Thirsty, tired and hungry Sahil sat on the train roof staring into the rising sun. Right next to him was a tribesman from Kohistan, the hair of his mustache mingling with sweat. Sahil's right hand was awkwardly trapped beneath the man's thigh. But the train was jam-packed and there was no way for him to free himself because there was no place for either of them to move.
"Mama, I'm hungry," Sitara whimpered.
"Be quiet or I'll slap you," Mahira said, Sahil's wife said. But Sitara began to weep, her small, malnourished, sweating face buried inside her arms.
Sahil rushed to comfort the child almost falling off the train in the process, stretching over Mahira to do so. "Do not cry, my daughter. When we get to Karachi we will be part of a new nation, Pakistan. We will be free there. We will be free to go to our mosques and no one will bother us. Remember the man who refused to return us our money just because we are Muslim and he was Hindu, that won't happen there. We have our full trust in Jinnah and Pakistan."
"Can we buy a new doll in Karachi?"
Sitara stopped weeping. She had lost her doll, the only toy she had when a woman had accidentally bumped into her at the train station.
"Of course my love," Sahil said gently. From the corner of his eye he could see Mahira crying. They had left everything they had behind. Two cows, five chickens, some cooking utensils and crockery.
The train carried at least a thousand migrants from Lucknow to Karachi. Each of them had his or her own painful story. A man nearby was animatedly talking about his village in Rohilla-Khand. "They came in the night on horses. They killed all the villagers and carried the women away. They raped them with sticks and swords. Children, they lined them up and shot them. It was horrible. I survived by hiding in a barrel of grapes."
Suddenly the train came to a crashing halt, a line of barrels having been planted on the railtracks ahead. Some of the men on the roof fell beneath. Sahil, Mahira and Sitara just managed to maintain control and did not fall below.
But shrill cries of terror erupted from the front of the train. Then there were cries of Jai Hind and Jo Bole Sonihal. Hordes of Hindus and Sikhs converged upon the train from the dense forest surrounding the train.
Swords were used to cut down groups of refugees. The soft grassy soil was soon reddened by the blood of people on the train. Sweaty Sikhs and zealous Hindus charged into the crowd which ran in all directions. But they had the train engulfed in fire. Those who stayed inside would burn alive and those that ran would be cut down by sword.
"Jump and run towards the forest," Sahil shouted.
Carrying Sitara, Mahira jumped off the train. Sahil jumped off the train and ran too. In the confusion surrounding them he noticed the man who had recently been talking about his escape from death in his village, die as he ran into a group of sword wielding Sikhs. He had only escaped death in his village to be cut down on that train.
But Sahil's family would not see another day.
A Hindu, a bindi, the single red dot glimmering on his head struck a lance which entered through and escaped Mahira's abdomen. Sitara watched as her father was hauled off by a hirsute villager with broad dark arms and thick dark legs. "Run Sitara, run," she said as she struggled between life and death.
Sahil ran too but towards Sitara. His intention was to protect her from a gaunt man wielding two swords, each in one hand. "Kill, kill, kill," the man shouted.
Sahil took out his knife and plunged it into this man. But there were too many men and all of them enraged at him for killing one of them.
Collectively they struck at him with sword, spear, lance or in some cases even bricks. He fell to the ground shouting the Kalima and Pakistan Zindabad. He died with the words Pakistan Zindabad on his lips
a very famous land mafia of lahore, the extortion has gone up since PTI has come to peshawar
