August 15, 1947, marks a significant milestone in modern India’s history, but the day is not without its somber reflections. The British Parliament’s enactment of the Independence of India Act on July 18, 1947, laid the groundwork for the creation of two separate Dominions — India and Pakistan. However, the widespread violence and suffering that accompanied and followed the Partition remain one of the most tragic episodes in human history.
Although the violence and chaos of Partition and the emergence of modern India in 1947 are often remembered, the true extent of the horror remains largely unknown to many. This dark chapter is infrequently discussed, even within academic circles. A prevailing narrative of celebration was crafted to overshadow and eventually erase from public memory the profound and traumatic psychological scars left by Partition.
British historians often portrayed Partition as a benevolent gesture, a moral high point where, despite 200 years of colonial dominance, the British could depart from India as friends and even establish a Commonwealth. Others, however, viewed Partition as a stark example of the shortcomings of colonial rule in achieving modernisation — an unsettling anomaly in the shift from colonial to post-colonial eras. As historian David Gilmartin noted in the Journal of Asian Studies (November 1998), it was seen as a troubling disruption in this transition.
One might have expected Indian historians to approach the subject of Partition with a broad, objective perspective. Instead, the dominant narrative, shaped largely by Marxist and Nehruvian historians, reduced Partition to a mere date on the calendar and attributed it solely to sectarian politics. According to historian David Gilmartin, many “nationalist Indian historians” viewed Partition as a direct result of the colonial legacy distorting the transition to nationalism and modernity.
While Gilmartin’s analysis of the post-colonial historiography of Partition captures certain aspects accurately, his classification of the Leftist-Nehruvian historians as ‘nationalist’ is not without controversy. The Hindu-Muslim violence that swept through the Indian subcontinent during the Partition era was not a standalone occurrence. It is part of a prolonged history, with its origins partly linked to Islamic theology, particularly the concepts of iconoclasm and the treatment of ‘kafirs’ (nonbelievers).
Despite the often-repeated praise of the ‘Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb’—a term celebrating the cultural fusion between Hindus and Muslims — the historical record of Islamic invasions reveals a different reality. The accounts of these invasions, often written by the invaders themselves, detail a grim reality of violence. Millions of idol-worshipping Hindus fell victim to these invasions. Historian Will Durant describes the Islamic conquest of India as “the bloodiest story in history.” Thousands of Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist temples were razed, and countless idols were desecrated and destroyed. Hindus were frequently forced to pay the religious tax known as ‘jajiya’ to practice their faith and customs.
Hindus displayed remarkable resilience in the face of religious persecution, with numerous stories of resistance primarily preserved in folklore. These accounts have often been overlooked by historians due to their ideological biases. Instances of common people coming together to defend Hindu temples and deities are well-documented. Meenakshi Jain’s book, Flight of Deities and Rebirth of Temples, provides a thorough collection of these narratives. Jain also explores the Kashi riots of 1809, one of the earliest recorded instances of large-scale Hindu-Muslim violence. The riot, which lasted for three days, resulted in losses on both sides, as noted by William Pinch in Hiding in Plain Sight; the Gosains on the Ghats.
In 1921, as Muslim nationalism surged under leaders like Sir Syed Ahmed Khan and Allama Iqbal, the Moplah riots erupted in Kerala’s Malabar region. During these riots, hundreds of Hindus were brutally murdered in an effort to establish an Islamic state along the coast of Kerala. B.R. Ambedkar described the violence in Malabar as “blood-curdling atrocities” against Hindus in his work Pakistan or the Partition of India. As Partition approached, the violence continued. On August 16, 1946, known as ‘Direct Action Day’ organized by the Muslim League, rioting mobs in Kolkata resulted in the deaths of several hundred Hindus.
In March 1947, Viceroy Louis Mountbatten arrived in Delhi with a clear mandate to expedite the end of British rule, setting a deadline for August of that year. Cyril Radcliffe, a British lawyer with little prior knowledge of India’s history, culture, or geography, was appointed to lead the Boundary Commission. Tasked with redrawing India’s borders in just a few days, Radcliffe’s work culminated in the division of the land. Thus, on August 14, Pakistan emerged as a new nation, and India gained its independence on August 15, 1947, marking the end of a significant chapter in the land revered for its Devis and Devatas, Rishis and Acharyas, and rich mythological heritage.
Estimates suggest that nearly two million people perished during Partition, though the true number could be even higher, as is often the case with such tragedies. The scale of the violence was unimaginable and undeserved. Khushwant Singh, in Punjab, Punjabi, and Punjabiyat, noted that by early August 1947, the situation escalated into a massacre, making it evident that Sikhs and Hindus would need to flee Pakistan. This fear triggered one of history’s most massive human migrations, marking an epic and tragic chapter in human history.
As the Indian subcontinent was divided along religious lines — Hinduism and Islam — nearly 14 million people suddenly found themselves displaced, forced to move overnight. Many embarked on uncertain journeys, traveling on foot or by train, clinging to the hope of returning to their ‘home’ once the chaos subsided.
These individuals had lived on this land for centuries, or even millennia, deeply rooted in the soil they had cultivated and defended. Their Dharma had taught them to safeguard their nation with both shastra (weapons) and shaastra (knowledge). This land was steeped in sacred history, “bearing traces of gods and footprints of heroes,” as Diana Eck describes in A Sacred Geography. Each location carried its own stories, and every tale within the vast reservoir of myth and legend had its own place.
People abandoned their valuables, taking only what they could carry in the belief that their departure would be temporary. They entrusted their house keys to neighbours. As Khushwant Singh recounts, “We gathered what we could, gave the keys of our home to a Muslim friend, Manzur Qadir, and joined the exodus of Hindu and Sikh refugees fleeing Pakistan for India… It was then that I realised the world I had always known and taken for granted had vanished.”
Homes, regardless of their size, were set ablaze and looted, women were assaulted, and children were torn from their families. Trains, packed with the deceased, arrived at stations. These passengers had been murdered by brutal mobs during their journey. Nisid Hajari describes them as “blood trains” in his book Midnight’s Furies: The Deadly Legacy of India’s Partition. He notes that these “blood trains” often “crossed the border in a mournful silence, with blood seeping from beneath their carriage doors.”
In the midst of the celebration over the lowering of the Union Jack, the hoisting of the Indian Tiranga, Jawaharlal Nehru’s stirring ‘tryst with destiny’ speech in Parliament, and the fervent chants of ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai,’ there was a palpable undercurrent of loss, uncertainty, and despair. Khushwant Singh observed that, amidst the euphoria, “the only figure who seemed truly present was Mahatma Gandhi. He had declined to join the festivities and was traveling on foot from village to village, urging people to cease the violence against their neighbours.”
(The writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
