A Memo of 1947 Atrocities from the Tongue of the Victims

Revolution comes. Revolution is a combination of six words, but it contains the entire history within itself, and the pages of history always give space to revolution within themselves. A similar revolution came at the time of the Partition of India when thousands of families left their birthplace, migrated to a new homeland, and set off towards an unseen land with new hopes.

But migration is not the name of a small journey, but rather the name of a pile of blood, fire, difficulties, worries and problems. How many families have been separated from their loved ones? How many children have been separated from their mothers? How many daughters have lost their chastity and innocence? How many fathers have pushed their daughters into a well with their own hands? Such heart-wrenching and heartbreaking stories force us to cry and tell the price of freedom.

When those who played for millions became paper pickers, those born with a golden spoon in their mouths yearned for a sip of water at the time of death. Such countless incidents can tear even the hardest of hearts apart.

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