - or anything but Harijans. They had nothing to be looted, nothing to lose - which gave them a kind of immunity. Further, the work they did (cleaning toilets, dealing with dead bodies, sweeping…) was not work any other group wanted:
“And there was a bizarre kind of immunity that their work bestowed on them:...if you kill a landlord, another will come up in his place. But if you kill someone who cleans your toilets, it’s probably difficult to find a ready replacement.”
Soon, both countries were trying to force them to stay!
The most upsetting immunity to me, however, will always be the tacitly approved wholesale mass murder of women. i don’t know why i still find it astounding that women’s bodies, sexuality, even their children - still belong to men, in so much (the majority?) of the world. That hundreds of thousands can be slaughtered and no one found to be, or even THOUGHT to be, guilty. It was justifiable homicide - after all, they might otherwise be touched by a Muslim.
Ah, you say, but it’s their culture. So is the abuse of women all over the world; so is genital mutilation and female infanticide.
When i lived with the Acholi in northern Uganda i frequently argued with the local men (as they smoked, drank and played cards - doing NO work) about how unfair and cruel it was that women did ALL the work, did everything. i was told, usually with a smirk - “it’s our culture”. Gag me.
This brilliant author continually tries to deconstruct; and does an admirable job of recognizing her own voice in what is written. Unlike many historians she realizes that there is nothing but relative truth. She has collected memories, with all of the pros and cons of those, told by people who survived this human catastrophe, along with enough didactic history to allow those (me) with inadequate knowledge of the standard history to understand.
Folks, as usual, all seemed to have a piece of the puzzle. From the standard ‘history’ we know that as independence neared, religious differences took on massive import, not previously as prominent and certainly not as divisive. Many ideas as to the cause of the severity of the hostilities, once Partition began, exist. One (Hindu) survivor told of the inequity in treatment of Muslims by Hindus and Sikhs in pre division Punjab, and felt that to be the cause of the violence and anger:
“How can it be that two people living in the same village and one treats the other with such respect and the other doesn’t even give him the consideration due to a dog! How can this be? They would call our mothers and sisters didi, they would refer to us as brothers, sisters, fathers and when we needed them they were always there to help. Yet when they came to our houses, we treated them so badly. This is really terrible. And this is the reason Pakistan was made.”
Interesting that of the many supposed catalysts for all of the violence, it was a Dalit (Harijan) woman, someone from a very marginal oppressed group, who spoke of how everyone used to live together in community, with intermarriage between Hindu and Muslim, friendships and celebrations all shared. She pointed out that this all changed because of the English. She was the only one who spoke of the divide and conquer tactic used to convince all that the (newly described) “other” was at fault for all problems, leading to enmity and hostility severe enough to require the English to govern. This point was not even hit upon by others as particularly important.
The English were, of course, aware of this etiologic tactic:
a woman who had not previously told her story - tells of an English deputy commissioner - well before partition - who was complaining about how Gandhi has:
“...given us a lot of trouble...we’ll leave because we have to, we’ll leave, but not before we have taught him a lesson. We’ll leave such a state of affairs that brother will fight brother, sister will fight sister, there will be killing and arson and rape… (it will be so bad that) he will raise his hands and plead with god to send us back…..take down the date...That will happen - and everyone will say Oh god, send them back…”
This is so familiar to me as it is just the reason given by many USAians for why the USA can’t leave the middle east - “they’ll just kill each other! It will be chaos! Civil war!’ Arrgghh.
Hundreds of thousands of women were abducted, raped, killed, sold. The inadequate effort afterwards, to find and return them to their families was sometimes resisted by the women themselves - who, by then, had married and had children with their abductors:
“They refused to go back. Impossible as it may seem, there were women who...had formed relationships with their abductors or with the men who bought them for a price. At first, I found this hard to believe, but there is a kind of twisted truth in it. One might almost say that for the majority of Indian women, marriage is like an abduction anyway, a violation, an assault, usually by an unknown man. Why then should this assault be any different? Simply because the man belonged to a different religion?”
One abducted woman said:
“Why are you particular to take me to India? What is left in me now of religion or chastity?”
These stolen /raped/abducted women who desired to stay on with their perp was a much discussed issue AFTER Partition - "How could MEN allow this state of affairs to continue?" (the men wondered). The women were forced back, meaning they were separated from their children the ‘illegitimate’ products of these unions. Everyone else could choose which country they wanted. Except these victimized women. Males under the age of 16 and women of any age were to be considered abducted and forced back to their families whether they wanted to go, or not. Guess females never grow up.
“The women had to be brought back, they had to be ‘purified’ ...Only then would moral order be restored and the nation made whole again, and only then, as the Organizer (a Hindu newspaper) points out again and again, would the emasculated, weakened manhood of the Hindu male be vindicated.”
Many children were left behind, abandoned, especially during the most chaotic, acrimonious days of transition:
“the important thing was to save themselves…”
I wonder if a belief in reincarnation made these atrocious, inhuman acts acceptable to those who perpetrated them? Well, hey - they may die now, but there are lots of other go-rounds to be had….?
Many women were slaughtered by their own family in the name of “purity”. One man had witnessed all the women in his family killed - beheaded or drowned:
“Even today when I remember it...I cry, it helps to lighten my heart. A father who kills his daughter, how much of a victim, how helpless he must be…”
Yes, you read that right - what a victim HE must be.
Help me, Durga. Innumerable women were slaughtered by their own family in the name of the men’s purity. Why & how is this even remotely ok? These men, these murderers - precious souls...are celebrated for their bravery. Annually. In places of worship.
How is this different than Guyana 1978? Why is Jonestown deemed collective craziness, and this mass murder is, uh, ‘culture’??
“...such acts are represented...as valorous acts, shorn of the violence, and indeed coercion, that must have sent so many women to their deaths.”
Along with carefully trying to understand and listen to the stories of women, often actively suppressed by the family, Ms. Butalia sought the stories of marginal groups. The Harijans, (aka Dalits, untouchables) didn’t consider themselves Hindu - or anything but Harijans. They had nothing to be looted, nothing to lose - which gave them a kind of immunity. Further, the work they did (cleaning toilets, dealing with dead bodies, sweeping…) was not work any other group wanted:
“And there was a bizarre kind of immunity that their work bestowed on them:...if you kill a landlord, another will come up in his place. But if you kill someone who cleans your toilets, it’s probably difficult to find a ready replacement.”
Soon, both countries were trying to force them to stay!
The most upsetting immunity to me, however, will always be the tacitly approved wholesale mass murder of women. i don’t know why i still find it astounding that women’s bodies, sexuality, even their children - still belong to men, in so much (the majority?) of the world. That hundreds of thousands can be slaughtered and no one found to be, or even THOUGHT to be, guilty. It was justifiable homicide - after all, they might otherwise be touched by a Muslim.
Ah, you say, but it’s their culture. So is the abuse of women all over the world; so is genital mutilation and female infanticide.
When i lived with the Acholi in northern Uganda i frequently argued with the local men (as they smoked, drank and played cards - doing NO work) about how unfair and cruel it was that women did ALL the work, did everything. i was told, usually with a smirk - “it’s our culture”. Gag me.
May 23, 2020
3.5 stars
India's independence from British colonial rule has a fraught history, and while we celebrate the formation of two sovereign nations every August, there is an uneasy silence about the costs at which we obtained this freedom. Objective history calls this the Partition of India and Pakistan — a painful result of of high-level political developments that culminated in the severance of a nation into two in 1947; one that led to the largest mass migration in the history of the world. But what objective history seldom remembers, let alone acknowledges, is that the Partition was in fact a profound rupture in the lived experience of millions of people, a traumatic event full of rape, abduction, murder and loot on both sides that altered many lives and continues to affect them decades later. The actual memory of this 'division of hearts' is rendered private and shrouded in a shameful silence.
It is this silence that Urvashi Butalia attempts to uncover in her befittingly-named book: The Other Side of Silence brings ordinary people's voices, memories and lived-experience of the partition alongside the sanitised narratives of official, 'objective' history in an attempt to memorialise the human losses of the Partition. Focusing on experiences from Punjab, Butalia presents interviews and testimonies from victims and survivors of the Partition to uncover the private silences lost between public records of a conflicted division. An important aspect of this book's historiography is its acknowledgement of the selectivity of memory, both at the collective and individual level, where valour and martyrdom of those lost are remembered but the silences and violence perpetuated by each side repressed and forgotten.
The Other Side of Silence presents a sensitive exploration of hidden nuances and voices from the margins, especially with respect of the fate of women, whose bodies came to signify the 'honour' and 'purity' of religious communities in these violent times. Thus, many women became victims of rape, displacement, abduction, and murder during the Partition; often at the hands of members of their own family and community. Women's status during and after the partition became precarious, especially with regards to their forced restoration to 'original' families, a matter where their agency, trauma and safety were undermined in favour of an abstract idea of 'national honour'. Butalia thus talks to, and about, women who were 'martyred' by their own families; women who jumped into wells to save their honour; women who were forcibly separated from their families and children and whose identities were displaced time and again in the name of 'restoration'; and equally too the women who entered the public sphere through teaching and social work as a result of the partition.
In her tracing of women's history of the Partition, Butalia also uncovers the complicity of the newly-formed states in furthering their oppression, notably in terms of 'safaya' or illegal, but often forced, abortions. Patriarchal values and masculinity, especially in terms of the idea of 'honour' also emerge as oppressors, with women considered better — even heroic — when dead than when abducted or 'defiled'. In fact, Butalia's own notes and observations from the interviews reveal how these values continue to affect and silence women: interviews conducted with women in the presence of men were often silenced, rehearsed, hesitant or taken over — a phenomena also observed in other books attempting a historiography of women's experiences of war and conflict, such as Svetlana Alexievich's The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in World War II. Butalia's interviews also address the precarious condition of the children of Partition, whether abandoned, left behind or a result of mixed-blood, their memories from 1947 (many of those interviewed for this book were children at the time of the Partition),a nd their status in a post-Partition world.
The book also tackles the 'others' rendered invisible by the predominantly religious understanding of the conflict. For instance, the experience of Dalits and Christians were markedly different both at the individual and political level: considered 'inferior' or 'different' by both Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs, Dalits were often not targeted during Partition violence — indeed, some, such as the woman Butalia interviews, claim to have even benefitted from it — but were often (as in the case of Karachi) not allowed to migrate given the essential nature of their labours, or not accomodated in terms of relief. Meanwhile, many Christians were seen as 'neutral' others. Butalia's interviews also present a fascinating inquiry into the rigid Hindu notions of 'purity' — while one respondent called it the "reason why Pakistan was created," Butalia also notes that these presented a variable power dynamic in terms of rapes of Dalit and Muslim women. The Other Side of Silence also sheds light on another religious question, namely that of conversion, tracing too the experience of people such as the author's maternal uncle, who stayed behind in Pakistan and converted to Islam.
While many of these experiences and issues had been discussed or given space to in fiction from and about this period, Butalia's book lends them added weight by attaching real, lived experiences of people and contextualising them using official records. Given all this, The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India is an incredibly important book, a landmark in the field of partition studies, and a must-read for people in a subcontinent that continues to be haunted by the silences of this period.
India's independence from British colonial rule has a fraught history, and while we celebrate the formation of two sovereign nations every August, there is an uneasy silence about the costs at which we obtained this freedom. Objective history calls this the Partition of India and Pakistan — a painful result of of high-level political developments that culminated in the severance of a nation into two in 1947; one that led to the largest mass migration in the history of the world. But what objective history seldom remembers, let alone acknowledges, is that the Partition was in fact a profound rupture in the lived experience of millions of people, a traumatic event full of rape, abduction, murder and loot on both sides that altered many lives and continues to affect them decades later. The actual memory of this 'division of hearts' is rendered private and shrouded in a shameful silence.
It is this silence that Urvashi Butalia attempts to uncover in her befittingly-named book: The Other Side of Silence brings ordinary people's voices, memories and lived-experience of the partition alongside the sanitised narratives of official, 'objective' history in an attempt to memorialise the human losses of the Partition. Focusing on experiences from Punjab, Butalia presents interviews and testimonies from victims and survivors of the Partition to uncover the private silences lost between public records of a conflicted division. An important aspect of this book's historiography is its acknowledgement of the selectivity of memory, both at the collective and individual level, where valour and martyrdom of those lost are remembered but the silences and violence perpetuated by each side repressed and forgotten.
The Other Side of Silence presents a sensitive exploration of hidden nuances and voices from the margins, especially with respect of the fate of women, whose bodies came to signify the 'honour' and 'purity' of religious communities in these violent times. Thus, many women became victims of rape, displacement, abduction, and murder during the Partition; often at the hands of members of their own family and community. Women's status during and after the partition became precarious, especially with regards to their forced restoration to 'original' families, a matter where their agency, trauma and safety were undermined in favour of an abstract idea of 'national honour'. Butalia thus talks to, and about, women who were 'martyred' by their own families; women who jumped into wells to save their honour; women who were forcibly separated from their families and children and whose identities were displaced time and again in the name of 'restoration'; and equally too the women who entered the public sphere through teaching and social work as a result of the partition.
In her tracing of women's history of the Partition, Butalia also uncovers the complicity of the newly-formed states in furthering their oppression, notably in terms of 'safaya' or illegal, but often forced, abortions. Patriarchal values and masculinity, especially in terms of the idea of 'honour' also emerge as oppressors, with women considered better — even heroic — when dead than when abducted or 'defiled'. In fact, Butalia's own notes and observations from the interviews reveal how these values continue to affect and silence women: interviews conducted with women in the presence of men were often silenced, rehearsed, hesitant or taken over — a phenomena also observed in other books attempting a historiography of women's experiences of war and conflict, such as Svetlana Alexievich's The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in World War II. Butalia's interviews also address the precarious condition of the children of Partition, whether abandoned, left behind or a result of mixed-blood, their memories from 1947 (many of those interviewed for this book were children at the time of the Partition),a nd their status in a post-Partition world.
The book also tackles the 'others' rendered invisible by the predominantly religious understanding of the conflict. For instance, the experience of Dalits and Christians were markedly different both at the individual and political level: considered 'inferior' or 'different' by both Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs, Dalits were often not targeted during Partition violence — indeed, some, such as the woman Butalia interviews, claim to have even benefitted from it — but were often (as in the case of Karachi) not allowed to migrate given the essential nature of their labours, or not accomodated in terms of relief. Meanwhile, many Christians were seen as 'neutral' others. Butalia's interviews also present a fascinating inquiry into the rigid Hindu notions of 'purity' — while one respondent called it the "reason why Pakistan was created," Butalia also notes that these presented a variable power dynamic in terms of rapes of Dalit and Muslim women. The Other Side of Silence also sheds light on another religious question, namely that of conversion, tracing too the experience of people such as the author's maternal uncle, who stayed behind in Pakistan and converted to Islam.
While many of these experiences and issues had been discussed or given space to in fiction from and about this period, Butalia's book lends them added weight by attaching real, lived experiences of people and contextualising them using official records. Given all this, The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India is an incredibly important book, a landmark in the field of partition studies, and a must-read for people in a subcontinent that continues to be haunted by the silences of this period.
July 10, 2010
This book was something every Punjabi to read. Although the author admits her stories are from one side due to restrictions, both sides can relate. She has done an amazing job of putting history in a different light. This is a subject those lived through are reluctant to talk about but we must learn from it. There are parts of this book that made me gasp out loud. That is something I've never done ever reading hundreds of books. The horrors of humanity in the largest mass human exodus of history is astonishing. And that this can happen to any group anywhere at anytime is scary.
May 31, 2022
“When I began work on Partition, I had little idea of what I would learn. In many ways I began as an innocent: someone familiar with the ‘history’ of the event — as many Indians are who have to study ‘modern history’ at school — and someone who had grown up on stories of it, stories that somehow did not match what we learnt at school, stories that, perhaps because of that, we discounted. When, after 1984, I began to ‘hear’ these stories, to pay attention to them, my first feeling was of anger. Why had the history of Partition been so lacking in describing how Partition had impacted on the lives of ordinary people, what it had actually meant to them? Why had historians not even attempted to explore what I saw as the ‘underside’ of this history — the feelings, the emotions, the pain and anguish, the trauma, the sense of loss, the silences in which it lay shrouded? Was this just historiographical neglect or something deeper — a refusal, on the part of historians to face up to a trauma so riven with pain and grief, that there needed to be some distance before they could confront it?...”
From the birth of the nations, communal riots flared up from the inaccessible villages to the cities.
Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs slaughtered each other by stopping trains to and from India and Pakistan and slitting the throats of the passengers.
They raped women and murdered children in the fields. Property was seized from migrating groups. Civil tension continued mounting for several months.
More than 75,000 women were raped, kidnapped, abducted, compulsorily impregnated by men of the “other” religion, thousands of families were ripped apart, and homes burnt down, villages abandoned.
Some women were so embarrassed of the sexual humiliation that they refused to return home.
The destruction of families through murder, suicide, broken women, and kidnappings caused dreadful Post-Partition trauma.
Urvashi Butalia writes, “Refugee camps became part of the landscape of most major cities in the north, but, a half century later, there is no memorial, no memory, no recall, except what is guarded, and now rapidly dying, in fantilies and collective memories.”
The focal point of this passage is the women who were forgotten. The ignoring of women’s donations to independence in the form of their memories indicates the discrepancy of treatment.
Moreover, the communal revulsion is difficult to pinpoint: was it rooted in a British misinformation that turned the South Asians against each other or a consequence of the existing nervousness between the native groups.
Indians who had only one month earlier been chanting, “Hindu, Muslim, Bhai, Bhai” as slogans were then using slurs to address one and other. Entire generations of interconnectedness among differing religions groups were shattered in a matter ofweeks or even days….
Butalia points out: The alteration of the “other” from a human being to the enemy, a thing to be destroyed before it destroyed you, became the all-important imperative. Feelings, other than hate, indifference, loathing, had no place here. Later, they would come back to haunt those who had participated in violence, or remained indifferent to its happening….
She divides her book into eight chapters:
1. Beginnings
2. Blood
3. ‘Facts’
4. Women
5. ‘Honour’
6. Children
7. ‘Margins’
8. Memory
The heart of the matter is not determining what groups created such and such a situation because in actuality, all sides contributed to the physical, emotional, and sexual violence.
The emphasis should be on how the groups can learn to reconcile with each other. The purpose of this book can be seen as a model in studying the steps in conflict resolution because accusations, threats, insecurities, and fears are prevalent among those that were and continue to be traumatized by the events surrounding the independence movement.
One can never be closer to the mark than the subsequent lines of the author –
‘Perhaps the most difficult part of an exercise such as this is how to bring it to a close. What can I say about Partition that can adequately serve as a conclusion? That it was an event of major importance? That it touched people’s lives in unprecedented, and very deep ways? That its influence on the history of the subcontinent has been profound and far reaching? All of these are correct. But none of these is adequate. There is so much that remains to be learnt about Partition, that an exercise such as the one I have attempted must necessarily only remain a first step in our knowledge of this history…’
A must read for every student of modern Indian history.
From the birth of the nations, communal riots flared up from the inaccessible villages to the cities.
Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs slaughtered each other by stopping trains to and from India and Pakistan and slitting the throats of the passengers.
They raped women and murdered children in the fields. Property was seized from migrating groups. Civil tension continued mounting for several months.
More than 75,000 women were raped, kidnapped, abducted, compulsorily impregnated by men of the “other” religion, thousands of families were ripped apart, and homes burnt down, villages abandoned.
Some women were so embarrassed of the sexual humiliation that they refused to return home.
The destruction of families through murder, suicide, broken women, and kidnappings caused dreadful Post-Partition trauma.
Urvashi Butalia writes, “Refugee camps became part of the landscape of most major cities in the north, but, a half century later, there is no memorial, no memory, no recall, except what is guarded, and now rapidly dying, in fantilies and collective memories.”
The focal point of this passage is the women who were forgotten. The ignoring of women’s donations to independence in the form of their memories indicates the discrepancy of treatment.
Moreover, the communal revulsion is difficult to pinpoint: was it rooted in a British misinformation that turned the South Asians against each other or a consequence of the existing nervousness between the native groups.
Indians who had only one month earlier been chanting, “Hindu, Muslim, Bhai, Bhai” as slogans were then using slurs to address one and other. Entire generations of interconnectedness among differing religions groups were shattered in a matter ofweeks or even days….
Butalia points out: The alteration of the “other” from a human being to the enemy, a thing to be destroyed before it destroyed you, became the all-important imperative. Feelings, other than hate, indifference, loathing, had no place here. Later, they would come back to haunt those who had participated in violence, or remained indifferent to its happening….
She divides her book into eight chapters:
1. Beginnings
2. Blood
3. ‘Facts’
4. Women
5. ‘Honour’
6. Children
7. ‘Margins’
8. Memory
The heart of the matter is not determining what groups created such and such a situation because in actuality, all sides contributed to the physical, emotional, and sexual violence.
The emphasis should be on how the groups can learn to reconcile with each other. The purpose of this book can be seen as a model in studying the steps in conflict resolution because accusations, threats, insecurities, and fears are prevalent among those that were and continue to be traumatized by the events surrounding the independence movement.
One can never be closer to the mark than the subsequent lines of the author –
‘Perhaps the most difficult part of an exercise such as this is how to bring it to a close. What can I say about Partition that can adequately serve as a conclusion? That it was an event of major importance? That it touched people’s lives in unprecedented, and very deep ways? That its influence on the history of the subcontinent has been profound and far reaching? All of these are correct. But none of these is adequate. There is so much that remains to be learnt about Partition, that an exercise such as the one I have attempted must necessarily only remain a first step in our knowledge of this history…’
A must read for every student of modern Indian history.
June 23, 2021
It is considered the first published work on Oral History in the context of partition. I appreciate her endeavors, original stories from the survivors were very much needed, but we just don’t go there and start asking questions and recording what they are saying, there are proper protocols that should be followed which Urvashi Butalia did not follow by the way.
The first and foremost thing, an oral historian must take into account for precise research is specificity. They should consider interviewing a small part of the population, narrow it down to a minimal very specific standard and then start looking for those people. For example, Urvashi Butalia narrow down her research on women, and as she is the first one to do oral history research on Partition she can have a general woman in her book, but still, when we go through the book we see it is not very well organized, if she had taken this very first protocol of specificity into account it could have been easier for her to organize it. Though she is not to blame as she acknowledged that she did not have chapters in her mind while taking interviews (Butalia, 19) and plus it was not in her mind that she will publish a book on it, it was later that the idea revealed on her (Butalia, 22-23). Nonetheless, I stand with my point oral historians must narrow down their research so they can focus on one thing and some other historians focus on some other aspect of it, that way we can have a strong counter-narrative. After the specificity, the challenging thing for oral historians is to find these people because after years they can be dead. Thirdly, it is consent (which I am sure Urvashi Butalia has done).
Now when everything is recorded the oral historian has to evaluate what interviewees have said. They can change narratives, project their ideas, put their biases forward, I am not saying they will do it intentionally, which no doubt they can, but they can also do it unintentionally. These things, which are related to one’s personal experiences they store in episodic memory which is obviously different from one from the other, people can forget things, mix things, and put themselves in situations in which they were never in. Melanie Mignucci (The mind, Explained) told that when 9/11 happened she saw smoke from her school’s windows. When actually the smoke was blowing in the opposite direction to her school. It could be that she later saw the smoke on television and imagined and confused two realities together and made a new one. Similarly, those who are recalling their stories to the oral historians they can do these kinds of things. Moreover, while recalling, reflecting back on their lives, it can be hard for them to relive that experience which they were trying to forget but could not. And when it is recorded in the archives and as oral histories, it can never be healed afterward it is always open and now people, all over the world, would have access to it so which can make it more excruciating. Sometimes it can have an ameliorating effect but sometimes it cannot, it is a chance. Oral historians must consider these intricacies otherwise it would be another kind of vivisection – emotionally. The author has not done any of these things. She was enthusiastic enough to go into the field and ask questions but as an author of a book, she did not organize the stories for the readers. As a reader, I was so annoyed and irritated by the disorganization of the book.
The first and foremost thing, an oral historian must take into account for precise research is specificity. They should consider interviewing a small part of the population, narrow it down to a minimal very specific standard and then start looking for those people. For example, Urvashi Butalia narrow down her research on women, and as she is the first one to do oral history research on Partition she can have a general woman in her book, but still, when we go through the book we see it is not very well organized, if she had taken this very first protocol of specificity into account it could have been easier for her to organize it. Though she is not to blame as she acknowledged that she did not have chapters in her mind while taking interviews (Butalia, 19) and plus it was not in her mind that she will publish a book on it, it was later that the idea revealed on her (Butalia, 22-23). Nonetheless, I stand with my point oral historians must narrow down their research so they can focus on one thing and some other historians focus on some other aspect of it, that way we can have a strong counter-narrative. After the specificity, the challenging thing for oral historians is to find these people because after years they can be dead. Thirdly, it is consent (which I am sure Urvashi Butalia has done).
Now when everything is recorded the oral historian has to evaluate what interviewees have said. They can change narratives, project their ideas, put their biases forward, I am not saying they will do it intentionally, which no doubt they can, but they can also do it unintentionally. These things, which are related to one’s personal experiences they store in episodic memory which is obviously different from one from the other, people can forget things, mix things, and put themselves in situations in which they were never in. Melanie Mignucci (The mind, Explained) told that when 9/11 happened she saw smoke from her school’s windows. When actually the smoke was blowing in the opposite direction to her school. It could be that she later saw the smoke on television and imagined and confused two realities together and made a new one. Similarly, those who are recalling their stories to the oral historians they can do these kinds of things. Moreover, while recalling, reflecting back on their lives, it can be hard for them to relive that experience which they were trying to forget but could not. And when it is recorded in the archives and as oral histories, it can never be healed afterward it is always open and now people, all over the world, would have access to it so which can make it more excruciating. Sometimes it can have an ameliorating effect but sometimes it cannot, it is a chance. Oral historians must consider these intricacies otherwise it would be another kind of vivisection – emotionally. The author has not done any of these things. She was enthusiastic enough to go into the field and ask questions but as an author of a book, she did not organize the stories for the readers. As a reader, I was so annoyed and irritated by the disorganization of the book.
May 15, 2021
3.5 stars ✨
.
.
"𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮, 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙤𝙙𝙪𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚."
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 ( 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘢) : 𝙐𝙧𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝘽𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙖
A truly different perspective and eminent work on oral history of partition, 1947. Butalia's book centers around almost decade-long meticulous interviews, records and research, actively seeking to hear voices of the silenced.
The narration and description of partition, which we know (mainly through textbooks)
are those which deal with political facts of history with Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Jinnah, etc..as the key players.
Human-dimensions of the event are given (comparatively) a lesser status than all the historical facts. Urvashi Butalia did an excellent study and published her book in 1998, which is divided into several parts, dealing with issues like the hardship and trauma women had to face during partition and even in rescue-rehabilitation. The lack of acceptance of mixed borns (Children from Indian father-Pakistani mother/ Pakistani father-Indian mother).
And the topic which shook me a bit, is of the 'other caste' or the 'minorities', whose struggles were a bit different from that of the (mainly discussed classes) Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs.
Partition of the erstwhile British India into India and Pakistan is clearly a 'dark' side of Independence and it's reminiscence is still relevant today since the bitter legacy of this colossal tragedy still overshadows both the countries, even after seven decades.
Overall, the writer does a great work in narrating the interviews, almost unaltered. The stories of both the victims and the assailants arouses a sense a doubt on humanity, idealistic ways of governance and leaders, who handle such a crucial situation and even our own ancestors, may be.
And the biggest question: Has anything actually changed? How far have we come in these seven decades? And where do we stand now, as a secular nation?
.
.
"𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮, 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙤𝙙𝙪𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚."
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 ( 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘢) : 𝙐𝙧𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝘽𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙖
A truly different perspective and eminent work on oral history of partition, 1947. Butalia's book centers around almost decade-long meticulous interviews, records and research, actively seeking to hear voices of the silenced.
The narration and description of partition, which we know (mainly through textbooks)
are those which deal with political facts of history with Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Jinnah, etc..as the key players.
Human-dimensions of the event are given (comparatively) a lesser status than all the historical facts. Urvashi Butalia did an excellent study and published her book in 1998, which is divided into several parts, dealing with issues like the hardship and trauma women had to face during partition and even in rescue-rehabilitation. The lack of acceptance of mixed borns (Children from Indian father-Pakistani mother/ Pakistani father-Indian mother).
And the topic which shook me a bit, is of the 'other caste' or the 'minorities', whose struggles were a bit different from that of the (mainly discussed classes) Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs.
Partition of the erstwhile British India into India and Pakistan is clearly a 'dark' side of Independence and it's reminiscence is still relevant today since the bitter legacy of this colossal tragedy still overshadows both the countries, even after seven decades.
Overall, the writer does a great work in narrating the interviews, almost unaltered. The stories of both the victims and the assailants arouses a sense a doubt on humanity, idealistic ways of governance and leaders, who handle such a crucial situation and even our own ancestors, may be.
And the biggest question: Has anything actually changed? How far have we come in these seven decades? And where do we stand now, as a secular nation?
January 27, 2022
Whenever I read about partition, it always makes me question my prior knowledge about the event and this book by Urvashi has also been the same experience with me. A big positive of this book is that it is not written in the limitations of academic discourse which helps us to look at the subject in many different directions. Urvashi herself is born in a migrant family and discuses her story regarding partition and how it shaped her and her family which was divided during partition. The identity of homeland or "watan" as Urvashi describes was very different for different people. For her mother, Pakistan became the lost home and for her uncle, India, a place where he never went became the idea of home.
Urvashi doesn't restrict herself to her family but also does an enormous research travelling to Punjab in India and Pakistan and collecting stories about partition victims who mostly were women and children. She talks extensively about the violence and it's religious undertones which were again defined by class and caste. She states that Dalits were not affected by violence as they neither identified themselves as Hindu or Muslim. It made me question my preconceived notions regarding partition.
When you closely read the book, you do notice that women and children belonging to Hindu and Sikh community were the most affected as many killed themselves than being raped or abducted by Muslims. However, I also felt that there is a slight overtone of biasness in the writing when Urvashi uses "the other religion" instead of explicitly stating "Muslims." But this no way disregards the effort and level of writing by Urvashi. The plight of many villages like Thoa Khalsa in Rawalpindi echo throughout the book and it was really good to read the first hand accounts of many people who were affected by partition. I would suggest everyone to read this book, you will have a lot to takeaway from this.
Urvashi doesn't restrict herself to her family but also does an enormous research travelling to Punjab in India and Pakistan and collecting stories about partition victims who mostly were women and children. She talks extensively about the violence and it's religious undertones which were again defined by class and caste. She states that Dalits were not affected by violence as they neither identified themselves as Hindu or Muslim. It made me question my preconceived notions regarding partition.
When you closely read the book, you do notice that women and children belonging to Hindu and Sikh community were the most affected as many killed themselves than being raped or abducted by Muslims. However, I also felt that there is a slight overtone of biasness in the writing when Urvashi uses "the other religion" instead of explicitly stating "Muslims." But this no way disregards the effort and level of writing by Urvashi. The plight of many villages like Thoa Khalsa in Rawalpindi echo throughout the book and it was really good to read the first hand accounts of many people who were affected by partition. I would suggest everyone to read this book, you will have a lot to takeaway from this.
December 4, 2014
This is a tough one to write. The complexity lies in the method I have to take to analyze the book.
As a whole, the book written with the aim to discuss the true stories of partition elicited by careful interviews nails it down. If you read it with a clear mind, it will make itself heard. It managed to shake me well.
But then there's the problem that the author can't write well. Her structuring is disappointing to the level where I almost wanted to scream at her. She narrates the entire chapter using, and often quoting, pieces from relevant interviews, and then inserts the interviews at the end promising new insights.
As she asserted many times throughout the book, it is not about facts, but about how the victims of the partition of India went about it. The book wants to reach out and make sure we remember.
Mainly, the book wants to make known the atrocities that the women were made to go through. While you would find it hard to believe that such events took place, you would also see no other way out. Which is shameful and exactly how the author wants us to feel.
I don't like feminists mainly because they're confused within themselves. They don't understand what they really want, and end up making absurd statements. But feminists like Urvashi Butalia are simple in their approach and understand how complex it is still. These are the kind of leaders women want.
Anyway, I found a new stepping stone to start with history. Nothing works better than understanding it through the voice of people who lived through it first. Technicality can always be found in reference books anyway!
The book is a light read in terms of language, but it might be heavy for an innocent heart. Tread carefully!
Cheers to reading!
As a whole, the book written with the aim to discuss the true stories of partition elicited by careful interviews nails it down. If you read it with a clear mind, it will make itself heard. It managed to shake me well.
But then there's the problem that the author can't write well. Her structuring is disappointing to the level where I almost wanted to scream at her. She narrates the entire chapter using, and often quoting, pieces from relevant interviews, and then inserts the interviews at the end promising new insights.
As she asserted many times throughout the book, it is not about facts, but about how the victims of the partition of India went about it. The book wants to reach out and make sure we remember.
Mainly, the book wants to make known the atrocities that the women were made to go through. While you would find it hard to believe that such events took place, you would also see no other way out. Which is shameful and exactly how the author wants us to feel.
I don't like feminists mainly because they're confused within themselves. They don't understand what they really want, and end up making absurd statements. But feminists like Urvashi Butalia are simple in their approach and understand how complex it is still. These are the kind of leaders women want.
Anyway, I found a new stepping stone to start with history. Nothing works better than understanding it through the voice of people who lived through it first. Technicality can always be found in reference books anyway!
The book is a light read in terms of language, but it might be heavy for an innocent heart. Tread carefully!
Cheers to reading!
February 1, 2022
this needs to be an essential read in the study of history.
June 8, 2021
இந்திய வரலாற்றில் நடந்த கொடூரமான நிகழ்வுகளை பட்டியலிட சொன்னால் இந்தியா-பாகிஸ்தான் பிரிவினையை தான் முதலில் சொல்வேன். அது வெறும் நிலத்தை மட்டும் சார்ந்த பிரிவினை போல் தான் வரலாறு காட்சிப்படுத்துகிறது. ஆனால் அந்த சமயத்தில் நடந்த கொடூரங்களை வாசிக்கும் போது நம்மை அறியாமல் ஒரு துன்பம்/சோகம் தொற்றிக்கொள்கிறது. இந்த புத்தகம் கிட்டத்தட்ட 3 மாதங்களாக படித்து இப்போது தான் முடித்தேன், காரணம் ஒரு கதையை விட்டு இயல்பாக அடுத்த பகுதிக்கு செல்ல முடியவில்லை. அது ஏற்படுத்தும் தாக்கம் அத்தகையதாக இருக்கிறது. இதற்கு முன் பிரிவினை பற்றி khushwant singh எழுதிய”Train to pakistan” புத்தகம் மற்றும் மண்டோவின்(Manto) சில கதைகள் இத்தகைய உணர்வை கொடுத்தது.
இந்தியா பாகிஸ்தான் எல்லைகள் மனித பிணங்களால் உருவாக்கப்பட்டது என்றே சொல்லலாம், அவை வெறும் கம்பி வேலிகள் போல் காட்சியளித்தாலும் அதன் பின் உள்ள வலிகளை 8 பகுதியில் கண்முன் கொண்டு நிறுத்துகிறார் Urvashi Butalia.
பிரிவினை பற்றிய வரலாற்றை அதனால் பாதிக்கப்பட்டவர்களின் நேர்காணல்கள் மூலமும், அவர்கள் கூறிய கதைகள் மூலமும் பதிவு செய்கிறார். மேலும் பிரிவினை என்றாலே அது இந்து- முஸ்லிம்-சீக்கியர் ஆகிய மதங்களுக்குள் சுருங்கிவிடும், ஆனால் இந்த புத்தகத்தில் பெண்கள், குழந்தைகள், தலித்துகள், கிறிஸ்தவர்கள் என வறியவர்கள் கதைகளையும் விளிம்புநிலை மக்களின் கதைகளையும் பதிவு செய்துள்ளார்.
பஞ்சாப் எல்லையில் நடந்த ஒரு நிகழ்வை நூலாசிரியர் இவ்வாறு பதிவு செய்கிறார்,”மேற்கு பஞ்சாப் பகுதியில் ஒரு எல்லை ஓர கிராமத்தில் பிரிவினை பற்றிய செய்தி வந்ததும் சீக்கியர்கள் மீது தாக்குதல் நடத்தப்பட்டது, பல சீக்கியர்கள் கொல்லப்பட்டார்கள், அங்குள்ள ஒரு கிணற்றில் பெண்கள் வரிசையாக குதித்து மாண்டார்கள், காரணம் இஸ்லாமியர்களால் கடத்தி செல்லப்பட்டால் கௌரவம் கெட்டுவிடும் என்று.” அந்த கிணற்றில் குதித்து இடமில்லாமல் உயிர் பிழைத்த ஒரு சீக்கிய பெண் இவ்வாறு பதிவு செய்கிறார்.
மேலும் பிரிவினை சமயத்தில் கடத்தப்பட்ட பெண்களை மீட்கும் வகையில் இரண்டு நாட்டு அரசுகளும் ஒரு ஒப்��ந்தத்தை செய்துகொண்டார்கள், அதன் படி குறிப்பிட்ட காலத்தில் காணாமல் போன பெண்களை மீட்க ஒரு குழு அமைக்க படுகிறது. சில இடங்களில் கடத்தப்பட்ட பெண்கள் அங்கேயே இருக்க ஆசைப்பட்டாலும் வலுக்கட்டாயமாக அந்தந்த நாடுகளுக்கு அனுப்பி வைக்கப்படுகிறார்கள்(பிரிவினைக்கு பிறகு நடந்த பிரிவினை ). மேலும் அந்த பெண்கள் பிரிவினை சமயத்தில் கர்ப்பிணியாக இருக்கும் பட்சத்தில் குழந்தையை யாரிடம் ஒப்படைப்பது என்ற கேள்வியும் எழுகிறது, Constituent assembly விவாதங்களில் இது பேசப்படுகிறது. அப்போது சிலர் தாயிடம் இருக்க வேண்டும் என்று சொல்கிறார்கள், இன்னொரு தரப்பு ‘எப்படி ஒரு மதத்தை சேர்ந்த குழந்தையை அவர்கள் அனுமதிப்பார்கள் அவர்கள் அந்த குழந்தைகளை கொன்று போடுவதற்கு வாய்ப்பு அதிகம் எனவே அந்த குழந்தைகள் எல்லாம் தந்தையிடம் தான் ஒப்படைக்கப்பட வேண்டும்’ என்றும் சொல்கிறார்கள். இப்படி பல குழப்பமான முடிவுகளும் எடுக்கப்படுகிறது.
மேலும் பாகிஸ்தானில் இருந்து இந்தியா வந்த தலித்துகளுக்கு இருக்க இடம் கூட தரப்படவில்லை. அவர்களை அகதிகள் முகாமிலும் அனுமதிக்க படவில்லை. மேலும் நிலங்களை பகிர்ந்தளிக்கப்படும் சமயத்தில் அவர்களை அரசு கருத்தில் கொள்ளவில்லை, பிரிவினைக்கு மூலகாரணமே இந்தியாவில் உள்ள சாதி அமைப்புக்கு தான் என்று ராம் மனோகர் லோஹியா கூறுவார், பிரிவினையின் போதும் அதற்கு பிறகும் சாதியின் கொடூரத்தை அதிகம் தலித் மக்கள் தான் அனுபவித்தார்கள்.
இப்படி பல்வேறு உண்மை சம்பவங்கள் நூல் முழுக்க இடம்பெற்றுள்ளது, பல இடங்களில் மனம் சஞ்சலப்படும், சில இடங்களில் கண்ணில் நீர் ததும்பி அடங்கும், பிரிவினையில் இருந்து பாடம் கற்றோமா? என்றால் சந்தேகம் தான். அப்படி பாடம் கற்றிருந்தால் இந்நேரம் 1984 பஞ்சாப் கலவரம், 1992 பாபர் மசூதி இடிப்பும், 2002 குஜராத் கலவரமும் நடந்தேறி இருக்க வாய்ப்பில்லை, மேலும் மதவாத சக்திகள் ஆட்சியை பிடித்திருக்கவும் வாய்ப்பு குறைவு. பிரிவினையில் இருந்து நாம் இன்னும் பாடம் கற்கவில்லை.
லட்ச கணக்கில் மனித இடப்பெயர்வு நிகழ்ந்தது. வெறுப்பு வன்மம், பகை போன்ற மனித பண்புகள் உச்சத்தை அடைந்து உயிர்களை கொன்று குவித்த பிரிவினையின் வடுவை இந்தியா-பாகிஸ்தான் தங்களின் வரலாறு முழுமைக்கும் சுமக்கத்தான் வேண்டும் . அதிலிருந்து பாடம் கற்று திருந்தினாலொழிய வேறு வழியில்லை.
வாய்ப்புள்ள நண்பர்கள் அவசியம் வாசியுங்கள், பிரிவினையில் மக்கள் பட்ட கஷ்ட நஷ்டங்களை பற்றி தெரிந்து கொள்ள முக்கியமான புத்தகம்.
BOOK: The other side of silence- Voices from the partition of india
AUTHOR: Urvashi Butalia
#Do_read
இந்தியா பாகிஸ்தான் எல்லைகள் மனித பிணங்களால் உருவாக்கப்பட்டது என்றே சொல்லலாம், அவை வெறும் கம்பி வேலிகள் போல் காட்சியளித்தாலும் அதன் பின் உள்ள வலிகளை 8 பகுதியில் கண்முன் கொண்டு நிறுத்துகிறார் Urvashi Butalia.
பிரிவினை பற்றிய வரலாற்றை அதனால் பாதிக்கப்பட்டவர்களின் நேர்காணல்கள் மூலமும், அவர்கள் கூறிய கதைகள் மூலமும் பதிவு செய்கிறார். மேலும் பிரிவினை என்றாலே அது இந்து- முஸ்லிம்-சீக்கியர் ஆகிய மதங்களுக்குள் சுருங்கிவிடும், ஆனால் இந்த புத்தகத்தில் பெண்கள், குழந்தைகள், தலித்துகள், கிறிஸ்தவர்கள் என வறியவர்கள் கதைகளையும் விளிம்புநிலை மக்களின் கதைகளையும் பதிவு செய்துள்ளார்.
பஞ்சாப் எல்லையில் நடந்த ஒரு நிகழ்வை நூலாசிரியர் இவ்வாறு பதிவு செய்கிறார்,”மேற்கு பஞ்சாப் பகுதியில் ஒரு எல்லை ஓர கிராமத்தில் பிரிவினை பற்றிய செய்தி வந்ததும் சீக்கியர்கள் மீது தாக்குதல் நடத்தப்பட்டது, பல சீக்கியர்கள் கொல்லப்பட்டார்கள், அங்குள்ள ஒரு கிணற்றில் பெண்கள் வரிசையாக குதித்து மாண்டார்கள், காரணம் இஸ்லாமியர்களால் கடத்தி செல்லப்பட்டால் கௌரவம் கெட்டுவிடும் என்று.” அந்த கிணற்றில் குதித்து இடமில்லாமல் உயிர் பிழைத்த ஒரு சீக்கிய பெண் இவ்வாறு பதிவு செய்கிறார்.
மேலும் பிரிவினை சமயத்தில் கடத்தப்பட்ட பெண்களை மீட்கும் வகையில் இரண்டு நாட்டு அரசுகளும் ஒரு ஒப்��ந்தத்தை செய்துகொண்டார்கள், அதன் படி குறிப்பிட்ட காலத்தில் காணாமல் போன பெண்களை மீட்க ஒரு குழு அமைக்க படுகிறது. சில இடங்களில் கடத்தப்பட்ட பெண்கள் அங்கேயே இருக்க ஆசைப்பட்டாலும் வலுக்கட்டாயமாக அந்தந்த நாடுகளுக்கு அனுப்பி வைக்கப்படுகிறார்கள்(பிரிவினைக்கு பிறகு நடந்த பிரிவினை ). மேலும் அந்த பெண்கள் பிரிவினை சமயத்தில் கர்ப்பிணியாக இருக்கும் பட்சத்தில் குழந்தையை யாரிடம் ஒப்படைப்பது என்ற கேள்வியும் எழுகிறது, Constituent assembly விவாதங்களில் இது பேசப்படுகிறது. அப்போது சிலர் தாயிடம் இருக்க வேண்டும் என்று சொல்கிறார்கள், இன்னொரு தரப்பு ‘எப்படி ஒரு மதத்தை சேர்ந்த குழந்தையை அவர்கள் அனுமதிப்பார்கள் அவர்கள் அந்த குழந்தைகளை கொன்று போடுவதற்கு வாய்ப்பு அதிகம் எனவே அந்த குழந்தைகள் எல்லாம் தந்தையிடம் தான் ஒப்படைக்கப்பட வேண்டும்’ என்றும் சொல்கிறார்கள். இப்படி பல குழப்பமான முடிவுகளும் எடுக்கப்படுகிறது.
மேலும் பாகிஸ்தானில் இருந்து இந்தியா வந்த தலித்துகளுக்கு இருக்க இடம் கூட தரப்படவில்லை. அவர்களை அகதிகள் முகாமிலும் அனுமதிக்க படவில்லை. மேலும் நிலங்களை பகிர்ந்தளிக்கப்படும் சமயத்தில் அவர்களை அரசு கருத்தில் கொள்ளவில்லை, பிரிவினைக்கு மூலகாரணமே இந்தியாவில் உள்ள சாதி அமைப்புக்கு தான் என்று ராம் மனோகர் லோஹியா கூறுவார், பிரிவினையின் போதும் அதற்கு பிறகும் சாதியின் கொடூரத்தை அதிகம் தலித் மக்கள் தான் அனுபவித்தார்கள்.
இப்படி பல்வேறு உண்மை சம்பவங்கள் நூல் முழுக்க இடம்பெற்றுள்ளது, பல இடங்களில் மனம் சஞ்சலப்படும், சில இடங்களில் கண்ணில் நீர் ததும்பி அடங்கும், பிரிவினையில் இருந்து பாடம் கற்றோமா? என்றால் சந்தேகம் தான். அப்படி பாடம் கற்றிருந்தால் இந்நேரம் 1984 பஞ்சாப் கலவரம், 1992 பாபர் மசூதி இடிப்பும், 2002 குஜராத் கலவரமும் நடந்தேறி இருக்க வாய்ப்பில்லை, மேலும் மதவாத சக்திகள் ஆட்சியை பிடித்திருக்கவும் வாய்ப்பு குறைவு. பிரிவினையில் இருந்து நாம் இன்னும் பாடம் கற்கவில்லை.
லட்ச கணக்கில் மனித இடப்பெயர்வு நிகழ்ந்தது. வெறுப்பு வன்மம், பகை போன்ற மனித பண்புகள் உச்சத்தை அடைந்து உயிர்களை கொன்று குவித்த பிரிவினையின் வடுவை இந்தியா-பாகிஸ்தான் தங்களின் வரலாறு முழுமைக்கும் சுமக்கத்தான் வேண்டும் . அதிலிருந்து பாடம் கற்று திருந்தினாலொழிய வேறு வழியில்லை.
வாய்ப்புள்ள நண்பர்கள் அவசியம் வாசியுங்கள், பிரிவினையில் மக்கள் பட்ட கஷ்ட நஷ்டங்களை பற்றி தெரிந்து கொள்ள முக்கியமான புத்தகம்.
BOOK: The other side of silence- Voices from the partition of india
AUTHOR: Urvashi Butalia
#Do_read
December 24, 2022
75 years after Partition, Geetanjali Shree's Tomb of Sand became the first novel translated from an Indian language to win the International Booker Prize. As I wrote in my review, the novel made the unthinkable thinkable: that the silence of the millions of women who lost their properties, families, lives, and voices to Partition is finally, albeit partially, making noises and, with that, putting into question our assumption that only those who speak legible words have agency.
This remarkable way of writing - a door that loyally remembers despite the shifts of property ownership, crows that observe and communicate, a shape-shifting grandma who arises from silence and death to speech and life, and a hijra who leads a life that transgresses gender and political boundaries - according to Shree herself was inspired by Toni Morrison's Beloved. Tomb of Sand connects the fates of women from the Indian Subcontinent in the 20th century to the plantations in the American South in the 19th century, and farther back to the trans-Atlantic Middle Passage and many more sites of mass displacement and extermination of racialized lives. What these literatures have in common that neither scholarly writings nor authorized archives share is the ability to raise the dead from "a seemingly inarticulate but populated place." They contest the assumed polarity between speech and silence, remembering and forgetting, agency and complicity, and choice and coercion. Such is a creative intellectual work that Sharon Patricia Holland calls "figurative enterprise." It uses the "'fantastic' to comment on the experience of 'being' marginal to the historical record of a culture that refuses to recognize difference as its own creation." With the acquired "agency of physical bodies," the dead are able to "tell a story of death-in-life," without further subjugation to ideological and religious expropriation.
The way that Tomb of Sand restored the silenced voices/noises of Partition victims and survivors with what Saidiya Hartman would call "critical fabulations" led me to an earlier feminist investigation of Partition - though more precisely, the silence of it that is known but unacknowledged. In the 1990s, Urvashi Butalia dug into her own family history during and after Partition and found herself dealing not just with what the existing archives and living family members would say, but more crucially, with the silent cracks they left between their words. At first, she wanted to locate a maternal uncle, the only member in her mother's family who refused to leave Pakistan for India with motivations that others suspected to be bound to property inheritance. But as soon as the family reunion revealed that there was much more history and emotion in the silence the family had kept for decades than were spoken words ever able to hold, Butalia embarked on a long journey to recovering what was barely documented: the chaotic lived experiences of Partition by women, children, and the scheduled caste (Harijans, also known as the "untouchables"). Their voices were either completely silenced or lost as a result of their death, or significantly mediated through other authorities of explanation and remembrance: older males in the family, intellectuals of higher class and caste, and regional and state officials. This led Butalia to question the reliability and priorities of archived and audible memories that dictate what cannot be known by those who come later.
She (and myself as well) was interested in re-examining Partition not so much in the historical details, but through the lens of gendered memory - and the suppression and management of it - as cumulative building blocks of social reality, of history. The questions she was concerned with were less about what had happened, how the idea of Partition was conceived, and how different political forces enacted it. Rather, she was more interested in how the "facts" of the violence have been treated and given social meanings, how "violence" was exercised and interpreted, whether victimhood and agency intertwined, how lives and relationships are (re)constructed on the ruins of Partition, and how identities are (re)adjusted to the new boundaries that had crossed (out) millions of lives. These concerns lie in the center of feminist historiography that focuses on the stakes of power to which remembrance subscribes. Recognizing the cumulative nature of history, feminist historiography redirects the investigation to the researchers, archivists, and the general public to ask whether we can be certain that we know how to listen. In historical moments like Partition that leave behind profound trauma, silence can also speak volume. Now the questions have become: how does one restore voices that had not sounded ever or without ideological filters? What is the meaning of raking these memories out of where they were/are buried after all these years, if not to reinforce the state-imposed rationale of separation and ruling? What can we do with archive without being attached to what it has to tell (and hide)? And lastly, what and whose future(s) do we want memory to serve?
Widely regarded as the dark side of independence, Partition created two countries and tied them together with "fierce hatred and grudging interdependence." "Where to draw the line" to create a Muslim-majority Pakistan was a fundamental question debated between the Congress and the Muslim League incited and overseen by the British empire. What seemed a self-evident superstructural reasoning of divide based on religious difference was nonetheless materialized in the very fabric of gendered social reproduction, ranging from everyday religious practices to marriage, childbirth, and (patrilineal) inheritance. What looked like an abstract line of ethno-religious grouping to fulfill the condition of so-called postcolonial self-governance nonetheless oversimplified and cut through the organic connections of human life made of private properties, relationships, and wombs. The realization from both sides of the key role that social reproduction played in nation-building led to some unsuccessful and highly controversial "welfare" programs for women. Under similar names of "recover," "restore," and "rescue," anti-abduction programs retrieved women from their current living conditions and sent them to the "right" place where awaited judgment of their mingling with the enemy ethnicity/religion by their "original" clan. Later, as a result of large numbers of women refusing to be "recovered," a space of "consent" was created between the "wrong" and "right" places of the "abducted" women's homes in the refugee camps where they had already been labeled as in need of salvation, a condition that left no room for free choice. Simultaneously on the ideological level, the feminization of the imagery of the Indian state fostered a wounded male pride associated with the violated body of the motherland. With women's bodies, the male-dominated nationalist campaign could assign violence and barbarism to the other while justifying and normalizing the violence that took place within the community.
What used to be a relatively organic harmony (not without friction) between the Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim communities burst into massacre and large-scale rape.
As much as the national border was drawn by the ruling class, it was imagined and materialized in the everyday. In this lived experience of border-making, no one was free of complicity, a key attribute of the difficulty of remembering Partition even 75 years later. Some of the harshest consequences fell on Punjab, India, now a state bordering Pakistan. Compelled mass migration turned the roads between Lahore and Rawalpindi on one side (Pakistan) and Amritsar, Jalandhar, and Delhi on the other (India) into deadly traffic. Fear of being contaminated by the other religion was responded to with violent acts of purification: women and children, considered as vulnerable to such irreversible pollution, were sacrificed (killed) by their own families or volunteered to take their own lives. In the latter case, was there only victimhood and no agency? If only victimhood was seen and readable, does this reading not deprive the women of their cultural identity as a priority over gender? Is putting gender before race/ethnicity and class an act of emancipation that benchmarks the embrace of universalism or one that doubles down on colonial way of knowing and speaking?
While women became the emptied canvas on whose body, living or dead, the state drew the blueprint of a bounded sovereignty, many an orphan became "a child of history, without a history." March 1, 1947 became the date that arbitrated the legal and illegal status of a child born to either an "abducted" mother or mixed-raced parents. The Partition children's citizenship turned out to be an even greater headache to policy-makers, for it was most likely that no social worker or government program could find their fathers and that their mothers were not qualified to fully represent citizenship/the nation-state because of their gender. "With Partition," Butalia wrote, "one part of the body of the nation was forever lost, effectively converted. But inside the bodies of women and children, the boundaries remained fluid." Suffice to say, it is in this permanent tension between fixation and fluidity by which Partition was characterized that Tomb of Sand sees and seizes the poetics of transgression of border, of raising the dead, of the ephemeral and inarticulate space (the sand) as vitally populated and monumental (the tomb). While the novel does not hope to annihilate the value of archives, it offers an effective way to accompany archival reading and to let the dead speak of their own memory, so that their foreclosed future is reopened as soon as their past is.
This remarkable way of writing - a door that loyally remembers despite the shifts of property ownership, crows that observe and communicate, a shape-shifting grandma who arises from silence and death to speech and life, and a hijra who leads a life that transgresses gender and political boundaries - according to Shree herself was inspired by Toni Morrison's Beloved. Tomb of Sand connects the fates of women from the Indian Subcontinent in the 20th century to the plantations in the American South in the 19th century, and farther back to the trans-Atlantic Middle Passage and many more sites of mass displacement and extermination of racialized lives. What these literatures have in common that neither scholarly writings nor authorized archives share is the ability to raise the dead from "a seemingly inarticulate but populated place." They contest the assumed polarity between speech and silence, remembering and forgetting, agency and complicity, and choice and coercion. Such is a creative intellectual work that Sharon Patricia Holland calls "figurative enterprise." It uses the "'fantastic' to comment on the experience of 'being' marginal to the historical record of a culture that refuses to recognize difference as its own creation." With the acquired "agency of physical bodies," the dead are able to "tell a story of death-in-life," without further subjugation to ideological and religious expropriation.
The way that Tomb of Sand restored the silenced voices/noises of Partition victims and survivors with what Saidiya Hartman would call "critical fabulations" led me to an earlier feminist investigation of Partition - though more precisely, the silence of it that is known but unacknowledged. In the 1990s, Urvashi Butalia dug into her own family history during and after Partition and found herself dealing not just with what the existing archives and living family members would say, but more crucially, with the silent cracks they left between their words. At first, she wanted to locate a maternal uncle, the only member in her mother's family who refused to leave Pakistan for India with motivations that others suspected to be bound to property inheritance. But as soon as the family reunion revealed that there was much more history and emotion in the silence the family had kept for decades than were spoken words ever able to hold, Butalia embarked on a long journey to recovering what was barely documented: the chaotic lived experiences of Partition by women, children, and the scheduled caste (Harijans, also known as the "untouchables"). Their voices were either completely silenced or lost as a result of their death, or significantly mediated through other authorities of explanation and remembrance: older males in the family, intellectuals of higher class and caste, and regional and state officials. This led Butalia to question the reliability and priorities of archived and audible memories that dictate what cannot be known by those who come later.
She (and myself as well) was interested in re-examining Partition not so much in the historical details, but through the lens of gendered memory - and the suppression and management of it - as cumulative building blocks of social reality, of history. The questions she was concerned with were less about what had happened, how the idea of Partition was conceived, and how different political forces enacted it. Rather, she was more interested in how the "facts" of the violence have been treated and given social meanings, how "violence" was exercised and interpreted, whether victimhood and agency intertwined, how lives and relationships are (re)constructed on the ruins of Partition, and how identities are (re)adjusted to the new boundaries that had crossed (out) millions of lives. These concerns lie in the center of feminist historiography that focuses on the stakes of power to which remembrance subscribes. Recognizing the cumulative nature of history, feminist historiography redirects the investigation to the researchers, archivists, and the general public to ask whether we can be certain that we know how to listen. In historical moments like Partition that leave behind profound trauma, silence can also speak volume. Now the questions have become: how does one restore voices that had not sounded ever or without ideological filters? What is the meaning of raking these memories out of where they were/are buried after all these years, if not to reinforce the state-imposed rationale of separation and ruling? What can we do with archive without being attached to what it has to tell (and hide)? And lastly, what and whose future(s) do we want memory to serve?
Widely regarded as the dark side of independence, Partition created two countries and tied them together with "fierce hatred and grudging interdependence." "Where to draw the line" to create a Muslim-majority Pakistan was a fundamental question debated between the Congress and the Muslim League incited and overseen by the British empire. What seemed a self-evident superstructural reasoning of divide based on religious difference was nonetheless materialized in the very fabric of gendered social reproduction, ranging from everyday religious practices to marriage, childbirth, and (patrilineal) inheritance. What looked like an abstract line of ethno-religious grouping to fulfill the condition of so-called postcolonial self-governance nonetheless oversimplified and cut through the organic connections of human life made of private properties, relationships, and wombs. The realization from both sides of the key role that social reproduction played in nation-building led to some unsuccessful and highly controversial "welfare" programs for women. Under similar names of "recover," "restore," and "rescue," anti-abduction programs retrieved women from their current living conditions and sent them to the "right" place where awaited judgment of their mingling with the enemy ethnicity/religion by their "original" clan. Later, as a result of large numbers of women refusing to be "recovered," a space of "consent" was created between the "wrong" and "right" places of the "abducted" women's homes in the refugee camps where they had already been labeled as in need of salvation, a condition that left no room for free choice. Simultaneously on the ideological level, the feminization of the imagery of the Indian state fostered a wounded male pride associated with the violated body of the motherland. With women's bodies, the male-dominated nationalist campaign could assign violence and barbarism to the other while justifying and normalizing the violence that took place within the community.
What used to be a relatively organic harmony (not without friction) between the Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim communities burst into massacre and large-scale rape.
As much as the national border was drawn by the ruling class, it was imagined and materialized in the everyday. In this lived experience of border-making, no one was free of complicity, a key attribute of the difficulty of remembering Partition even 75 years later. Some of the harshest consequences fell on Punjab, India, now a state bordering Pakistan. Compelled mass migration turned the roads between Lahore and Rawalpindi on one side (Pakistan) and Amritsar, Jalandhar, and Delhi on the other (India) into deadly traffic. Fear of being contaminated by the other religion was responded to with violent acts of purification: women and children, considered as vulnerable to such irreversible pollution, were sacrificed (killed) by their own families or volunteered to take their own lives. In the latter case, was there only victimhood and no agency? If only victimhood was seen and readable, does this reading not deprive the women of their cultural identity as a priority over gender? Is putting gender before race/ethnicity and class an act of emancipation that benchmarks the embrace of universalism or one that doubles down on colonial way of knowing and speaking?
While women became the emptied canvas on whose body, living or dead, the state drew the blueprint of a bounded sovereignty, many an orphan became "a child of history, without a history." March 1, 1947 became the date that arbitrated the legal and illegal status of a child born to either an "abducted" mother or mixed-raced parents. The Partition children's citizenship turned out to be an even greater headache to policy-makers, for it was most likely that no social worker or government program could find their fathers and that their mothers were not qualified to fully represent citizenship/the nation-state because of their gender. "With Partition," Butalia wrote, "one part of the body of the nation was forever lost, effectively converted. But inside the bodies of women and children, the boundaries remained fluid." Suffice to say, it is in this permanent tension between fixation and fluidity by which Partition was characterized that Tomb of Sand sees and seizes the poetics of transgression of border, of raising the dead, of the ephemeral and inarticulate space (the sand) as vitally populated and monumental (the tomb). While the novel does not hope to annihilate the value of archives, it offers an effective way to accompany archival reading and to let the dead speak of their own memory, so that their foreclosed future is reopened as soon as their past is.
December 11, 2015
Very moving accounts of people who'd struggled through the partition of India and Pakistan. But then . . . bad prose. Oh, and it needs an editor.
Now, the interviews of people who'd actually been there will move you and make you think beyond the contents of your history textbooks.
This book goes deep into the partition's consequences, the ones that we haven't been taught in high-school. Most of these accounts have been overlooked rather deliberately. Women were raped, children we beheaded, men were killed. Parents had to kill their own children and brothers and sisters. Women were persuaded to push themselves into wells and kill themselves. Children lost and never found. Wives lost and then found, only to see them settle with other men, under obligation. You'll find a lot of unsettling things, but these are true.
The author is admittedly a feminist and so more than half of the book deals with how women weren't cared about and played around with, even though it was women who made the most sacrifices. The war between Hindus and Muslims (and even Sikhs): you'll understand how much the beginning wars are relevant now.
These are the subjects that make the book readable. Yes, there I said it.The problems with the book isn't the content but the prose and structure.
The author's writing isn't clear. It's bad, the prose is just bad, so bad that it overshadows the first-hand accounts of people, which is what the book is about. Most sentences are just abstract words thrown between periods. Sentences are repeated all throughout the book, exact sentences. The author keeps saying the same things over and over again, as if the reader has problems registering the ideas in a single go. Usage is weak. And sentences are over-punctuated and under-edited. Seriously, this book can be half its size and still have the same effect.
The structure of the book is strange, too. Some accounts are repeated within a few pages. Some of the dialogues of the people should be cut because they have no effect as sentences, they're just redundant. The book looks like a first draft that took a long time to write.
And yes, one might say that since it's a non-fiction book, the prose-style doesn't really matter. But it does, because you still have to read the sentences to get the ideas and at least have a glimpse of what those people felt at the time. And if the prose is bad, it renders the recorded experiences weak. It's almost unfair. The writing is supposed to do justice to the pain and anguish, not debase it.
But yeah, this is a book all right if you're looking to expand your horizons on Indian history. You'll definitely think about the partition in more thoughtful ways than you did before. It's a different perspective than we've been conditioned to have. And let me tell you, it would behoove you to have that new outlook.
Now, the interviews of people who'd actually been there will move you and make you think beyond the contents of your history textbooks.
This book goes deep into the partition's consequences, the ones that we haven't been taught in high-school. Most of these accounts have been overlooked rather deliberately. Women were raped, children we beheaded, men were killed. Parents had to kill their own children and brothers and sisters. Women were persuaded to push themselves into wells and kill themselves. Children lost and never found. Wives lost and then found, only to see them settle with other men, under obligation. You'll find a lot of unsettling things, but these are true.
The author is admittedly a feminist and so more than half of the book deals with how women weren't cared about and played around with, even though it was women who made the most sacrifices. The war between Hindus and Muslims (and even Sikhs): you'll understand how much the beginning wars are relevant now.
These are the subjects that make the book readable. Yes, there I said it.The problems with the book isn't the content but the prose and structure.
The author's writing isn't clear. It's bad, the prose is just bad, so bad that it overshadows the first-hand accounts of people, which is what the book is about. Most sentences are just abstract words thrown between periods. Sentences are repeated all throughout the book, exact sentences. The author keeps saying the same things over and over again, as if the reader has problems registering the ideas in a single go. Usage is weak. And sentences are over-punctuated and under-edited. Seriously, this book can be half its size and still have the same effect.
The structure of the book is strange, too. Some accounts are repeated within a few pages. Some of the dialogues of the people should be cut because they have no effect as sentences, they're just redundant. The book looks like a first draft that took a long time to write.
And yes, one might say that since it's a non-fiction book, the prose-style doesn't really matter. But it does, because you still have to read the sentences to get the ideas and at least have a glimpse of what those people felt at the time. And if the prose is bad, it renders the recorded experiences weak. It's almost unfair. The writing is supposed to do justice to the pain and anguish, not debase it.
But yeah, this is a book all right if you're looking to expand your horizons on Indian history. You'll definitely think about the partition in more thoughtful ways than you did before. It's a different perspective than we've been conditioned to have. And let me tell you, it would behoove you to have that new outlook.
May 17, 2021
It is one of those book that you reread again to find reason or to strengthen your reason to keep going in what you are doing. I read the translation of this book in Indonesian (which were publish back in 2002 by Indonesia Tera, and brilliantly translated by Landung Simatupang) back in my student days as a history student. We also used this book in the many small research I did in those days. Including my undergraduate paper which also focused on our own genocide in 1965.
This might be the third time I read this book again. And being in Amritsar in the end of 2019, it was the memory of this book that made me excited knowing that the Partition Museum was established two years before. I spend two days in the museum, making notes of my own. Until an old man from Delhi asked me, why am I being so immersed in being there. Why you could not? I guess all the questions of Urvashi has been in my sub consciousness for a long time. All the questions that we asked when such events as Partition happened and you are trying to open those pandora boxes that stayed in unspeakable silence of those times.
I went also to the museum, knowing that one of my friend whose father was from the Indian Army who decided to side to our Republican Army during the Independence times and Partition in India, who is not willing to say where he come from, from which village/town in India, until he died. Or all the interview I did with the Sindh population we had in Java, seems to come from their unwillingness to be living divided and decided to migrate completely to a foreign land.
I feel rereading Urvashi's work once again, has strengthen the will of myself in diving again to all those unfinished stories. To do all over again those interviews. To have the strength while working with such materials in our often gruesome history of humankind. This book has taught and mentor me over the years, and when I forget why we are here, why are we doing this, I know it is such a book where I could go back to.
This might be the third time I read this book again. And being in Amritsar in the end of 2019, it was the memory of this book that made me excited knowing that the Partition Museum was established two years before. I spend two days in the museum, making notes of my own. Until an old man from Delhi asked me, why am I being so immersed in being there. Why you could not? I guess all the questions of Urvashi has been in my sub consciousness for a long time. All the questions that we asked when such events as Partition happened and you are trying to open those pandora boxes that stayed in unspeakable silence of those times.
I went also to the museum, knowing that one of my friend whose father was from the Indian Army who decided to side to our Republican Army during the Independence times and Partition in India, who is not willing to say where he come from, from which village/town in India, until he died. Or all the interview I did with the Sindh population we had in Java, seems to come from their unwillingness to be living divided and decided to migrate completely to a foreign land.
I feel rereading Urvashi's work once again, has strengthen the will of myself in diving again to all those unfinished stories. To do all over again those interviews. To have the strength while working with such materials in our often gruesome history of humankind. This book has taught and mentor me over the years, and when I forget why we are here, why are we doing this, I know it is such a book where I could go back to.
March 16, 2024
5/5 stars
I was honestly expecting this book to be a lot more disturbing than it actually was, and I'm relieved that this was not the case. I believe that this had a lot to do with the sincerity and compassion that Butalia wrote into these stories. Her writing is honest and frank about the atrocities that occurred, but also tasteful and deeply sensitive. I was very impressed by her decision to forsake complete "honesty" out of respect for the privacy and mental well-being of her interviewees, by choosing to not press them on stories they didn't want to share. I also appreciated Butalia's honesty about her own perspective, biases, and limitations as a researcher. Obviously, this book covers some deeply traumatic and horrifying subject matter, so it's not a pleasant read. However, I would 100% recommend it to those who are interested in learning more about modern South Asian history.
I was honestly expecting this book to be a lot more disturbing than it actually was, and I'm relieved that this was not the case. I believe that this had a lot to do with the sincerity and compassion that Butalia wrote into these stories. Her writing is honest and frank about the atrocities that occurred, but also tasteful and deeply sensitive. I was very impressed by her decision to forsake complete "honesty" out of respect for the privacy and mental well-being of her interviewees, by choosing to not press them on stories they didn't want to share. I also appreciated Butalia's honesty about her own perspective, biases, and limitations as a researcher. Obviously, this book covers some deeply traumatic and horrifying subject matter, so it's not a pleasant read. However, I would 100% recommend it to those who are interested in learning more about modern South Asian history.
December 18, 2019
A very essential book to read if you are interested in the various aspects of 1947 Partition of India. But, very disturbing too.
August 28, 2020
A very different take on Partition, totally worth the read
October 1, 2024
Disturbing and horrific accounts of partition. Oral history at its best. Must read for every educated Indian and Pakistani. Pick it without any hesitation.
August 14, 2019
A thoughtful mediation on the historiography of Partition and oral histories absent from official accounts. Much of what is covered in this text (e.g., family killings, forced recovery and rehabilitation of abducted women, etc) is also covered in Ritu Menon’s Borders and Boundaries, so I found this a bit repetitive. Had I come to this text first I would likely have found it more powerful.
The basic insights are worth restating: Partition revealed that the national myths of both South Asian states were a lie; both States actively participated in defining a religious and gendered meaning of citizenship that stripped people of choice; violence was perpetrated by many “sides”; much of the violence was committed by attackers who knew their victims; violence against women, either by family members or other communities, reflected the view that women were communal property; and people and States avoid remembering or memorializing Partition outside of specific self-validating ways to avoid their own complicity in the violence.
It will be interesting to see how the last decade of Partition scholarship has advanced these insights. I also continue to look for accounts of Partition and its aftermath in Bengal rather than Punjab. The best text I have found so far on this topic remains fiction: Qurratulain Haider’s Fireflies in the Mist.
The basic insights are worth restating: Partition revealed that the national myths of both South Asian states were a lie; both States actively participated in defining a religious and gendered meaning of citizenship that stripped people of choice; violence was perpetrated by many “sides”; much of the violence was committed by attackers who knew their victims; violence against women, either by family members or other communities, reflected the view that women were communal property; and people and States avoid remembering or memorializing Partition outside of specific self-validating ways to avoid their own complicity in the violence.
It will be interesting to see how the last decade of Partition scholarship has advanced these insights. I also continue to look for accounts of Partition and its aftermath in Bengal rather than Punjab. The best text I have found so far on this topic remains fiction: Qurratulain Haider’s Fireflies in the Mist.
June 20, 2020
I was tempted to give this book five stars, which it truly deserves. Dropped one point for the sheer laziness in editing where there were multiple repeats of interviews of people the author spoke to verbatim within the same chapter in many chapters.
This book is an important book. Having read This Divided Island, Our Moon Has Blood Clots and some fictional pieces based on the partition, I went into this book expecting to learn a lot more about what happened in Punjab during the partition (my curiosity was triggered by the previous book I read - Delhi by Khushwant Singh - which touched upon this topic too!) This book is aa great journalistic report out of the research and interviews the author had with the people who were affected by the partition. This includes the author’s own uncle, women, children, outcasts and more. It’s really heart-wrenching to see the fate of people from 1947 in Punjab. Also the aspect of less fortunate people walking across the border fearing their death is reminiscent of the migrant labourers that walked back to their hometown not so long ago during the lockdown.
I am curious to see if there is a similar piece on the Karnataka-Tamilnady Cauvery riots in the early 90s and the Babri Masjid demolition. I am sure there are many stories there that need to be heard as well.
This book is an important book. Having read This Divided Island, Our Moon Has Blood Clots and some fictional pieces based on the partition, I went into this book expecting to learn a lot more about what happened in Punjab during the partition (my curiosity was triggered by the previous book I read - Delhi by Khushwant Singh - which touched upon this topic too!) This book is aa great journalistic report out of the research and interviews the author had with the people who were affected by the partition. This includes the author’s own uncle, women, children, outcasts and more. It’s really heart-wrenching to see the fate of people from 1947 in Punjab. Also the aspect of less fortunate people walking across the border fearing their death is reminiscent of the migrant labourers that walked back to their hometown not so long ago during the lockdown.
I am curious to see if there is a similar piece on the Karnataka-Tamilnady Cauvery riots in the early 90s and the Babri Masjid demolition. I am sure there are many stories there that need to be heard as well.
December 29, 2018
This is an important read. A collection and discussion of oral histories from Partition, when the British gave up control of India and the countries of India and Pakistan were formed. This was a brutal time, with anywhere from 200,000 - 2 million estimated deaths, 12 million displaced people, along with rampant rape and abduction. This book tries to tell some of the stories of the women, children, and other classes left out of the typical historical narratives about this time period. I found this book of "lost voices" particularly compelling.
On the historiography side of things, the author points out the complexities and issues involved with attempting to collect these types of oral histories about events that many people want to forget or want to be remembered in different ways. If you are a fan of history, this discussion alone makes the book worthwhile.
It is a challenging read due to its content and a lot of knowledge about Partition and Indian culture is assumed. I found myself frequently using the handy glossary in the back of the book. However, even if you are unfamiliar with the history of Partition, this book is a worthwhile read. I'll be thinking about it for a long time.
On the historiography side of things, the author points out the complexities and issues involved with attempting to collect these types of oral histories about events that many people want to forget or want to be remembered in different ways. If you are a fan of history, this discussion alone makes the book worthwhile.
It is a challenging read due to its content and a lot of knowledge about Partition and Indian culture is assumed. I found myself frequently using the handy glossary in the back of the book. However, even if you are unfamiliar with the history of Partition, this book is a worthwhile read. I'll be thinking about it for a long time.
March 13, 2024
A really interesting and enlightening read. Hard to believe that this was one of the first (the first?) oral histories of partition, over fifty years later. Raises some interesting questions on how we make room for multiple, sometimes contradictory, truths in victims’ narratives. I found the chapters on children and scheduled castes the most compelling, especially when Urvashi Butalia spoke about how these interviews posed particular challenges to her methodology (how we account for children’s experiences more generally, when they are inevitably altered, clarified, etc in the mind of the adults looking back, is a really interesting idea).
June 26, 2020
This book, among other things, is an artfully curated oral history, an act of remembering, and a tool with which to question why and what we choose to remember.
May 6, 2025
this collection of oral histories is essential for any depth of understanding of partition. brought to tears often. reading it feels like the passing down of generational stories and dispelling of myths abt the trauma and legacy of partition
January 15, 2025
This book is genuinely a great find, I really learnt a lot and got a different perspective to this event and I’m grateful to the author for capturing the voices.
March 17, 2016
One of the great human convulsion of history, which lead to the death of 200,000 precious lives (the contemporary British Figure) to two million (a later Indian estimate), 75,000 women abducted and raped, lost to sexual savagery. A line is drawn between India and Pakistan, The Other Side of Silence of millions who were lost.
The Other Side of Silence: Voices from The Partition of India by Urvashi Butalia chronicles the stories of partition which were never spoken of. We all know about the regular stuff that we learn from our history books, the stats, the stories, the political movements, the aftermath, and rectification. What we do not know is what unfolded among people who were there and witnessed everything. The author focuses on such stories only, which can give you a much deeper insight into the stories of partition. The Other Side of Silence, which explores the stories embedded in the minds of people, which they haven't shared with anyone.
The Other Side of Silence is divided into eight sections, each describing an important aspect of partition. Starting from blood, Urvashi speaks about her long lost Mama Ji, (mother's brother), Ranamama, who preferred to stay in Pakistan only. Urvashi takes on both sides of the story, her mother's and her brother's too. Her mother speaks to her about how many difficulties and life-threatening situations she faced when she traveled thrice to Pakistan to get her family in India. But her brother refused to move an inch and also made their mother stay behind, so that when the day comes, he can take over the ancestral property. On the other hand, Ranamama, in a haunting melancholia remembers his sister and her sacrifices. But he explains his side of the story. His sacrifice, his hard decisions, his other side of silence, his conversion to an alien religion to survive the brutal world.
''No one forced me to do anything. But in a sense, there wasn't really a choice. The only way I could have stayed on was by converting. And so, well I did. I married a Muslim girl, changed my religion, and took a Muslim name. But I have not slept on night in these forty years without regretting my decision, not one night''
The second chapter of The Other Side of Silence describes how the partition really happened. How a single man with a pen in his hand and with a map, drew a line and gave birth to two countries. The third chapter shared the silence of women who were abducted during the partition. 75,000 women abducted from both sides of the border! In a horrific account, the author also shares that apart from rapes, specific kinds of violence had been visited on women. Many of them paraded naked on streets, their breasts were cut off! To defile their purity, they were forced to have sex with men of other religion. A separate committee was also set up to relocate such women, but surprisingly, many of them never wanted to be found. Many of them wanted to stay where they were, their essence brutally murdered, but surviving.
I have heard many stories of partition from my grandmother, who used to live in Peshawar and on an unfateful night, she had to leave everything behind and come to India. But this completely different picture of partition is something which I have never heard or come across. Something very disturbing yet enlightening. How a decision which was meant to benefit people, turned into a disaster which gulped lives of many. When partition was announced, people were given a free will, to stay or to migrate. But the rise of communal violence and threat from unsocial elements made many people move.
Overall, The Other Side of Silence is a book that will leave you spellbound and in tears. A factual account of partition, many readers would like to skip pages and read the stories straight. But better not do that, because understanding the facts also will help in relating to stories in a better way. Though not everyone's cup of tea, The Other Side of Silence is definitely something to have on your #TBR. To understand the sacrifice of many lives to create two nations which don't see eye to eye anymore, India and Pakistan.
The Other Side of Silence: Voices from The Partition of India by Urvashi Butalia chronicles the stories of partition which were never spoken of. We all know about the regular stuff that we learn from our history books, the stats, the stories, the political movements, the aftermath, and rectification. What we do not know is what unfolded among people who were there and witnessed everything. The author focuses on such stories only, which can give you a much deeper insight into the stories of partition. The Other Side of Silence, which explores the stories embedded in the minds of people, which they haven't shared with anyone.
The Other Side of Silence is divided into eight sections, each describing an important aspect of partition. Starting from blood, Urvashi speaks about her long lost Mama Ji, (mother's brother), Ranamama, who preferred to stay in Pakistan only. Urvashi takes on both sides of the story, her mother's and her brother's too. Her mother speaks to her about how many difficulties and life-threatening situations she faced when she traveled thrice to Pakistan to get her family in India. But her brother refused to move an inch and also made their mother stay behind, so that when the day comes, he can take over the ancestral property. On the other hand, Ranamama, in a haunting melancholia remembers his sister and her sacrifices. But he explains his side of the story. His sacrifice, his hard decisions, his other side of silence, his conversion to an alien religion to survive the brutal world.
''No one forced me to do anything. But in a sense, there wasn't really a choice. The only way I could have stayed on was by converting. And so, well I did. I married a Muslim girl, changed my religion, and took a Muslim name. But I have not slept on night in these forty years without regretting my decision, not one night''
The second chapter of The Other Side of Silence describes how the partition really happened. How a single man with a pen in his hand and with a map, drew a line and gave birth to two countries. The third chapter shared the silence of women who were abducted during the partition. 75,000 women abducted from both sides of the border! In a horrific account, the author also shares that apart from rapes, specific kinds of violence had been visited on women. Many of them paraded naked on streets, their breasts were cut off! To defile their purity, they were forced to have sex with men of other religion. A separate committee was also set up to relocate such women, but surprisingly, many of them never wanted to be found. Many of them wanted to stay where they were, their essence brutally murdered, but surviving.
I have heard many stories of partition from my grandmother, who used to live in Peshawar and on an unfateful night, she had to leave everything behind and come to India. But this completely different picture of partition is something which I have never heard or come across. Something very disturbing yet enlightening. How a decision which was meant to benefit people, turned into a disaster which gulped lives of many. When partition was announced, people were given a free will, to stay or to migrate. But the rise of communal violence and threat from unsocial elements made many people move.
Overall, The Other Side of Silence is a book that will leave you spellbound and in tears. A factual account of partition, many readers would like to skip pages and read the stories straight. But better not do that, because understanding the facts also will help in relating to stories in a better way. Though not everyone's cup of tea, The Other Side of Silence is definitely something to have on your #TBR. To understand the sacrifice of many lives to create two nations which don't see eye to eye anymore, India and Pakistan.
March 20, 2024
I know nothing about partition so this was super interesting & harrowing. Made me want to read more about the subject as it just touched the surface. Yasmin Khan book recommended by my book club to read next
Displaying 1 - 30 of 121 reviews