A certain Jagga badmash.
A stocky commissioner.
Pious priests.
Noorah, the girl.
A few dacoits.
An anglicised social worker.
They all tell you a tale of an atrocious and ghastly time, and about the history which has been forgotten. Horrors of Partition. The year was 1947. India had a tryst with destiny. But who will pay the price of the division?
Mano Majro. A village on the border. Knitted houses and knitted people. 1947. It’s the Partition. Can this village withstand it?
First published in 1955—the author takes you through the horrific times where millions perished on the roads, in the train, of hunger, and severed bodies lay everywhere.
This is Khushwant Singh’s masterclass—The Train to Pakistan. You are glued to it till the end—written beautifully. You live the story. Truly.
The book tries to depict the trauma, tears, and tragedies of the Partition through a story. The characters—they all grind relentlessly to tell you the story. And yes, a love angle—an inter-communal one—to spice up the whole plot.
Wailing—not exactly. I would say this book carries a certain melancholic tone with tinges of laughter—but it never misses the point.
What difference independence brings to the tiny hamlet of Mano Majro—the villagers scratch their heads—they do not even realise the reins have changed hands. The Gandhis, the Nehrus, the Boses, and their dreams are a distant possibility for these peasants. Armchair intellectuals of policymaking and their sermons are some realities they could not fathom.
Noorah needs to be protected, so is the Imam, and so is the Jagga badmash, and so is Meet Singh—everyone has their takes on life and a right to live and to tell the story.
Mano Majro, where the rumbles of trains sounded familiar and resounded with hope and possibility till October of 1947—and then it resonated with fear, despondency, and something which would change the fabric of the bind, the stitch so powerfully—the hamlet will never be the same. It smelled of burning corpses, rotten flesh, and the rain was doing its part to add to the horrors. The rumbles of the rail bogies sounded fear and resonated moans and whimpers of millions.
What difference independence brought to them—they are yet to realise democracy, voting rights, freedom. The freedom of dreaming. All shattered. Happiness is a mirage. The hamlet is ripped apart—so are their childhood, their homeland, the smell of their homes.
A tonga gallops on the deserted road to Mano Majro—with the educated one and a badmash. They don’t talk to each other—they are in their reveries—one is contemplating the happenings and a better India, a better society, and the badmash has to save someone, the love of his life.
A night, a train will leave for Pakistan — it looks grim. What will they do? Do they perish or prevail?
Go on and grab this one for sure.
It’s a must-pick. A 200-pager captures your imagination and takes you back to the horrid history.