It has been 76 years since Davinder Kaur Rehal looked on as her village in Punjab would change forever. For her and millions of others across the subcontinent, in just a heartbeat, communities of people who had lived and loved as friends and family were violently torn apart in one of the deadliest mass migrations, The Partition of India.
Partition holds a significant place in the timeline of South Asian history. But surprisingly, it is seldom known that Britain is as just a rightful heir to this bloody legacy.
I had a scanty knowledge of Partition up until recent years. Throughout most of my school life, I was made fully aware of the World Wars, The Tudor period, and other defining moments in UK history. However, the stories unearthing the gruesome and heart-breaking realities of the country's colonial past, one that presided over the subcontinent for 200 years, was always absent from textbooks and class discussions. A few weeks ago, in a warm and welcoming living room in Leeds, I was greeted by 3 generations of women, Davinder, her daughters Kirn and Perm and granddaughter Prishant. I had often heard many tales of Davinder's rich life from Prishant who attentively held the keepsakes of her grandmother's stories close to her heart, including snippets of Partition. Generously, the family agreed to show me this delicate history. It took the form of spoken pictures that Davinder painted in Punjabi and her daughters translated into English.
“She was just 7”, Kirn tells me after listening intently to her mother's account. “She actually watched as her Muslim neighbours were forced to leave. Her family's house was the biggest one in the village, towering over all the rest, of which there were about 30 or 40. All the kids were sent to where my mum lived because that way they could all be together and protected. She remembers all the young ones watching from the roof as the chaos grew down below”.
Even without the aid of Kirn's translation, there is an undeniable mourning in Davinder's voice that speaks a universal language. She brings her hands to her heart, and in the stream of Punjabi, I catch a stray utterance of “sad”, which she interweaves more frequently with her native language as she continues to recall memories of this harrowing time.
Before colonisation, the Indian subcontinent was home to a
mosaic of traditions, religious communities, and distinct ways of life that co-existed in an undisturbed harmony. When Britain commenced her rule over India in the 18th century, this patchwork of livelihoods would begin to rapidly fray.
Polarising policies, such as forcing Hindu and Muslim people to vote only for candidates that reflected their own religious identity amplified differences. This would only grow into a parasitic wave of hostility and distrust that swept across the subcontinent. Thankfully, Davinder's village was safe and dry from the animosity. She summons pre-partition memories of days spent playing by the fruit grooves with her friends, or staying at their home while her parents were working in the fields. There is an absence of religious categories as she recalls her companions from childhood, referring only to them as sisters. It was moving to see how her love for them never wavered even after all this time.
1947 marked the first of many tears. After growing unrest and ungovernable protests for Independence, Britain would retreat from India, bringing 200 years of oppressive rule to an end. Though, an eery new chapter was about to be written.
The British viceroy announced that the subcontinent was to be
divided into two independent nations determined along religious lines: Hindu majority India and Muslim majority Pakistan. And although a year was granted to execute this mammoth task that would determine the course of life and future of millions of citizens, a mere 5 weeks was deemed enough.
Guided by underfed knowledge of the land, outdated maps, and a rudimentary understanding of the rich culture and customs of India, 26-year-old Cyril Radcliffe was appointed to carve lines into a subcontinent he had never visited before. Overnight, hundreds of thousands of people would wake up as strangers in what had always been home, scrambling away from what had now become the wrong side of the newly engineered nations, and ripped away from the ones they loved.
Davinder remembers her distress as she watched Muslim women, men and children empty out of the village and bound across a fictional border to another side they had never seen before. Fearing for their safety,
particularly women and children who were now targets for violence and crime, she remembers her uncles and Sikh women escorting them as they made the treacherous journey across. What followed was massacres that drenched the subcontinent with the blood of at least one million lives and fifteen million people were displaced. Life could never be the same.
In a strange twist of fate, Britain would offer hope of employment and opportunities for many survivors of British colonial rule. And of course, to avoid the aftershocks of Partition and secure a fruitful future for themselves and the next generations, Davinder and her family would be amongst those who made the journey westward.
In her new home in Leeds, she recreated visions of Punjab in her garden that bloomed with everything from iridescent florals, bountiful fruit trees, and herbs she could pluck from the soil. It was her way of watering sacred memories of playing with other children from all backgrounds amid the natural landscape of pre-partitioned Punjab, bringing them to life in England.
That garden would become the muse for professional illustrator Kushy, Davinder's granddaughter whose art brims with odes to the natural world. It is a powerful and striking reminder of how much the first wave of South Asian migrants in Britain paved a way for future generations.
While it is so important to remember this past, it is just as necessary to look forward so that we can understand and honour the present and future of British South Asian people and what their bi-cultural heritage means to them. Hearing from Kushy, we see how creativity helps her explore her roots while developing her own identity.
Impossible to fall under the radar, Kushy's artwork features bold and beautiful designs that
merge traditional with the contemporary, but growing up she recalls struggling to blend the two. She says, “Growing up in a family that was for the most part very traditional and held very traditional values, it was difficult to express myself fully. I had very open-minded parents who nurtured my interests, but of course, there were still obstacles that were hard to overcome. With the lack of representation, we had in media, it made it hard to figure out how to let both sides live in harmony”.
It was during the quiet of lockdown that inspiration struck, and self-expression was born. “Something just clicked, and I started using my art as a form of therapy for myself. I think with having that time and space to create without any external pressure to draw for work, it just all came out”.
Taking to social media to showcase her work, she was flooded with messages from people who saw themselves in her artwork, something she never once anticipated. She recalls, “Until that point, I always saw my work as something that represented me. It never really occurred to me that others might see themselves represented in the imagery or the concepts I develop. It's a wonderful thing and it has spurred me on to create art that I desperately wanted to see in my teen years which would have helped me accept parts of myself and culture that I had previously shunned”.
It is representation through empowering and fearless work like Kushy's that leaves a powerful imprint on British Asian people, who historically have been misrepresented or entirely excluded in media, discussions, and most other sectors. But she is adamant to change this. Having worked with brands like the BBC and
Johnnie Walker to bring South Asian talent and flair to big spaces, Kushy is also helping young South Asian creatives see how their work and voice always deserves a seat at the table.
But this onus to change the discourse is not one that should fall exclusively upon South Asian people. That is why the classroom plays a huge part in helping young people develop their sense of pride and understanding when it comes to heritage, culture, and identity. Having discussions of Partition will help young people see how their ancestors first ever came to Britain. What's more, it explains how South Asian communities were integral to the country's development and future. This education reinforces to South Asian people and other marginalised communities, young, old and in-between, that their place in Britian should never be put into question.
It is discussions like this that help dismantle racist attitudes, all the while honouring the contributions, sacrifices, and pain of communities who for too long have had no apology.
