butalia womens agency
TRANSCRIPT
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
1/12
Community, State and Gender: On Women's Agency during PartitionAuthor(s): Urvashi ButaliaSource: Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 28, No. 17 (Apr. 24, 1993), pp. WS12-WS21+WS24Published by: Economic and Political WeeklyStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4399641.Accessed: 13/08/2011 13:07
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at.http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms
of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
Economic and Political Weeklyis collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to
Economic and Political Weekly.
http://www.jstor.org
http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=epwhttp://www.jstor.org/stable/4399641?origin=JSTOR-pdfhttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/stable/4399641?origin=JSTOR-pdfhttp://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=epw -
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
2/12
Community
t a t e
n d
ender
On Women's
Agency
during
Partition
Urvashi
Butalia
Forfeminists,
etrieving
women's
gency-just
as retrieving
women
rom history-has
meant
recovfring
trong,
outspoken,
powerful
women
who
can
then
orm
part
of
the
struggle
or
liberation.
However,
as
explorations
on
the experiencesof womenduringPartitionshow,it is difficult to arriveat generalconclusionsabout women,
history
and
their
agential
capacity.
Women
have
often
played
out
nmultiple
nd
overlapping
dentities.
An
understanding
f
agency
also
needs
to take
nto
account
notions
of
the
moral
order
which
s
sought
to,bepreserv-
ed
when
women
act,
as
well
as the
mediation
of
the family, community,
class
and
religion.
The ocus
of
this
paper
is
on
the
relatedquestions
of
women's
agency
and
violence.
It
first
looks
at
particular
incidents
hat
took
place
before
Partition
n
Rawalpindi,
n
March
1947.
The
second
section
examines
how
the
newly
ormed
nation
state
dealt
with the
question
of
women
after
Partition
and
the
third,
through
memoirs
and
personal
accounts,
the
relationships
between
women
who
worked
on
behalf
of
the
state
with
the
state,and
the
women
they
worked
with.
HISTORICAL
events are
difficult
to
date
in any precise
way for their beginnings
and
endings
are not
finite.
The Partition
of
India into. two countries, India and
Pakistan,
is
an
event that
is said
to
have
taken
place in
August 1947,
yet its begin-
nings go
much further
back
into
history
and its
ramifications
have
not yet
ended.
For ma,ny
of us,
who were
first and
second
generatioln
children
after
Partition,
the
event
lives
on in our minds,
not so
much
through historicaLrecords
as
through
the
tales
that are told
and
retold, particular-
ly in north
Indian families,
of
the horror
and brutality
of the time,
the friends
and
relatives
who continue
to
live across
the
border,
the visits to
old ancestral
homes,
much of\this creating a yearning for a-
mostly
mythical-harmonious
past where
Hindus
and Sikhs
and Muslims
lived
hap-
pily
together, something
that
we con-
tinued
to hold on to'in the
face of
an
increasingly
communal present.
So
major
an
event-descriptions
of
practically
all communal
strife hark
back
to it ('it
was
like Partition again'
'we
thought
we
had
seen the worst of
it dur-
ing Partition,
yet.
. .) but so
inadequately
recorded.
What records
we have look at
Partition mostly
in terms
of its constitu-
tional
history,
its
government
to govern-
ment
debate,
its agreements
and dis-
agreements
between Nehru
and Gandhi
and Jinnah,
the
growing
divide
between
the
Congress
and the
Muslim League
and
so on.
Hardly any
attempt
has been
made
to
record
what ordinary people,
on both
sides
of
thiborder, experienced
and went
through.
Within a short space
of time,
perhaps
overnight,-millions
f
people
were
turned
into refugees.
How did
they cope
with
this dislocation?
What did they
have
at hand that
equipped
them to
deal with
the trauma
that must
have accompanied
the
uprooting?
How
did they
rebuild heir
lives?
What
helo did the
state
provide?
What-part
did such
resettlement plav
in
reshaping or
changing
the
shape
of the
cities or
villages
where
the refugees
hiad
settled? Indeed, what, if any, have been
the implications
of this
large exodus
or
in-
flux of refugees
in
terms
of
communal
strife?
These, and
a
host of
other ques-
tions,
remain
largely unanswered
today.
If these
overall
experiences
remain
largely
untouched,
there
are other,
lesser
known,
experiences
that
lie beneath
these,
that
need further
excavation.
These
are the
experiences
of women
and children.
In
a
larger
work,
researched
ointly
by
Sudesh
Vaid and myself,
we attempt to
construct
a
kind of people's
history
of Partition.
But
in this paper,
it is
the story
of women-
and partially that of children-that I
would
like to
look at.
Much
of what
I say
below
is based
on our
joint
work,
but the
analysis
I
make
or the
conclusions
I draw
are,
of
course,
mine.
QUESTIONS
ABOUT
HISTORY
My
own
trajectory
to.this
exploration
has been
a
peculiar
and
circuitous
one.
But
the process
that
has
led
me
to
it
is,
for me,
as
important
as the exploration
itself,
and
one which
forms
part of this
project.
I am not
a historian;
history
is
not
my
subject.
But
I was led
to this
work
througha processof political engagement
with
history,
contemporary
communalism
and
activism
within
what
we
describe
as
the
'women's
movement.
Like
most
Punjabis
of
my generation,
I have been
brought
up
on stories
of
Partition,
stories
which
have,'in
some way,
inured
many
of
us
to those
very horror$
that they
talk
about. The need
to begin
to
understand
Partitionin more
depth
only became
real
to me
after
the
1984 anti-Sikh riots
in
which
hundreds
of Sikhs
were
brutally
killed,
and
by
the
sXubsequent
scalation
of
the Punjab
problem.
It
was around
this
time that
I
also
began
to explore
my
own
family history,
which
is
equally
one
of
division,
with one
relative being
left
behind in what became Pakistan, and op-
ting
to
become
a
Muslim,
and the
reopen-
ing of
family
contact
with him after
more
than
40 years.
These, and
other
circum-
stances,
made
me
increasingly
convinced
of the
need
to
attempt
to understand
how
'ordinary'
people
experienced
this
event,
which is
what we call history,
in the
hope
that
this would
throw some
light
on
the
world we
live
in
today.
And while
not
wan-
ting to.valorise
or
romanticise
either
the
notion
of
ordinary people,
or that of
ex"
perience,
I
did
feel that
both formed
part
of
the complex
whole
we call
history.
By this, I do not mean to posit the 'raw
experiences'
of 'ordinary
people'
against
a category
called history,for
b9th are
not
unproblematic
concepts.
Clearly
there is
no
way that history
can
inqorporate
all
experiences
at all times
for nich
depends
on who
writes history,
when it
is written,
who is
written about
ano
so on.
But what
became
clear
to me
ifter
1984-and
subsequently
by the
increasing com-
munalisation
of
our society-was
that
cer-
tain
kinds of
historical
explorations
become
important at certain
times.
Why
had the history
of Partition
been
so in-
complete,
so silent
on the
experiences
of
the thousands
of people it affected? Was
this just historiographical
neglect
or
something
deeper: a
fear, on
the
part-of
some historians,
of reopening
a trauma
so
profound,
so riven
with both
pain and
guilt,
that
they
were reluctant
o approach
it? This had, for
example,
been true
of the
history of German
Nazism. And
could it
be that
just
as, for
many
people,
1984
acted as
some
sort of catalyst,
so also
for
many
historians,
the renewedcxperiences
of
communal
strife, have
surfaced
per-
sonal
and
family
ngrratives,
especially of
1947.
in a way that
perhaps had
not
hap-
WS-12
Economic and
Political
Weekly
April
24,
1993
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
3/12
pened before,
thus
forcing
many of them
to come face
to face with Partition again,
albeit in a different way.
And in doing so,
to expand and stretch the
definition of
what we call
history?
All these
were ques-
tions that led me to
this work. I do not
claim here
to
be writing
a
new,
a different
history, but merely to be making an ex-
ploration that is important to me, and that
I find difficult to
ignore.
I am aware,of course, of the many pit-
falls
in such an
exercise.
Experience
itself,
for
example,
is
not an unproblematic
given. Nor
is
memory, the tool
that I am
by
and
large working
with, sacrosanct.
Just as experience
is
mediated through
historical understanding,.so
also memory
is
subject
to
selection
and mediation.
People choose to remember
certain things
depending on
who
they are,
how they are
placed, their class,
their economic and
political circumstances,
their
gender
and
indeed
the
position
of the interviewer
who
might
act
as
a
catalyst
for such
memories.
QUESTIONS
ABOUI FENLINNISM
A
second route that has
led me to this
exploration
was
through
my
work as a
feminist
and an activist in women's cam-
paigns.
It
was this that led
me,
as indeed
it does
many
of us who are
engaged
in
the
processof recoveringwomen from history,
to look
specifically
at women
during
Par-
tition. Why
was it
that
we heard
so.
little
about them?
Were
they
not
very
much
a
part
of
the millions
who
had suffered and
been
made homeless? How had
they
ex-
perienced
the
anguish
of the
division,
the
euphoria of the newly-forming nation?
My assumptions
were
simple-women
must have been
part
of the whole
process,
but we heard so little about them because
history,
ikeall other
disciplines,
s
patriar-
chal
in
nature,
and
had
thus
marginalised
women.
I believed hen-as indeed
I
do
now,
but
with many qualifications-that
in times
of communal strife and
violence,
women
remained
essentially
non-violent,
an
assumption that,
I
think,
informs
much
of
the
writing
on
violence
in
history,
as
well as the thinking of feminist groups.
Many
feminists assert
today
that women
are
essentially non-violent,
that
in
com-
munal strife
they
are
at
the
receiving
end
of violence as
its
victims,
it
is
their homes'
that
are
destroyed,
their bodies
violated,
their men killed
and
they
are
left
with
the
task
of
rebuilding
the
community.
The
twapassages
bel'w, one taken from an ac-
tivist
pamphlet, provideexamples
of this.
I am
a woman
I
want
to
raise
my
voice
because communalismaffects me
In
every
communal
riot
my sisters are raped
my children are killed
my.
men
are
targeted
my
world
is
destroyed
and
then
I
am
left to
pick
up the
pieces
to
make
a new
life
It
matters little
if I
am a
Muslim,
Hin-
du
or
Sikh
and
yet I
cannot
help
my
sisters
for
fear
that
I
may be
killed or
that they
mav
be
harmed.'
Violence s almostalways nstigatedby
men,
out
its
greatest
impact
is felt by
women. In
viokft conflict,
it is
women
who
are
raped,
women
who
are
widow-
ed,
women
whose
children
and
husbands
are
sacrificed in
the
name of
national
integrity
nd
unity.
And for
every ire
that
is
lit, it
is
women
whose job
it is
to pain-
fully
build
a
future rom
the
ashes... We
women
will
haveno part
of this
madness,
and
we
will
suffer it
no
more...
Those
who see
their
manhood
n
takingup
arms,
can
be
the
protectors of
no-one
and
nothing.2
Soon
after
1984,
when
I
began
work
on
Partition,much of what I found fell con-
veniently
into these
patterns. It
was
only
much
later
that a
different
kind
of
ques-
tioning began. In
1990,
1
participated,
as
part of
an
investigative
team sent
by the
People's
Union of
Democratic Rights
(PUDR) in
a
fact-finding
into
Hindu-
Muslim
riots in
Bhagalpur
where
more
than
a
thousand
Muslims
were
killed.
Believing
women
to be
the
worst
victims,
who
also
had to
face
the
added
threat of
sexual
assault, this was
what
I
now
began
to look
for. What
I found was
something
rather
different. In
one
instance of the
killing of some 55 Muslims in urban
Bhagalpur,
a
Hindu
woman had tried
to
protect
them,
but
had been
stopped
by
her
neighbours
(all
women) from even
giving
water
to
the
dying
and
wounded, even
though
they
begged
for it. In
another
instance, we heard
that
while
men
broke
down
houses after
an
orgy
of
killing,
the
women
carried
away the
bricks,
assisted
them, washed
away
the blood. A
third
instance took
place
in
a'
largely
Muslim
village
where a
group
of women
almost
turned
violent when
they suspected
I was
a
Hindu.
And
these were
only
a few
instances:
today
we have
innumerable
similar examples.
The
question that
faced
me
now
was
one
of
women's
agency,
not
only
that of
their
victimhood. With
this
came other
questions,
other
problems. For
feminists,
retrievingwomen's
agency-just
as
retriev-
ing women
from
history-has
meant
recovering
strong,
outspoken, powerful'
women
who
can
then form
part of
our
struggle
for
liberation.
Indeed,
in our
anxiety
to
reclaim
powerful
women,
we
see
any
kind of
agency
as
positive.3
But
what
I
was
seeing
here was
something
dif-
ferent:
the Muslim
women
who
question-
ed and nearly attacked me
in Bhagalpur,
or the Hindu women who
refused to allow
water to be given to
the dying and wound-
ed, were certainly
exercising a kind of
agency. Could we,
as feminists,
see.
such
agency as
unproblematic and empower-
ing. Were these women, not allying
themseives with the interestsof their com-
munity, howeverpatriarchal,male centred
and oppressive it may have' been? If so,
were they not reinforcing patriarchies
within theii
communities?
In
feminist circles
I had
barely
con-
sidered the
possibility
that
ithere
ould be
something
other
than their interests as
women, that could
hold women together.
The
complexity
of
their
roles,
the dif-
ficulties of s ruggle
-given these,
were ab-
sent
from
muich
of our discussions. That
women's loyalties
could have shifted, that
they were
not
undifferentiated
and
honio-
geneous, that their intere:sts
could tie
in
with those of
their
men
arid their
class-
these dimensions
are
todav
becoming
in-
creasingy importantfor feministsto ques-
tion and understand.
It
was
with
these
kinds of
questions
that
I came to the
work;
on
Partition,
not
with
any expectation
of
finding answers,
but
in
the hope
that
the
questions
would
perhaps
reveal
somne
of
the
complexities
of this
major
event
which is so much a
part
of our
lives,
and
.n doing so, point
to the ways
in which
those
of
us who
are
involved
in
feminist
and
civil
rights
ac-
tivities and
campaigns,
could
be
better
equipped
for what is
bound to be a
long,
and
in
today's
post-masjid context,
despairing struggle.
My paper
is
divided into three
parts.
The first looks at
particular ncidents
that
took
place
before
Partition
in
Rawalpindi
in March 1947. In
the second section I
look at the
newly formed nation
state
and
how
it
deals with the
question
of women
after
Partition and
in
ihe
third I
exainine,
mainly through memoirs
and
personial c-
counts,
the
relationships
between
wcmen
who worked on
behalf of the state, with
the
state and the women
they
worked
with. Although the questions that need
discussion
are many,
I
will focus here on-
ly on the related questions of agency and
violence.
The
Comniuniity
A
resounding silence surrounds the
question
of
women and Partition.
It
may
seem a
truism to
say this,
but it bears
remembering
that at
least half of
the
millions
who were
dislocated, killed,
uprooted
wvere
omern.
A
substantial
por-
tion of the task
of
reconustruction
nd
rebuilding fell on
women.
Economic
and
Political
Weekly
April
24,
1993
WS-13
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
4/12
Although
not
many
women
Figured n
the
negotiations
that
preceded
and
follow-
ed the
breakup of India into
two coun-
tries,
some did figure
prominently
in
the
execution of
many of the
decisions-in
particular Mridula
Sarabhai, Premvati
Thapar,
Rameshwari Nehru
and
others.
In
addition,
women
experienced his
event
in
particular
ways:
thousands of women
on
both sides of
the newly formed
borders
(estimates range from 25,000 to 29,000
Hinduand Sikh
womenand
12,000
o
15,000
Muslim
women) were
abducted, raped,
forced
to
convert,
forced
into
marriage,
forced back
into
what the
two
statesdefin-
ed
as 'their
proper
homes' torn
apart
from
their
families once during
Partition
by those who
abducted'them,
and
again,
after
Partition,
by
the
state which tried to
'recover'
and
'rehabilitate' them.
Untold
numbers of
women,
particularly
in
Sikh
families,
werekilled
('martyred'
s the term
that is
used) by their
kinsmen
in order to
'protect'
them
from being
converted,
perhaps equal numbers of them killed
themselves. The
violence
women
ex-
perienced
took
particular forms:
there are
accounts of
innumerable
rapes,
of
women
being stripped
naked and
paraded
down
streets,
of
their
breasts
being cut off, of
their
bodies
being carved with
religious
symbols of
the
other
community.4-And
then
there are
other, less
obvious,
traumas:
for
many,
particularly
middle class
women,
the dislocation
meant
that the op-
tion of
marriage,
supposedly a part
of
'normal'
everyday
society, was closed
off,
and
they had
to live
alone, or as
'spinsters'
with
their families,
others were
widowed,
along
with
losing
their
homes and
posses-
sions,
and
were left to build
lives on
their
own,
something
that
many
of them
were
ill-equippedfor.
Severalhad
to spend
their
lives in
women's
homes,
permanent
refugees,
and
many
are still
alive
today,
their
stories still
untold.
When
we began our
investigations-in
a rather
random
way,-we
were led, first
of
all,
to
the incidents of
March
1947,
some
months before
Partition,,that took
place in
a
number of Sikh
villages
around
Rawalpindi-Thamali, Thoa
Khalsa,
Doberan,
Choa
Khalsa,Kallar,
Mator
and
others. Here, during an eight-day period
from
March 6
to
13
much
of
the
Sikh
population
was
killed,
houses
were
decimated,
gurudwaras
destroyed
(figures
of
people killed
are in
the
region of
4,000
to
5,000).5 In one of
these
villages,
Thoa
Khalsa,
some 90
women
threw
themselves
into
a
well
in
order
to
preserve
the
'sanctity'
and
'purity'
Qf
their
religion,
as
otherwise
they
would
have had
to face
conversion.
A
small
community
of sur-
vivors
from these
villages still
lives in
Delhi
and
keeps alive
the
memory of
the
deaths by
holding a remembrance
service
*in
the local gurudwara
every year.
Here,
the incidents of that
week are
recounted
by survivorsand the
tales of the
women's
sacrifice occupy
a prominent
place in the
ceremony.
It is they who
are seen to have
upheld, by
offering themselves
up for
death, and
more particularly
'heroic'
death, the
'honour' of
the
commujnity.
Here is one such account
from a
survivor:
... in Gulab
Singh's haveli
26 girls had
been putaside. Firstof all my father,Sant
RajaSingh,when
he broughthis
daughter,
he broughther into
the
courtyard
o kill
her, first of all he
piayed (he did
'ardaas')
saying 'sacche
ba.dshah'
we have not
allowed
your Sikhi to get
stained, anid
n
order to save it
we are going to
sacrifice
our daughters,make hem
martyrs,please
forgive
us..
Then
there
was one man who used to
do
coolie
work
in our
village.
He moved
for-
ward and
... caught
his
[the faiher's]
feet
and he said, bhapaji,
first
you
kill me
becausemy
knees
are
swollen
and I won't
be able to runawayand
the Musalmaans
will catch hold of me and makeme into
a Musalmaan.
So
my
father immediately
hit him
with
his kirpan
and took
his head
off...
[then]
Nand
Singh
Dheer,
he said
to my father,Raja Singa,
please martyr
me
firstbecause
my
sons
live n Lahore...
do
you
think
I will
allow
the Musalmaans
to
cut
this
beardof
mine and niake
me
go
to Lahore
as a sheikh.
For
this
reason
kill
me.
My
father then
killed
him. He
killed
two
and
the
third
was
my
sister
Maan
Kaur..
my
sister came,
and
sat
in front
of
my father,
and
I stood
there,right
next
to
my
father,clutching
on
to his kurta as
childrendo,
I
was
clinging
to
him .., but
when my fatherswung the kirpan--'- vaar
kita'
perhaps
some
doubt or fear came
into
his
mind,
or perhaps
the
kirpan got
stuck
n
her
dupatta
.. no one can
say...
it was such a
frightening,
such
a fearful
scene.Then
my sister,
with her own hands
moved her
dupatta
aside
and
then he
swung
the
kirpan
and
her head and
neck
rolled
off
and
fell.
. . there. .
. far away.
I
crept
downstairs,weeping,
sobbing
and
all
the while I could
hear he
regular
wing
and hit of
the
kirpans... twenty-five
irls
were killed,
they were cut.
One girl,
my
taya's daughter-in-law,
who was
preg-
hant...
.somehow
she didn't
get
killedand
later my taya's son shot her with a
pistol
...
[but
she]
was saved.
She told
us,
kill
me,
I will not survive...
I havea child
in
my
womb... she was
wounded
in
the
stomach,
there
was a
large
hole
from
which
blood was flowing.
Then
my
mother
and
my
'phupad'
at
together
and
Harnam Kaur
said
to
them-her
name
was HarnamKaur-
he saidgive
me some
opium.
We
arranged
for
opium, peoplc
used
to eat it those
days.
. . in a ladle we
mixed
opium
with
saliva...
She
said the
'japji
saab
path'. . just
as the
'japji path
bhog' took place
so did her bhog.
Com-
pletelyas if she was prepared
or det.
...
few people can do that
...
she had death
in her control and it was only when she
wanted t that death took her. Fornearly
half an hour she did the path ... half an
hour and then as she spokeher ast 'shlok:
she also ended. She knew
she
would
die... so much control... over death.'
There are any number of such
stories,
of both men and
women-,although
the
numbers of women are much iarger than
those of men-offering themselves up for
death, or simply being killed, in an at-
tempt to protect the 'purity' and 'sancti-
ty' of the religion. While most able-bodied
men felt they could
go
out and fight, and
kill
if necessary, for the women, children
and
the old and weak, a
martyr's
death
seemed
to
be the only option preferable
to conversion to the 'other' religion. A
second story relates to a different incident
from
the
same village:
One more story
fiom our
village....
in the
morcha
when
the
military ame... no,
the
militarydid
not come...
people
were
col-
lecting... whenI wentthere herewas one
Hari Singh,
he
signalled
to me
to
get
out.
..
like
this, get out, get
out
... he was
sitting
like
this
and
he was
signalling
to
me that
the Musalmaans
had
cut
his
tongue off,
he had
refused
to
become
a
Musalmaan.
Then we
left the
morchaand
we all went to the banks
of
the
river
where
we collected. There
wasa wellthere..
.
at
the well Sardarni
Gulab
Kaur...
in
my
presence
said 'sacche
badshah:
let
us be
able
to
save
our
girls...
this incident
of
25
girls
of
our household
had
already
taken
place [25 girls
had been
killed]...
so
she
knew hat Sant
RajaSingh
had
kill-
ed his
daughters
and
other women
of his
household... those that are left, we
should
not
risk
their
ivesand allow
them
to be
taken away... so,
at
the
well,
after
having talked among
themselves and
decided, they said,
we
are
thirsty,
we
need
water,so the
Musalmaans took
them to
the well.
.
.
I was
sitting
with
my mother,
this
incident
of the 25 women
had taken
place,
we
had
come
out
of
the morcha...
so
sitting
at
the
well,
Mata
Lajwanti,
who
was also called S4rdarniGulab Singh,
sit-
ting
at the
well,
she said two
words,
she
did
ardaas
in
two
words, saying
'sacche
badshah',
t is to
save
Sikhi
that
we are
of-.
fering
up
our lives. .
.
forgive
us and ac-
ceptour martyrdom. . and sayingthose
words, he jumped nto the well, and some
eighty
women
followed
her,..
they
also
jumped
in. The
well
filled
up coniplete-
ly...
one woman
whose name is Basant
Kaur,
ix
children
born of her womb
died
in
that
well,
but
she
survived.
She
jumped
in
four
times
but
the
well
had filled
up...
she would
jump in,
then come
out,
then
jump
in
again... she
would
look at her
children,
at herself...
till
today
I think
she is
alive.'
For severaldays
aftfr
these villages were
surrounded and under attack, the people
WS-14
Economic
and
Political
Weekly
April
24,
1993
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
5/12
had
been
hiding
out in what
they
felt
were
'safe'
places:
large
houses
and
gurud-
waras.
Negotiations were
current at
the
time for
the
release
of
the
villagers
in
ex-
change
for
money
and
arms. In
Thoa
Khalsa in
particular,-even
during
the
time
that
the
women and
children
had
been
sheltering
in
the
gurudwara, several
had
been
killed
by their
families, who
feared
danger
and conversion.
Thus
for
the
90
women who threwthemselves into a well,
the
step
they
took
was
one
for
which
an
'atmosphere' for
want of
a
better
word-had
already
been
created
by
the
community
in
the
preceding
week.
It
is
against
this
backdrop
that we
need
to
see
their
decision.
Basant
Kaur,
a
grand-
mother
today, was
present n
Thoa
Khalsa
when
the
women
took
the
decision to
drown
themselves.
She
remembers
the
time,
after the
incident, when
they
were
finally rescued
by the
military
and
taken
to
Rawat:
They
brought
us
there.From
there...
you
know there was no place... nothing to
eat,
some
people
were
eating
close
by
but
where
could I
give
the
children
anything
from...
1
had
barely a few
paise...
my
elderson
had
a
'duvanni'
two
annas)
with
him,
we
thoughtwe
would
use
that .,
my
brother's
hildren
werealso
hungry ..
but
then
they said
the
duvanni
was
no
good
('khoti')...
[weeping]
uch
difficulties...
nothing
to
eat,
we
had
to
fill
their
stomachs.
.
.
today
they
would
have
been
ranis...
so
many
of
them,
jethanis,
children...
I
was
the
youngest.
.
.
now
I
sit
at
home
and
mny hildren
are
out
working
and
I
keep
telling
them
these
stories...
they are
stories
afterall .., and
you
tell
them
and
tell
them
until
you
lose
consciousness...
8
Stories of
this
kind
of
mass
suicide,
or of
women
being
killed
by their
own
families,
are
legion. How
do
we
read
these
ac-
counts?
Are
the
women
being
spoken
of
here
agents
or
victims?
Can the
act of
mass
death
by
jumping into a
well
be
seen
as a
violent one
or
not?
These are
not
easy
questions to
answer.
At
one
level
the.
assumptions
about
women's
non-violence
and
their
being vic-
tims
are
true.enough.
We
can
read
this in-
to
whatever
accounts
and
records
we
havt
When we look at the women in Punjab
during Partition
we
see,
quite
simply,
the
violence
they
suffered.
The
abduction
and
rape is
part
of
this
(see below
for a
detail-
ed
discussion),
as are
the
deaths
at
the
hands of
their
own
families and
often
at
their
own
hands.
Many women
were
humniliatedn
different
ways-their
breasts
and
noses
were
cut
off,
their
bodies
brand-
ed
with
signs
and
symbols
of the
'other'
religion,
pregnant
women
were
forcibly
aborted,
and
often
women
weremade
to
strip
naked and
were
paraded
through
the
crowvded
treets
of
towns
and
cities.
What
statistics
we
have
are
both
shocking
and
horrifying:
n
Doberan
70
women were
ab-
ducted,
in
Kahuta
this
figure
was as
high
as
500, in
Harial
40,
in
Tainch
30, in
Bamali
105, in
Rajar95 and
it is
said
that
in
Rawalpindi
alone
about
400-500
women
were
abducted.9
Not
only
this,
abducted
women
were
often sold
from
hand to
hand
and
were ill
used
by
their
captors.
Anis Kidwai
records:
We
have
considerable
evidence
before us
to
show
that
75
per
cent
of
the
girls
are
still
(probably in
1949)
being
sold
from
one
manto
another.
rhesej
girlsof
tender
years
have
not
been
able
to
settle
down
anywhere,
nor
will
they
be
able
to
settle
down
for
many
years.
Their
youth
is
be-
ing
sold
for a
few
thousand,
and
lustful
men,
having
atisfied
heir
ust
for
a
while,
begin to
think
of
the
monetary
benefit
that
could
come
from
their
sale.|"
But
what
of
the
women
who
took
their
own
lives,
or
who
'offered'
themselves
up
for
death?
Can
we
see
them
only
as
vic-
tims? Or did they themselves play some
part
in
the
decision
to
take
their
own
lives?
A
glance
at
the
particuiar
context
of
Thoa
Khalsa
yields
some
interesting
insights.
The
village
was
under
attack
for
eight
days, from
March 6
to
March
13,
the
day
on
which
the
mass
drowning
took
place,
and
for
these
six
days
practically
everyone
in
the
village
was
aware
of the
discussions
and
negotiations
that
were
going
on.
If
we
are
to
believe
the
accounts
of
the
sur-
vivors,
the
decision
to
drown
themselves
was
taken
by
the
women,
and
was
spear-
headed
by
Sardarni
Gulab
Kaur,
otherwise
known
as Lajjawanti.It is t-rue hat most
of
the
survivors
we
spoke to
are
male,
but
even in
Basant
Kaur's
account, while
she
grieves
over
the
loss of
lives, she
never
once
questions
the
decision
af
the
women.
Can
we
therefore
ask
that
when
they
took
the
decision
to
jump
into the
well
the
women
of
Thoa
Khalsa
were
not
mere
vic-
tims
but
that
they were
acting
upon some
kind of
a
perceived
notion
of
the
good
of
their
community,
that
they saw
their
act
as
being
part
of
this?
That
in
doing
so
they
shared,
in
some
way,
the
values
of the
men, that
the
honour
of
the
community
lies in
'protecting'
its
women
from
the
patriarchalviolence (for examplerapeand
sexual
assault,
or
worse
conversion)
of the
other
community; the
natural
protectors
here
eare the
patriarchs,
the
men,
but
at
this
particular
historical
juncture, sur-
rounded
as
they
are
by
hordes
of
poten-
tial
killers,
they
are
unable
to
offer
such
protection.
The
women
thus, one
can
perhaps
say,
could
well
have
consented
to
their
own
deaths,
in
order
to
preserve
the
honour
of
the
community. There
is,
as
there
must
be
in all
such
patriarchal
con-
sent'
on
the
part of
women,
an
element
of
choice
here.
But
while
for
some
this
may
have
been a
choice,
for
others
the
'decision'
must
have
been
one
they
felt
'compelled' o
take'
becauseof
the
par-
ticular
circumstances
f the
situation.
Here,the
women
are
thus
simultane-
ously
agents
and
victims,
nd
I
would
ike
then o
pose a
further
uestion.On
whose
behalf
were
hey
acting:
on
their
own,
or
on
behalf
of
their
commttnity?
n
this
particular
nstance
it
seems,
to be
the
honourof thecommunity hatseemsto
be at
work.
It
is
perhaps
or this
reason
that
this
particular
kind
of
agency,
his
specific
kind
of
violence,becomes
ome-
thing
to
be
celebrated
s
'heroic'.
As
we
shall
see in
the
next
section,
a
different
kind
of
agency
when
women
act
on
their
own
behalf)becomes
a
subject
or
collec-
tive
censorship,
omething
o be
covered
by
a
veil
of
silence
and
something
that
calls for
the
state
to
assume
the role
of
the
patriarch
nd
the
family.
But
before
I
go on
to
discuss
that I
want
to
look
brieflyat the
question of
violence.
Thisact of massdrowning analso be
seen
as
a
violent
one.
If
women
are,
as
is
often
believed,
essentially
non-violent,
how
do
we
explain
uch
an
act? I
would
like
to
suggest
here
that
the
manner
n
which
these
90
women
chose
to
die
was
no
less
violent,
although
certainly
dif-
ferent,
rom
he
generally
isible
violence
that
formed
part
of
Partition.
But
so
patriarchal
re
notions
of
violence,
hat
we
only
see
it
as
relating
o
men.
And
so
communalised
ave
uch
notions
become,
that
we
only see
violence s
relating
o
the
'other'
the
'aggressor'.
This
obscutis
severalhings:manywomen f Hinduand
Sikh
communities
must
have/
een
their
ownmen
as
being
perpetratorsf
violence
towards
them:
for
just as
there
were
'voluntary'
uicides,
so
also
there
were
mass
murders.
Equally,
or
men of
their
own
communities,
women's
potential
or
violence
which
he
Thoa
Khalsa
ncident
provides n
instance
of), or
their
agency
in
this
respect,has
to
be
contained,
o
be
circumscribed.
hey
cannot
therefore
e
namedas
violent
beings,as
having
agen-
tial
capacity.
This
is
why their
act
has
to
be
invested
with
valour:
women
have
to
be
kept
within
their
'aukat'
that
is
one
that definesthemas non-violent.
I
want
to
suggest
that
violence
s
nof
only
the
killing
and
looting that
is
so
much
a
partof
communal
trife,but
that
acts
such
as
these
the
mass
drowning)re
also
violent
acts,
whose
mmifications,
particularly
n
terms
of
their
ymbolic m-
portance,
re,
f
anything,
much
wider
nd
deeper than
those of
what
one
might,
rather
ynically,
erm
he
routine'
iolence
of
communal
trife.
This,
I
would
ubmit,
is
part
of
the
violenceof
communities,
n
which
both
menand
womenare
nvolved,
and
indeed
part
of the
patriarchies
hat
Econortfic
and.
Political
Weekly
April
24,
1993
WS-15
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
6/12
are embedded
in these communities,
which both men
and women help to
build
and sustain.
Given this, one
might ask why
the myth
of
women's
non-violence
persists.
In
many
of our Partition
interviews
we found
that
women
had been quite upfront
in taking
up
arms and fighting,
although
these
were
isolated
incidents. They
also
formed part
of the Muslim League
National
Guard,
which was said to have been instrumental
in
the Rawalpindi
killings.
But
these are
the direct
acts
of violence.
In
the
remem-
brance
rituals for
the Thoa
Khalsa inci-
dent today,
it is women who become
the
symbols
of the honour
of
the
family
and
community,
and their
act
of
offering
themselves
up
for death becomes
an
honourable
one,
not only because they
have
'saved' themselves
from conversion
to
the
'other' religion,
but also
because
by
doing so, they
have saved the
community
from
dishonour
and 'dilution'
of its
purity,
which could
have
happened
only
through them. Divested of violence and
of
agency,
this
act
can
then be located
in
the
comfortable
realm
of
victimhood
and
non-violence.
In
the
next
section,
which
deals
with the
state,
I
will
attempt
to
explore
another
dimension
of the
question
of
women's agency
and violence.
II
The State
I would
like to start
this
second
section
of
my paper
with a
quote
from a news-
paper report
from March
1947
which
relates
to the incident
above.
The
story
of 90 women
of
the littlevillage
of
Thoa Khalsa,
Rawalpindi
district...
who drowned
hemselvesby jumping
nto
a well
during
the
recentdisturbanceshas
stirred he
imagination
of the
people
of
Punjab.They
revived
he
Rajput
radition
of self-immolation
when
their
menfolk
wereno longer
able
to
defend
them. They
also
followed Mr Gandhi's advice to
Indian women
that
in
certain
circum-
stances
ven
suicide
was
morallypreferable
to
submission.
.
.
.
About
a month
ago,
a communal
army
armed
with
sticks,tommyguns
and hand-
grenades surrounded the village. The
villagersdefended
hemselvesas best they
could...
but
in
the
end
they
had
to raise
the
white
flag. Negotiations
followed. A
sum
of
Rs
10,000
was demanded...
it
was
promptlypaid.
The intruders
ave
solemn
assurance
hat
they
would
not
come back.
The-
promise
was broken the next
day.
They
returned
o
demand more
money
and
in
the
process
hacked to death 40 of
the defenders.
Heavily
outnumbered, hey
were
unableto resist
he
onslaught. Their
women held
a hurriedmeeting and
cop-
cluded
that
all
was lost but their honour.
Ninetywomen
umped nto the smallwelL-
Only
three were saved-there was not
enough water in the well to drown them
all.
-The Statesman, March 15, 1947.
While one kind of violence
was
valorised-and
continues
to be so in the
remembrance
rituals that
are
performed
in gurudwaras
every year-and
women's
'martyrdom' spoken
of in
glowing terms,
another
became
a cause
for state concern
and was treated rather differently. On
December 6,
1947- a
bare three-and-a-
half months
after
Partition
the
two
newly-formed
nations
came to
an
agree-
ment
on the
question
of
'recovering'
hose
women who had been abducted',
and
'rehabilitating'
them
in their
'native'
places.
This
vocabulary
of
recovery,
rehabilitation,
homeland
was
actually
a
euphemism
for
returning
Hindu and Sikh
women
to the Hindu
and Sikh
fold,
and
Muslim
women
to
the
Muslim fold. On
this
point-that
this
was what was to be
done-both
countries
were
agreed.
Thus
even for a self-defined secular nation
(India)
the natural
place/homeland
for
women was defined
in
religious,
indeed
communal
terms, thereby pointing
to a
dissonance/disjunction
between
its
pro-
fessedly
secular
rhetoric
(although
sectxlar
was also really understood
in
religious
terms)
and
its
actively
communal
(i e,
reli-
gious) identification
of women.
Women
who had been taken away by
the 'other'
community
had
to be
brought
back to
their 'own' community, their 'own'
homeland: both concepts that were
defined for women by the men of
the
respective countries. They did not have
a
choice.
The
agreement
arrived at between the
two
nations was
known as the Inter Domi-
nion
Treaty,which
was later enacted as an
act
of
parliament,
the former possibly
among the first of the agreementsbetween
the
otherwise two
hostile nations. The
genesis
of the
treaty was not quite clear
and
Anis Kidwai makes a reference
to
this
being initiated by Mridula Sarabhai
though it does seem doubtful that
Sarabhai could
have persuaded both
governments to do
this.
The terms
of the treaty were clear:
women on both sides of the border who
had
been abducted were to be forcibly
recovered
and
restored to their families.
Some of
the
clauses
were
as follows:
(I) Every ffort
must
be madeto recover
and
restoreabductedwomenand children
within the shortest time possible.
(2) Conversions by persons abducted
after
March1947
*)
will
not be recognised
and
all such
persons
must
be restored o
their
respective
Dominjons.The wishesof
the persons concernedare irrelevantand
nonsequently
no statemPents
of
such
persons should be recordedbefore
nagis-
Irates.
(*
footnote about persons equal-
ling women, no records of
men).
(3) The primary
responsibility for
recovery
of abducted
persons
will
rest
with
the local
police
who must
put
full
effort
in this matter. Good
work
done
by police
officers in this
respect
will be rewarded.
by
promotion or cash
awards
(***
footnote
about exaggerated
figs,
rewards,
trading
achievements).
(4) MEOs [military evacuation officers]
will
render every assistance by
providing
guards
in
the
transit camps
and
escorts
for
the
transport
of
recovered
persons
from
the Transit
camp
to their
respective
Dominions.
(5)
Social
workers will
be associated ac-
tively
with
the scheme.
They
will
look after
the
camp arrangements
and
receive
the
ab-
ducted persons
in their own
Dominions.
They
will
also collect full information
required about persons
to be recovered
and
supply
it to
the
inspector general
of
police and the local SP.
(6) The DLOs will
set up transit
carnp
in
consultation
with
the local
Deputy
Commissioners and the
public
workers
and
supply
informationn
regarding
ab-
ducted
persons to
be
recovered.
(7) Co-ordination between
the different
agencies
working
in the
district
will
be
secured
by
a
weekly
conference
between
the superintendent of
police,
and local
MEO
officer,
the
district liaison officer
and
the deputy commissioner. At this
meeting progress
achieved will
be reviewed
and
every
effort
will
be
made
to
solve
any
difficulty experienced."
Although
the
terms
of
the
agreement
refer
carefully and consistently (except in
Clause
I)
to
'persons'.
what is
being
discussed here
is
the fate of
women.
This
is
quite
clear from the
activity
that
followed, where
large-scale rescue efforts
were mounted to
locate and rehabilitate
women. Little attention
was paid to men
in
this
regard,
presumably
because
they
were able to make their
own decisions. I
have been
able
to find no record
at all
of
similar
recovery
of
men,
and
although
there
was some
discussion on
children
(because clearly they
complicated the
picture
considerably)
t
was
fairly
cursory,
given particularly that
they were among
the foremost
victims of such
dislocation,
violence and trauma. Anis Kidwai does
mention that
some sort of
pressure
was
brought
to
bear
on
Muslim
families
in
Delhi
to
move
to
Pakistan,
but this
was
quite
different from
legislating
on the
issue,
which is
what was done
for
women.
The
key
officers who
were
charged with
the
responsibility
of
rescuing abducted
women
were themselves women. Mridula
Sarabhai
was
put
in
overall
charge
of
the
operation
and
assisting
her
(or otherwise
involved
in
the operation) were
a number
of other women: Rameshwari
Nehru,
Sushila
Nayyar, Premvati Thapar,
Bhag
WS-16
Economic
and
Political
Weekly
April
24,
1993
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
7/12
Mehta,
Kamlaben
Patel,
Damyanti
Sahghal,
Anis Kidwai
and
others.
These
women
social
workers
were assisted
by
the
police
of the country
they worked
in,
as
well
as (in
the
case of India)
by Indian
workers.
Every
time a rescue
operation
was to be
mounted,
a
woman officer
was
required
o go along,
accompanied
by the
police
and others.
In the
eyes
of the
state,
the
women
were better
placed
to
handle
the delicacy of the situation, and to 'per-
suade'
those
who were
reluctant
to give
up
their newhomes,
to
return
o the
national-
parental
fold.
'Persuasion'
was clearly
a
euphemism,
since
the agreement
had
categorically
stated that the
women's
wishes
were of
no consequence.
The
feeling
that
women
would
be better
qualified
to
handle such
a 'delicate'
task
was also
sharedby
some key
women
(Pad-
mini Sen,
Mridula
Sarabhai)
who
insisted
that women
should
be sent to
rescue
women.
That the
state was fully
aware of
the
delicacy of the task is pointed out by the
following:
the
16th meeting
of the
Parti-
tion
Council
had decided,
in
early
1948,
that
both
Dominions
should take
charge
of refugees
in their
areas and
that
no
refugees
hould
be forcedto return
o
their
own areas
unless
and until
it was
clear
that
complete
security
had
been restored
and
the
state
was ready
to
resume
respon-
sibility
for
them.
But
for women
they
said:
The
Ministry
of Relief
and
Rehabilitation
has set up
a Fact
Finding
Branch
n
con-
sultation
with the
Red
Cross,
an
Enquiry
and
Search
Committee
with the
special
objective of tracing abducted women.
Already
23,000
names
have been
given
to
Pakistan.
For the
recovery
of
abducted
women he government
epends
at
present
on the active
assistance
of
military
authorities,
district authorities,
women
and
social
wvorkers
and
prominent
persons.
Concerted
fforts
continue
to
be made
for the recovery
f abducted
and
forcibly
convertedpersons.
On December
6 a
con-
ference
of
both Dominions
was held
at
Lahore
and
it was
decided
that
both
Dominions
hould
make
special
efforts
to
recover
hese
women.
More
than
25,000
enquiriesaboutabductedwomenwho are
in Pakistan
have been
received
by
the
Women's
ection
of
the
Ministry
f Relief
and
Rehabilitation...
nearly 2,500
have
already
been
rescued...
he main
obstruc-
tion
facing
our rescue
parties
oday
is
the
fear
harboured
by
the
majority
of ab-
ducted
Hindu
women
that
they may
not
be
receivedagain
into
the
fold
of their
society,
and
the Muslims
being
awareof
this
misgiving
have
played
upon
the minds
of
these unfortunate
women
to such
an
extent
that
many
of
them
are reluctant
o
come away
from their
captors
back
tc
India.
It has been
mutuallyagreed
bet-
weenthe two Dominions hat n
such
cages
they should be forcibly evacuated.'2
But forcible evacuation was
not that
easv.
Sometimes
the
women
resisted-out
of fear
of
a second
dislocation,
a
repeat
of the
trauma,
another
uprootirtg,
or fear
of
non-acceptance,
and
equally
because
many
of them were
actually
happy
and
settled
in their new
situations,
while
at
others they
were
happy
to
return.
While
the women officials charged
with
the
task
of rescuing
abducted
women
were
recruited because
it
was
felt that
they
would be better able to persuade
reluctant
women to return, being women, they also
understood
only
too
well
the fear
and
dilemmas faced by those they were
re-
covering.
Anis
Kidwai,
who worked
as
a
social worker
in
refugee camps
in Delhi
sums
up
the dilemma of
many
of
these
women poignantly. I quote from her at
some length:
In
all
of
this,
sometires a
girl
would
be
killed
or
she
w6uld
be wounded.
The
good
'maal'would be sharedamong the police
and
the
army,
he second rate stuff would
go
to
everyone
else. And then these
girls
would go from one hand to
another
and
then anotherand afterseveralhourswould
turn
up
in
hotels
to
grace
their
decor,
or
they would
be
handed'
over
to
police
officers
in some
places
to
please
them.
And
every single
one
of these
girls,
because she
had
been
the
victim
of
a
saazish,
she would
begin
to look
upon
her
'rescuer'.peiforce as an angel of
mercy
who
had,/in
this time of loot or killing,
rescued,her,
r
fought
for
her,
and
brought
her
away.
And when this man wouldcover
her naked body (whose clothes had
become
the
loot
of another
hief)
with his
own
loinclbth or
banian,
when he would
put
these oii
her,
at
that moment she
would forget her mother'sslit
throat, her
father's
bloody body,
her husband's
trembling corpse-she
would
forget
all
this
and
instead
thank the man
who
had
saved
her. And
why
should she not do
this?
Rescuing
her
from
the beast
this
good
man has
brought
her to his home.
He
is
giving
her
respect,
he offersto
marry
her.How
can
she
not
become
his slave
for
life?
And it is only muchlaterthat realisation
dawns that
among
the looters this man
alone could not have been the
innocent,
among
the
police just
he
could
not have
been the
gentleman.
But all
were tarred
with the same brush.Eachone
had played
with life
and death to 'save the honour'
of some
young women,
and
thousands
of
mothers
and sisters
must
be
cursing
hese
supposedly
brave
men'
who had
abducted
their
daughters.
But
by
the
time
this
realisttion came,
it
was
too
late.
Now
there
was
nowherefor
her to go: by this time she is about to
becomea mother,or she has beenthrough
severalhands. After seeing so many
men's
faces, this daughter of
Hindustan, how
will she ever look at the face of her
parents, her husband?"3
The women's fear
was
real. Their non-
acceptance by
Hindu families became
a
major problem: suddenly
the
state,
so
quick to come forward
with its
'recovery'
was at a loss to
know
what.to
do
for the
re-integration
of
these women into the
new nation, which became, in the eyes of
the state, synonymous
almost
with
their
families.
Anis
Kidwai,
Kamlaben
Patel,
Damyanti Sahgal,
all
three
women who
worked with
abduied
women, point
to
this. Several
things
were at
work
here:
families
had filed
complaints
about
missing relatives, particularly missing
women, but between the filing of
corn-
plaints and the actual recovery,months,
sometimes
years,
would
pass.
In
the
in-
terim the women
would
often
have mar-
ried, or become mothers, or simply settled
in
their new homes. Anis
Kidwai
says:
"But now a different problem arose. The
majority
of
the girls
did
not
want
to go
back."4 While this was true for some of
the women, where their families werecon-
cerned, they faced
a
different
dilemma.
Some
of the women
were
now
'soiled',
they had
lived
with, married,
borne
children to the men of the 'other' com-
munity, they had therefore 'diluted' the
'purity'of the community, how could they
now
be taken back?
And what
was to
be
done with
the
visible
results of
their
impurity, heirsexuality, e, their
children?
So
acute
was
the problem that both
Gandhi and
Nehru
had to
issue
repeated
appeals
to
Hindus, asking
them
not
to
refuse to take the women back into the
family
fold. In a
public appeal
made in
January
1948
Nehru said: "I am told that
sometimes there is an unwillingnesson the
part
of
their
relatives
to
accept
those
girls
and
women[who had
been
abducted]
in
their
homes.
This
is
a most
objectionable
and
wrong
attitude
to take
up.
These
girls
and
women
require
our
tender
and
loving
care and their
relatives should be
proud
to take them
back
and
give
them
every
help"
15
And
Gandhi said: "I hear women
have
this objection that Hindus are not willing
to
accept
back
the
recovered
women
because
they say
that
they
have
become
impure.
I feel this is a
matter
of
great
shame.
That
woman
is
as
pure
.s
the
girls
who are sitting by my side. And if any one
of those recovered women
should come
to
me,
then I will
give
them
as
much
respect
and honour as
I
accord to these
young maidens"'6
For
several
years afterwards-indeed
well
into 1955-the fate of these women
was of considerable concern
to the two
governments. Legislativeassembly
records
Economic
and
Political
Weekly
April
24.
1993
WS-17
-
8/10/2019 Butalia Womens Agency
8/12
for the
years following
1947
show
an
ongoing concern
and debate
on
how
many
women had been rescued, where the
largest number of recoveries had taken
place, why had other places done
so
badly
and so
on.
lnterestingly, although
it
was
women who were key in the actual
recoveryoperations, questions were raised
mainly by men. The fact that fewer Hindu
women were recovered rom Pakistan than
Muslim women from lndia became a
matter of great concern
and
figures on
how many had been recovered,or concern
about the slow rate
of
recovery came up
often.
For
example,
in
anger
to a
question
in parliatnlent he following figures were
given
for the
year
1952: from
April 1951
to the end of January 1952 1,703
recoveries had been made in India as
against 629
in
Pakistan.'7
In the discussion that followed the
presenting
in
parlaiment of the Abducted
Persons (Recovery and Restoration)
Bill-which later became an act-one
J J Kapoor from Uttar Pradesh made an
interesting statement. He said:
I extend o this Bill
my
wholehearted
up-
port arid'
I
congratulate the great
humanitarian onsiderationwhich has ac-
tuated
t
in
bringing
orward his measure
and also for
setting
before the
country
a
very high standard. For what could be
considered
o
be
of
greater
humanitarian
utility
han the work
of
restoring
bducted
children
o the
lap
of
weepingparents
and
restoring
abducted
sisters
to
loving
wives
and abducted wives to
pining
husbands?
Of
all
the
crimes and
sins
that had
been
committed
during
the horrible
days
that
followed the ill-fated Partition of the
country
n
1947,
1
think
no
greater
in
and
no
greater
crime was
perhaps
committed
than the
one
relating
o
the
abduction
of
innocentchildren
and
women,
and
it must
be our sacred
duty
to
restore bducted
per-
sons
to
their
original
families
rrespective
of the
period
of
abduction...Wemust
give
due credit o the devotedband
of
workers
who have renderedyeoman service and
above all
to our
sister,
Shrimati Mridula
Sarabhaiwhose
services
n
this
direction
have
been
so
very conspicuous.
There
are, however,
one
or two
things
to
which I would like
to
draw the attention
of
the
honourableMinister.One of
them
is
that
Uttar
Pradesh
eems
to
me
to
have
been
dragged
within the
purview
of this
Bill
because
n
the
chart hat has been
sup-
plied
to
us by
the
government,
find
that
during
the
period commencing
from
Ist
January
1951
riAhtup
to
this
date,
there
has
not
been
a
single
case of
any
abducted
person having
been recovered
n UP.
Not
only that,
even n 1950 herewere
only
two
cases. Thus it does not
appear
to
be
necessary
at all
to
tarnish the
fair name
of
UP."
In
the ensuing discussion further figures
are traded, another MP (this time
from
West Bengal) comes back to Kapoor and
mocks his concern for being limited by
certain 'geographical considerations',
while Guha, also from West Bengal,
asserts:
"abduction is one of the
most
abominable offences
a
man
can
commit
and
in
the matter of honour of women,
there cannot be any question
of
religion
or nationality..:"9
And yet, these were the very questions
that dictated the nature of the whole
enterprise: questions of religion
and
na-
tionality.
The women were Hindus and
Muslims and they had to
be
brought back
to their Hindu and Muslim nations. There
are close parallels
in the
notions
of
honour as defined by the community and
family on
the
one hand and the
state on
the other.
For the survivors
among
com-
munities and families where women were
'martyred' or chose to become 'martyrs'
they (the women) were taking upon
them-
selves the
task
of preservingthe 'honour'
of the
community, perhaps
the
biggest
blow to which would have been forcible
conversion-a transgression
or
a
blatant
violation of the boundaries and spaces
delineated
for themselves
by the
two
communities Hindus
(and Sikhs)
and
Muslims,
and
equally importantly,
for the
spaces delineated for the women by each
of the communities. These family codes
were paralleled by the codes of the state
where the women themselves did not, by
and
large, necessarily
take on
the task of
holding up the honour
of
the 'nation' (or
if
they did,
we
have
no record of
it).
But
the state invested them with this, their
rescue
or
recovery
was seen as a
'humanit-
arian'task, an 'honourable'enterpriseand
so on.
Thus the
patriarchal amily and
the
patriarchal state both came close in their
perception
of women's role. While
women
carry
the
honour, they
do not
have
a
choice.
But
while there was a similarity in how
the
state and the
community saw women
as
carrying
he honour of
both, there were
also
differences
in
how both
approached
the
question
of
women.
For
the
community it was the woman's
sexual
purity
that
became important,
as
also her
community
and/or
religious
den-
tity. For the state, because the women the
state was
rescuing,
were
already
in
a
state
of
sexual 'impurity' having
often lived
with their captors, this problem had to be
pushed aside,
and
their religious identity
made
paramount.
Hence Gandhi's exhor-
tations
to families
to
take their sisters
and
daughters
back. Gandhi's and Nehru's
were not the only exhortations: the
ministry
of
relief
and rehabilitation
s
said
to
have
issued a
pamphlet
which
quoted
Manu to establish
that a
woman
who
had
had sexual
involvernent
with someone
other than her husband, became purified
after
three
menstrual
cycles,
and hence
her
family could accept
her back.
Similarly,
we were
told in one of our interviews
that
stories were
published
which
openly
ac-
cepted
that Sita had had sexual
congress
with
Ravana, despite which she remained
pure.
The state
did
not,
of
course,
enter into
the
task
of
recovery entirely
on its own.
Just as families filed
reports
of
missing
relatives, so also they recorded missing
women.
Interestingly,many of the
reports
were filed by men,
and later it was the men
who often refused
to take women back.
It was perhaps the
enormity
of these
numbers that acted as
a
pressure
on the
state to take
up
the
task
of
recovery.
In-
terestingly
enough, although
both
coun-
tries traded numbers
to see
who
had
suc-
ceeded
in
flushing
out more
women
and
'restoring' them to
,their 'families' (the
word
often became
synonymous with the
nation), there was
no disagreement
bet-
ween
them on the necessity of
the task,
although often their functionaries felt dif-
ferently.
We have
seen
some of
the
am-
bivalences in the
attitudes of
the
women
social
workers and
will
see
more in
detail
below)
but Kamlaben records
that
often
hefty Sikhs would come outside
camps
and
weep,
asking
that their
women,
who
had
become 'pure'
by tasting
Amrit
(Muslim women
whom
the state had
rescued)
be
restored
to
them,
the func-
tionaries would
respond
that
they
were
only
doing
their
jobs,
which
they
would
lose if
they did not return the women
to
:heir
rightful homes.
If