This story has always been very disturbing for me. It instills in me a sense of helplessness. "Creating history", "writing history" etc sound meaningless cliches. This story drives me to believe that history creates individuals or society or even nations. When the drama called history unfolds humans remain hapless faceless players acting to the dictates of the incomprehensible reality called fate.
My maternal grand father's sister was called Ammini. Ammini is a low profile name if names mean anything. But my Ammani Ammachi (AA) was a lady of the highest profile. During the nineteen thirties she joined the Christian Medical College, Ludhiana as a medical student and eventually she became a doctor. But the years she spent there changed her life for ever.
I never saw her. But from the descriptions by her nieces and nephews and some others of her generation, I could learn that she was very beautiful. These descriptions kindled in me a sort of respectful love for AA whom I never saw. For long she remained the queen of my childhood fantasies. Those were the days when girls passing the fourth standard were treated as "over qualified". At Ludhiana AA fell in love with her class mate, an aristocratic north Indian Brahmin. She married him incurring the wrath of her father (my great grand father), a feudal lord by all standards. In the typical Zamindari tradition this feudal lord lost no time in issuing a decree by which the number of his children stood reduced by one!
Now she starts her life with the man of her choice. He hailed from a princely family owning thousands of hectares of land in the now Pakistan part of united India. Life might have been exhilarating for AA as the new "Bahu" in that aristocracy. Soon she was to become the mother of two cute little girls. Yet she might have had an occasional sob at the thought of Mavelikkara and her beloved ones. None at Mavelikkara had any contact with AA. With no contacts and no efforts to rebuild a ruptured relation AA would have been lost for ever. But then, strange are the ways of fate.
With the struggle for independence reaching a crescendo the whole of India was in turmoil. Order gave way to chaos. Tensions were mounting. Even as India was united in its resolve against British Imperialism, the most unfortunate episode in the history of India was unfolding - an almost irreversible communal divide in the Indian mind or conscience.This resulted in the volcanic eruption of communal violence with Hindus and Muslims fighting each other. Lakhs of human beings were butchered. Lahore and Rawalpindi were burning the way most North Indian cities were.
Poor AA. She might have run for safety or hidden somewhere with the two little kids close to her chest. The aftermath of this unabated violence was the greatest exodus in human history. With east bound Hindus and west bound Muslims, it was an ocean of human beings migrating to safety leaving behind all the valuables and their place of birth. I was in tears when I read the description of these scenes in the book "Freedom at midnight". Because I knew that one drop in this ocean was my AA tired and exhausted. In a huge sea of humans, none is any special. Anybody is just faceless.
AA and her group finally reached Delhi inching through the desserts of Rajasthan braving all odds. A new life was started at the refugee camp. I can't imagine how AA and her family members might have reconciled with the tragic fall from an aristocratic, princely life to the life of refugees. At the height of her sufferings and in the abyss of an all-lost feeling, AA finally wrote to her father detailing her unfathomed agony. From what followed one has to say that even for feudal lords, blood is thicker than water. AA's father immediately sent his men to Delhi to bring home his daughter and her husband and children whom he was to see for the first time.
For AA, she was back home. But for her husband he was uprooted from his place of birth. The children were yet to be "citizens" of any land. I have heard that the man from the north was most interested in watching people climb the coconut tree. He spent all the time in the coconut farms watching this "hop up and climb" in disbelief.
During this time the government of India was engaged in the herculien task of rehabilitating those who have fled Pakistan (by now Pakistan was formed) and who were toiling in the refugee camps in India. AA and her family went back and settled some where in North India and resumed their life from scratch. They started a clinic which, I was told, flourished well. Once the trauma of one of the most unfortunate incidents in history was overcome, people stopped worrying about each other. Relations were not maintained. Decades later one morning, Mavelikkara woke up to a shocking news. The Malayala Manorama daily carried the front page news of the death of AA and her son-in-law in a road accident in the US. And that was the end of a turbulent life which was full of unexpected and unbelievable turns and twists.
Years later, in 1987 to be precise, I got news that AA's grand son,ie, my second cousin Vikas Khitta was at the College of Engineering, Trivandrum as a student of Mechanical Engineering. I wrote a letter to him and he replied addressing me "dear cousin". I cannot describe the emotions that overpowered me on reading that letter. Very soon Vikas came to Mavelikkara accompanied by his mother Remani. We all had an emotion packed rendezvous. A good number of us had assembled to receive someone who had left that place as an infant and is now back as the mother of a teen aged son. For the feudal lord I mentioned in the beginning Vikas belonged to the fourth generation. There were sobs, hugs and none could speak a word. We all stood on the lawns of the centuries old ancestral house which had a long veranda.The changing expressions on the face of the elders assembled there reflected the fleeting memories in their mind. All of us felt as if being in a world of fantasy. The silence that was becoming unbearable was broken by Remani when she suddenly recognized a small little stone grinder left abandoned at one end of the long veranda. It was in this stone grinder that she used to grind arec- nut and tobacco for her grand father (AA's father).Vikas told me that they had settled in Bereli in UP. He told us that his grand father (AA's husband) was still alive. I felt sad. If I had known this earlier I would definitely have visited my AA's man. I was in Agra as a student for three years and Bereli was not too far. Now I am even more sad. I can blame only myself for not maintaining my contacts with Vikas.
I wish someone reading this knew my cousin.
I wish Vikas himself read this story and got back to me.
I remain hopeful.
I do not know the correct spell for Khitta. Some people say it is Kitha or Khitha.
THERE IS SO MUCH IN A NAME. I AM VERY SURE, ONE DAY I WILL GET A MAIL FROM THE RIGHT SPELLED. MY COUSIN CANNOT BE WRONGLY SPELLED. FAR REMOVED THOUGH, IN SPACE AND TIME, THE GENETIC LINK THAT EXTENDS FROM INFINITE PAST AND THAT FLOWS INTO THE INFINITE FUTURES IS THE GREATEST REALITY AND MARVELL OF NATURE AND HE AND I ARE SOMEWHERE THERE SO CLOSE YET SO FAR..... LONGING TO MEET AGAIN.
THE WAIT WILL NOT BE TOO LONG..... IT CANNOT BE...............