Unbordered Memories : Sindhi Stories of Partition

I could not continue refusing him. I placed before him the quilt and also returned the cheque. He was overjoyed, and couldn’t stop thanking me. He immediately left the shop, but my face was streaming with tears.’

The young store-owner became emotional while narrating this to me. I looked at the objects carefully, and could not help appreciating, for the first time, the subtlety of the embroidery.

Abu-al-Hussain became quiet again. He leaned back on a chair and sunk into his memories.

After a little while, he continued with his story.

These young men asked me so many questions about Karachi that absolutely nothing remained to be asked. While this conversation was going on, an old man entered with a young man who held him by his hand. Everybody stood up respectfully. He looked around the store, peering through thick glasses.

When I put out my hand to shake his, he held my hand tight. He didn’t let go even when we sat down on the couch. And suddenly, the same questions about Sindh.

‘Have you been to Shikarpur?’

Hesitating, I said, ‘No … haven’t had reason to.’

Hearing my response, he became quiet, and began to think deeply, with his head down.

Finally, he asked again, ‘All right, are you likely to go there?’

His question confused me further. But I didn’t wish to hurt him, so I said, ‘At the moment, I don’t plan to, but perhaps some day.’

The old man sat up and said, ‘Son, you must go. It’s a beautiful city. It’s our motherland. You would never forget the sweets and kulfi of that place, once you have tasted them. When you get off the station, the buggy man will bring you to the tower of Lakhidar. Then you will see how spectacular the city is.’

The old man’s wizened face lit up and he grew restless. It seemed as if he had lost his heart somewhere there, which he was now groping for.

He sighed, ‘You will have to go to Shikarpur, if not for yourself, at least for me. I beg you, please do me a favour …’

The old man faced me, his trembling hands folded in a gesture of appeal. I held his hands and assured him that I would try my best to go there.

He put his hand in his pocket and took out a couple of hundred rupee notes, and said, ‘These are travelling expenses. You must go, please.’

‘Yes, chacha, I will certainly go. You keep this, I don’t need it.’

But he insisted on paying me, and the others sitting there also signalled to me to keep the money.

Then he said, ‘When you go to Lakhidar, take the road that goes to Begari canal. At the turning, you will see an old house. Knock on the door. I don’t know who is staying there now. And yes, you will see a mango tree there. When I planted it, it was a mere plant, but it must now be a tree laden with mangoes. You must knock on the door. Meet all those who live in that house. And show them how mangoes are eaten in Sindh. Tell them that when there is water in Begari canal, you put the mangoes in an earthen pot and dunk the pot in the flowing waters of the Indus, which cools the mangoes.