Taran was finishing a lip-smacking breakfast at Brothers Dhaba in Amritsar after a darshan at the Golden Temple. “What’s the hurry, Amma? I thought we have finished all the sightseeing,” said Taran. “There is one more place I want you to visit. Manpreet aunty recommended it, especially if one wants to understand more about Punjab and its people.” Taran was curious now. He gulped down his sweet lassi and his made his way back to the road. They walked till the end of it and reached a large orange-red Town Hall with arches and pillar. “The Partition Museum. What’s it about?” Appa gave a wry smile. “That’s a loaded question. Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Taran looked at his father. Usually, he had a ton of information to share. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he want to eat another paratha at the dhaba? It was very tasty. But Appa had walked away to look at the photographs and newspaper articles on the walls. There were black and white images of people walking on dusty roads or in carts, many looking sad and stricken. Most of the dates were around the time of 1947. Taran began walking around the museum. There was a small tent and he sat down there. A video began to play: of an elderly lady talking about how they were making rotis when they suddenly saw fires from the terrace. immediately they left their houses in the middle of dinner. She had been just eight years old then. By the time they reached the border, she saw many murders. By the end of the video, she was in tears. Shaken, Taran got up. “Wasn’t August 15, 1947, a happy time for India? India got its freedom,” he thought and he recalled the famous speech by India’s first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru: “At the stroke of the midnight hour ... India will awake to life and freedom.” Then how did all this happen? He read that the Partition affected 20 million people. Once the borders of India and Pakistan had been declared, panic set in. Punjab, Sindh and Bengal were divided. Riots and looting broke out. People had no time to prepare for the migration and had to evacuate overnight from houses they had lived in for centuries. The museum had artefacts of what people managed to carry: brass cups clothes, trunk boxes... Taran tried to imagine having to leave his home suddenly. What would he take? What would he leave behind? He tried to recall the lines of the folk song in the Oral History section: At an ill-omened moment someone stole all my dolls/Now I am arranging the wedding of my groom-doll/And giving away goodies to my heart’s content. Perhaps something was lost in translation but not the emotion. Though it was possible to begin again with hope after losing everything, the heart continued to carry the sorrow of loss. Taran hugged his parents. “I will give Manpreet aunty also a hug when we go back,” he said.
