It was September of 1947, British rule had come to an end, a deep division within Indian territory and its communities lay bare getting uglier by the day due to the partition of subcontinent into two indipendent countries.
People had become barbarians, cutting throats and filling up trains, tracks and pavements with dead bodies as if they had some target to achieve, Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus alike.
Like thousands of frantic migrants on either side trying to flee to safety, Maqbool had boarded Punjab Mail from Delhi to Lahore, knowing well that this route had been marked "wholly insecure" by West Punjab administrstion.
"Will we make it alive?" Asked his wife trembling, her eyes beaming little hope and much fear.
"Perhaps" he mumbled nervously.
She held her little daughter in her arms, "Listen, nothing should happen to my Zarina I am telling you".
Maqbool knew that safety and wellbeing of the family were his responsibility, that's what the clergy had explicitly asked during their Nikaah. Maqbool had then most willingly accepted this responsibility and thus his marriage was solemnised.
"Nothing will happen, I am here, we must have faith in God" he consoled her, praying deep within for divine protection.
The train packed to the roof and over, started to crawl, gaining momentum as did 3800 pacing hearts on board. Every minute of this journey appeared like a lifetime.
"If we pass through Punjab then we are saved" said a fellow traveller.
"Heard that this very train from Lahore to Delhi was attacked by a mob of 200 armed rioters between Jallo and Wagah last week"
"Story is no different on the other side my brother, did you not hear what happened on the Frontier mail yesterday?"
Maqbool kept overhearing this conversation for a while, then quietly glanced at his wife who too was engrossed in the same act.
All blood seemed to have drained away from her face, her eyes had become lifeless like pebbles and the ends of her lips began to droop.
When fear within is hungry, it sips on energy for starter, eats away logic for main course and consumes confidence for dessert. It burped within her releasing enough pressure that caused cold tears to overflow and roll down her cheeks.
"Shutup!" said Maqbool, "Just shutup, don't you see there are women and children around?" he chided glacing across the compartment with people stuffed together in humidity and smell of sweat.
Before the conversing passengers could react, an uproar from outside turned many pale.
"We have been attacked! A mob is coming" screamed someone from behind as commotion erupted within the coach, howling mothers held their screaming children wishing they could vanish into air and escape from the horror.
"Calm down, don't panic its not an attack, some people travelling in between bogies fell under the train it is told" said someone descending from the roof through the door and into the compartment.
Every millimeter of Maqbool's body seemed to have developed its independent heart beating fast and each one being completely out of his control.
Things having calmed down after a while, conversation in the neighborhood resumed.
"We sold off all our Gold and jewellery to a scrap dealer, got little money we could carry" said someone, "All our wealth, land and approach could not arrange an aeroplane ticket but only this compartment and its dirty floor where we sit"
"There lies my wife on the floor, flies dancing all over her dirt smeared dress, back home she had six maids at her beck & call, not an iota of dust ever sat upon her clothes" said the other
A sudden cry followed by wailing emerged from the far corner of the compartment, an asthematic grandmother had suffocated and passed away, a crowd within the crowded compartment gathered around the dead lady.
"She died praying for us all" announced a weeping relative.
Amongst so many stories of dispair, sorrow and fear, Maqbool and his wife found unexpected consolation, afterall everyone seemed to be sailing in the same boat metaphorically.
Relaxation started to settle in, Maqbool's family felt slumber drizzle upon them as fear too with its belly full now seemed to have fallen asleep.
Three fourth of an hour passed, Maqbool and his wife sleeping with their heads shaking to either side as the train scurried on the track.
A measured spike in noise within the coach began falling upon his eardrums and eventually woke him up, the train had started to slow down and then came to a gradual halt.
Beads of perspiration started to appear on foreheads, not a single sound emanated from any part of this dimly lit coach, there was an eerie 'sweat drop' silence all around until there was some heavy banging on the windows, "Open up quickly" said a couple of loud voices.
Time, minds, people and life froze as certain & painful death loomed just outside the coach doors.
Husbands and wives grasped hands, mothers kissed their children, pressing them hard against themselves. Elders put their hands on the heads of their children and grand children to bless them one last time knowing well that it was all futile.
As voices from outside grew louder, youth within the coach gathered courage, wriggling nearer to the windows, they peeped out.
A squad of Gurkha soldiers stood on the tracks, deployed by administration to ensure safe passage of the refugee train.
Doors of all coaches gradually opened up bringing in much needed fresh air and hope. Eyes and minds could not believe what they were witnessing, it was as if a certain death sentence had been revoked.
Soldiers boarded each of the coaches and some ascended to the rooftop as the train started to move again on its fateful journey that fortunately culminated at Lahore the next day.
Old grandmother's final prayers it seemed had been answered.
A greater battle for survival though had just begun for the 3800 passengers of Punjab Mail who looked all around this unfamiliar station knowing not where to go. ●●●
