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Partition of Lives: Memory, Trauma, and

Nostalgia of East Bengali Refugee Women in SEARCH CAFE DISSENSUS
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by Café Dissensus on August 15, 2017
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By Subhasri Ghosh
Any momentous occasion is a time to look back, to CREATIVE COMMONS

LICENSE
reminiscence. As India celebrates 70 years of
Independence, we look back at the lives of those
whose homeland changed overnight at the stroke of
This work is licensed under a
a pen. For them time remains static, frozen at 1947. I
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aim to focus on the dual aspects of memory, one of
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trauma and another of nostalgia, of East Bengali
Unported License.
refugee women who crossed over to the state of West
Bengal through extensive use of personal
recollections and written memoirs of women MAGAZINE PAGE HIT STATS
migrating to West Bengal following the Partition in
1947.[1] As Gyanendra Pandey treats history, “… as
301,746 hits
one kind of practice of recollection.”[2] To retain the
original avour of the memories, I have relied upon rst-hand narration.
LIK E US ON FACEB OOK
Memory of Violence
Cafe Diss…
I wish to draw attention to the fundamental di erence between the types of violence in 3.6K likes
Bengal and Punjab following Partition. Though both regions went under the scalpel in 1947,
Punjab was scarred much more by violence, as compared to Bengal. In the days immediately
following Partition, the violence in Punjab was explicit – with large-scale looting, arson, Like Page
de lement of minority women, and plain massacre. In Bengal, while the pre-Partition days
witnessed widespread riot and killing in Calcutta and Noakhali, no repetition of the same 4 friends like this
magnitude and intensity accompanied the announcement of Partition.
The word ‘violence’ in the context of Bengal has a di erent connotation. Violence in Bengal
was more of an implicit nature. Migration from East Bengal was provoked o en mainly by
an intense fear psychosis, the phenomenon of ‘what if…’ This is what I mean by implicit. FOLLOW US ON TWITTER
Saving the honour of women, life and property were no doubt the deciding factors. Whereas
in Punjab, the actual occurrence of widespread violence prompted the exodus, in Bengal it
was o en more of hearsay that prompted people to leave. However, it will be a denial of truth
to dismiss the existence of explicit violence in Bengal. The most pronounced evidence of
post-Partition violence of an explicit nature occurred three years a er Partition in 1950,
when riots scarred large parts of East Bengal, primarily Barisal, with the echo being felt in the
industrial suburbs of Calcutta.[3] The following extracts, gleaned from interviews with
https://cafedissensus.com/2017/08/15/partition-of-lives-memory-trauma-and-nostalgia-of-east-bengali-refugee-women-in-west-bengal/ 1/9
surviving inmates of the still-existing Permanent Liability (P.L.) Camps in West Bengal testify
to the horrors of that carnage.[4]
Tweets by @CafeDissensus
Cafe Dissensus Retweeted
Sonaibala Mali (Bhadrakali Women’s Home)[5]
Tisha Srivastav
I lived in a village in Barisal. My husband, my father, and paternal uncle were all hacked to death in @TishaSrivastav
broad daylight – I was around 16 years old when the killing took place… I could not sleep a wink; those cafedissensus.com/2017/08/15/con
…
scenes haunted me for years. The police rescued us – my mother, brother, and ve sisters – and brought
us to Barisal town.
Lilabati Dutta (Dhubulia Camp and In rmary)[6]
The Hindus of our village in Barisal were singled out and killed. I can still vividly recall that fateful
day when my entire family was wiped out. It was around eight in the morning. Nearly y Muslims Contents – India at 70: Th…
(from outside and from our area) stormed our locality and killed my mother, paternal uncle, aunt, Contents – India at 70: The …
brother, and sister. On my in-law’s side, my father-in-law, my mother-in-law, and sister-in-law were cafedissensus.com
butchered. The houses were ransacked and torched. Only I managed to escape the dance of death. With
my infant son, I hid amidst the water hyacinths … the miscreants poked the water with bamboo poles to 5h
nd me, but somehow, by the grace of the God, I could deceive them. I stayed immersed for two days.
Binodini Halder (Chamta P.L. Camp)[7] vishwajyoti ghosh
@VishwajyotiG
I was a widow, living with my daughter, in my father’s home in Barisal district. I saw with my own Partition@70 This is such a well
eyes, how the Hindus were slaughtered at Muladi (1950) in Barisal. They were locked up in a godown curated collection. Read this
and hacked to death. Naren Bhattacharya, a resident of our village, was killed by his own students who Congratulations Bhaswati
@Sury_here & Cafe Dissensus
came disguised as policemen. Village a er village were torched down.
cafedissensus.com/2017/08/15/con
…
Nevertheless, there is no denying the fact that direct experiences of violence were not as
horri c and widespread in Bengal as it was in Punjab in 1947-48; for example, there was no
train carrying corpses between Calcutta and Dacca. The oral and the written testimonies of
many women reveal that they had no direct experience of physical violence. Some even
acknowledged that the neighbouring Muslims, with whom they had for generations shared a
cordial relationship, urged them not to leave. But they le everything behind to begin their
Contents – India at 70: Th…
‘tryst with destiny’ in a new state and a new country, the reason being the fear of living in Contents – India at 70: The …
perpetual tension, “when a tap on the door could mean death or for women, rape.”[8] I cafedissensus.com
present here some rst-hand narratives of women, ranging from the still-su ering inmates
of the P. L. Camps to well-settled ones, living decently with their dear ones, which underline 5h
the impact of gnawing fear.
Saraswati Biswas (Chamta P. L. Camp)[9] Arpita Das
@arpitayodapress
Our village was not a ected by the riots. The local Muslims assured, “You stay put, and we will guard
Terrific lineup!
you.” But I was a young widow with two small kids (a son and a daughter). The village elders Contents - India at 70: The Many
(primarily Hindus) advised against my stay. Hence, I came along accompanied by my sister-in-law. Partitions (Issue 38)
cafedissensus.com/2017/08/15/con
Lilabati Ghosh (Bansberia P.L. Camp)[10] … via @wordpressdotcom
Our area remained more or less peaceful. But news of violent incidents in other areas scared me. I was
alone at that time, since my husband had gone to his company’s head o ce in Calcutta. However, the
coolies and the labourers (mainly Muslims) working for the company pledged me all help. I had already
sent my daughter and son to this side. We could not sell o our possessions in Goalando.
Contents – India at 70: Th…
Surabala Das (Bansberia P.L. Camp)[11] Contents – India at 70: The …
cafedissensus.com
We had cordial relations with our Muslim neighbours. When the riots started, we asked whether they
would harm us. They promised, “We won’t touch you. But we can’t guarantee about the Bihari
5h
Muslims.” I was around 16-17 at that time. I came along with my husband. We carried no valuables. At
that point of time we didn’t anticipate that this would be our nal journey. Embed View on Twitter
Sunanda Ghosh ( Jamshedpur)[12]
We did not face any di culty in 1947, so we stayed back. The situation deteriorated later when Bihari FOLLOW MAGAZIN E VIA
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Muslims became active. They came to our village, held meetings and incited local Muslims to drive
away and kill Hindus. But the Bengali Muslims said, “We shall not touch them. We have eaten their
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salt, we cannot betray them.” We did not experience that calamity ourselves, but we did hear about these
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from others… Our Muslim sharecropper Taisheik took us to his home. He said, “I will protect you, even if receive noti cations of new
I have to die for that.” But somehow we never felt it was safe to stay back. We came to the nearest town posts by email.
Jamalpur under military protection. Our family le Jamalpur for Darshana on the border by train
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provided for the refugees. From there we walked quite a stretch to enter Hindustan. Finally, we landed
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at Cooper’s Camp in Ranaghat.
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Thus mostly, it was the apprehension of a catastrophe and not any actual calamity that drove
these women to this side. The trauma of leaving one’s bhitamati was compounded by the
severe struggle for existence on this side. Here, of course the experience of those displaced in TOP POSTS & PAGES
the west converge with those of the east because women belonging to both the regions
struggled and fought relentlessly to chart out their new lives in new surroundings. Contents - India at 70: The Many
Partitions (Issue 38)
Memory of struggle and settling down The forgotten partitions of
northeast India and its lingering
Hena Chaudhuri[13] legacies
Divyang: The Latest Frontier

We came over to Chandmari Camp in Nadia district. Our camp-life was fraught with hardships. Tents
were pitched in the middle of a sprawling eld with grasses ve to six feet tall!! The toilets were about Revisiting Saadat Hasan Manto:
Lessons in Secularism and
half a mile away though the tube-well was quite close by. Thus started an altogether di erent life—a
Humanism
life full of struggle… We nally got permanent accommodation a er three months. These were
Guest-Editorial – India at 70: The
essentially army barracks abandoned a er the Second World War. Once we were settled, friends and
Many Partitions
relatives started pouring in, in search of help. Our nancial condition turned from bad to worse; since
Gorkhaland Movement: History,
we had to support our relatives also… it was di cult to make ends meet. Flaws & Prospect
Partition of Lives: Memory,

Anima Dhar[14]
Trauma, and Nostalgia of East
Bengali Refugee Women in West
Me and my brother … we found refuge in my paternal uncle’s home in Calcutta. We had a tough time
Bengal
adjusting ourselves to our new lives. Used to living amidst luxury, here in Calcutta, we were huddled in
Submissions
cramped rooms along with other relatives. But we were helpless.
Post-Partition (1947-58) Refugee-
Home on the other side hood in Bengal – A Critical
Reading of Published
This struggle to survive and move forward in an unfriendly clime made the refugees Autobiographies
increasingly nostalgic. Even a er nding some sort of material stability on this side, the tug Book Review: Anuradha Bhasin
of the motherland on the other side of the Padma remained as strong as it had been in the Jamwal’s ‘Vedji and His Times’
initial days.
RECENT COMMENTS
Hena Chaudhuri[15]
Yes, I still do feel the tug of the other side, which still exercises its charm on me. The pain of uprootment Sanchari Chakravarty on The
is still raw. It has been 51 long years. But the desire to visit the other side has not waned a bit. Well, we Construction of Bengali Muslim
have never faced any untoward situation in East Bengal. Perhaps that is why I do not nurse any Identity in the Late Nineteenth and
Early Twentieth Century
grievances. I have fond recollections of my childhood days in the idyllic village surroundings. I have
Ellis Macmull on Baghdadian and
heard that the locals have occupied our house. Perhaps if I go back now I will be disillusioned. But even
Bene Israel Jewish song in
then I still nurse the wish to go back.
twentieth century Bombay:
Repertoire, performance
Anima Dhar[16]
and interaction
Even a er forty long years when I look back, I can still vividly recount my days back in East Bengal. Café Dissensus on The
Construction of Bengali Muslim
Yes, I have found material stability here… but how can one forget her motherland? Alas…if I could have
Identity in the Late Nineteenth and
spent all these years in East Bengal only! By now, I would have been able to build some sort of a Early Twentieth Century
reputation, what with my father being a famous doctor of the area and our family owning huge landed
mesamik on The Construction of
property. But here, we are nameless, faceless gures in the sea of people. In this concrete jungle Bengali Muslim Identity in the
everybody is busy with their respective lives…people are running a er money…we have become sel sh. I Late Nineteenth and Early
miss the relaxed life back in my motherland. Twentieth Century
Sarama Dutta Majumdar[17] Aastha Tyagi on Karachi’s ‘Yahoodi

Masjid’
It all seems to have happened yesterday… though so many years have passed by. I am now in the
twilight of my life. But I live in my past… the Shiva temple and the Kali temple at Ramna with the
chant of mantras eeting in… I want to go back to those days. When I close my eyes, I have this dream…
I could hear the bells ringing… the exams have started… I am running towards the examination hall,
but how fast I run the distance never seems to lessen. I wake up and realise that it was a dream—the
manifestation of my desire to go back but the inability to do so. I have not forgotten anything, nor will I
ever forget.
These narratives prove that East Bengal still pulls a chord in their hearts and has not allowed
them to accept the reality. It is interesting to note that women like Hena Chaudhuri and
Anima Dhar had spent the better part of their lives on this side, and strictly speaking, have
vague recollections and dim memories of their villages and homes. But they live with these,
and add as well to conjure up the concept of an ‘ideal life’ amidst the sylvan surroundings,
which may well be imaginary. Their trauma of being cut o from the natal set-up becomes
enmeshed in the nostalgia for a lost homeland. They remain prisoners of the memories of
their homeland – the Padma, Meghna, and Arialkha, the beauty of nature, the relaxed village
life, and the atmosphere of peace, tranquility, and camaraderie.
The trauma
As opposed to this nostalgia, for the residents of the P.L. camps, trauma is still an existential
reality, heightened even more by governmental apathy. Their yearning for a lost home
becomes subsumed in the struggle for survival. It is not true that they do not indulge in any
nostalgic retreats. As Sishubala Das of Chamta P.L. Camp rues, “My heart aches for my bari
back in East Bengal. For years, I cried for my lost home. I never remarried, in spite of
repeated requests from my parents because I wanted to cling to my husband’s home. But
alas! By a strange twist of fate, I was forced to sell o that precious home and leave
forever.”[18] But their daily struggle perhaps does not give them the time to do so. In fact,
unlike the previous set of narrators, many of the inmates consider West Bengal as their
home, like Labanya Mukherjee, “I have lived the better part of my life here. I spend my time,
sitting on the banks of Ganga and reading the Holy Scriptures. I wish to spend the rest of life
here only.”[19]
Deprived of immediate family links, they had looked up to the government to play the
traditional patriarchal role of their father, husband or son and to look a er them in their
needs. Indeed, as their testimonies stress, some of the inmates ‘voluntarily’ opted for a life in
the P.L. camps. Although they had close relatives on this side, refugees like Labanya
Mukherjee, Lilabati Ghosh, Surabala Das chose the camp life. Some even turned anti-
establishment by siding with the communists in a bid to improve their lot. The coming of
the communists to power, however, did not bring about a signi cant change in their lives,
which still continue to revolve around the four crumbling and damp walls of the camps, on a
paltry dole of Rs. 200 a month. The recollections of these women capture the trauma in all
its aspects – the severance from the native soil, uprooting from their bhita (ancestral home)
followed by the arduous journey across the Radcli e Line to this side, the disintegration of
the family set-up through death or ‘government screening’,[20] trauma of being labeled a
special category of refugees – the ‘P.L.’ – and nally ending up at the P. L. Camps where the
su ering continues.
Binodini Halder (Chamta P. L. Camp)[21]
I migrated with one of my elder brothers, his wife, my elder sister, her son and my six-year old daughter.
My mother stayed back in East Bengal with another elder brother. We could not dispose of our property,
before we le .
We arrived at Sealdah Station where we stayed for a week. Pu ed rice and jaggery supplied by the
government were our only food. During screening, our group was split up. While some were shi ed to a
camp in Medinipur, my daughter and I were dispatched to Asansol. Both my elder brother and elder
sister, who had sons, were rehabilitated later in Halisahar. Time and again, I applied for rehabilitation.
But being a single woman with a small daughter, I was not considered t. I was actively involved with
the UCRC struggle and was even jailed twice. Alas! Nothing concrete came out of our long struggle.
Now, I live in abject poverty. Our rooms have never been repaired – rainwater seeping in through the
roofs oods the rooms. There is no provision for safe drinking water, no electricity. The government has
done nothing to lessen our misery. Tell me, is Rs. 200 su cient for survival?
Surabala Das (Bansberia P. L. Camp)[22]
From Faridpur, we arrived at Burnpur via Sealdah. My husband set up a shop and began selling copper
utensils. We lived quite comfortably in a house in Chinsurah. But my husband died soon a er. I came
over to stay with my younger brother-in-law. My mother who had migrated before us and was staying
at the Ranaghat camp, advised me to get myself admitted to a camp. Her logic was, “You have a small
daughter; you have to educate her, get her married.” I, too, thought when there is an opportunity, why
not make good use of it. The superintendent of the Ranaghat Camp, where my mother was an inmate,
advised me to go over to Bongaon border to collect the refugee slip and enroll myself. I did accordingly
and was transported to the Babughat Transit Camp. I longed to stay with my mother. But I was singled
out as a P L. Hence I was not to be shi ed to Ranaghat. For three months, I stayed in Babughat, before
being shi ed to Bhadrakali Camp.
The camp was housed in abandoned military barracks. Five to six families jostled for space in a single
room. The mortality rate at the camp was quite high. The dead bodies were dumped in a truck and
taken away. Out of concern for my daughter’s well being, I decided to send her to my mother. When the
situation turned normal, I brought her back.
As breakfast, we were served pu ed rice, while lunch was a frugal a air of cooked rice, dal and a
vegetable. Lactating children were given milk. We were provided with hair oil and detergent soap.
Gradually the system of dry dole was started, but the quality was too bad. UCRC leaders like Saraju Bal
and Sishu Dutta protested against the poor quality and nally the supply was discontinued. When our
doles were stopped, the UCRC provided us with the necessary rations.
I was actively involved in movements led by the UCRC. Apart from agitating against the poor quality
of rations, we also demanded articles of daily need like buckets, mugs, and lanterns. But alas! Our fate
has remained more or less unchanged. It is true that the Communist Party has done a lot for us. The
amounts of cash and dry dole have been increased, but these are simply not enough. I used to supplement
my dole income by spinning yarns – both at Bhadrakali and Bansberia. But a er a few years, the
scheme was stopped at Bansberia.
Conditions have gone from bad to worse. The local boys have stolen the doors and the window panels
and set re to the rooms. How can one stay amidst such goonda raj? But where will I go? Staying with
my daughter and son-in-law does not look good.
It is in these narratives of agony that we hear in the P.L. Camps, where the merciless
displacement of the past and the cruel deprivation of the present converge that we decipher
the relevance of Gyanendra Pandey’s thesis on the con uence of memory and violence. In
this context we can recall Pandey’s re ection on the nature of remembrance fuelled by
Partition, “… Partition was violence, a cataclysm, a world (or worlds) torn apart.”[23]
Thus, memory, both hymnal and elegiac – the former invoking nostalgia and the latter
evoking trauma – layer the narratives, making them palpably human and poignant. The
narratives I have presented here – oral testimonies and written memoirs – crisscross with
one another to construct that complex structure of feeling in which several emotional
conditions prevail and interpenetrate. For those who did experience violence, the situation is
even more intricate, because here the dark times of the past and the present are countered
occasionally by glimpses of dreams yet to die. It is this dream which urges an emaciated 85-
year-old Lilabati Ghosh of Bansberia P.L. Camp with no surviving kith or kin to pine for
rehabilitation – the dream of having a home of her own has not waned a bit.
Again, those who have managed to nd a decent rhythm of life here are also not estranged
from their past, which continues to haunt them. In short, a chiaroscuro of varying tones of
light and dark envelopes the lives of these women where trauma and nostalgia,
remembrance and reality ceaselessly intertwine.
Endnotes
[1] The interviews were taken as part of the project, ‘Trauma and Triumph: Gender and
Partition in Eastern India’ headed by Dr Jasodhara Bagchi and Dr Subhoranjan Dasgupta.
The rst volume of the project was published under the title, “Trauma and Triumph: Gender
and Partition in Eastern India” (Stree) in 2003 and the second volume, in 2009. The
interviews cited here, were taken by the author and Smt. Debjani Dutta.
[2] Gyanendra Pandey, Memory, History and Violence: Re ections on the Reconstruction of Partition
(Calcutta, 1999).
[3] For a detailed rst-hand account of the 1950 riot in East Bengal, see Pravash Chandra
Lahiry, India Partitioned and Minorities in Pakistan (Calcutta, 1964)
[4] The Permanent Liability Camps, as the very name suggests, houses special category of
refugees, namely, women without any able-bodied male member to look a er. There are
nine Permanent Liability Camps still existing in West Bengal.
[5] Interview, November 2005
[6] Interview, December 2005
[8] Meghna Guhathakurta “Families, Displacement, Partition”, Refugee Watch, September 1999.
[11] Ibid
[12] Interview, June 2000
[13] Interview, March 1999
[17]Sarama Dutta Majumdar, “Daccar Dinguli” in Ramesh Chandra Majumdar, op. cit.
[20] ‘Government screening’ refers to the procedure by which the refugees, on arrival at the
border, were questioned and on satisfactorily establishing their claim of fresh arrival, were
issued interception slips to qualify themselves as ‘bona de refugees’. To those dependent
entirely on the government for food and shelter, a special type of interception slip was issued
which entitled them to admission in camps. They were then asked to report to the nearest
reception centers, where they were further checked and moved to the nearest available
transit camp. Here they were again questioned, classi ed according to their profession or
occupation, and given cards and sent to the Relief Camps, Permanent Liability camps or
Colony Camps.
[22] Ibid
[23]Pandey, Remembering Partition, p. 7
Bibliography:
Butalia, Urvashi, The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India (Penguin Books India,
New Delhi, 1998).
Guhathakurta, Meghna, “Families, Displacement, Partition”, Refugee Watch, September 1999.
Hasan, Mushirul, (ed.), India’s Partition: Process, Strategy and Mobilization (Oxford University
Press, New Delhi, 2001).
Lahiry, Pravash Chandra, India Partitioned and Minorities in Pakistan (Writers’ Forum Private
Limited, Calcutta, 1964).
Majumdar, Ramesh Chandra, Amader Sei Dacca Viswavidyalaya (Ramakrishna Mission

Institute of Culture, Calcutta, 1974).
Menon, Ritu and Kamla Bhasin, Borders &Boundaries: Women in India’s Partition (Kali for
Women, New Delhi, 1998).
Pandey, Gyanendra, Memory, History and the Question of Violence: Re ections on the Reconstruction
of Partition (K.P. Bagchi & Company, Calcutta, 1999).
Pandey, Gyanendra, Remembering Partition (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2001).
Interviews with Anima Dhar, Hena Chaudhuri, Sunanda Ghosh, residents of Chamta P.L.
Camp (Nadia), Dhubulia Camp and In rmary (Nadia), Bansberia P.L. Camp (Hooghly),
Bhadrakali Women’s Home (Hooghly).
Bio:
Subhasri Ghosh is Assistant Professor in the Department of History, Asutosh College,
University of Calcutta. Reach her at subhasrighosh@yahoo.co.in
***
For more stories, read Café Dissensus Everyday, the blog of Café Dissensus Magazine.
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About Us Editorial Board Announcements Previous Issues Submissions

Cafe Dissensus Everyday

Partition of Lives: Memory, Trauma, and

Any momentous occasion is a time to look back, to CREATIVE COMMONS

Lilabati Dutta (Dhubulia Camp and In rmary)[6]

Sunanda Ghosh ( Jamshedpur)[12]

Divyang: The Latest Frontier

Partition of Lives: Memory,

Sarama Dutta Majumdar[17] Aastha Tyagi on Karachi’s ‘Yahoodi

Binodini Halder (Chamta P. L. Camp)[21]

Surabala Das (Bansberia P. L. Camp)[22]

[5] Interview, November 2005

[6] Interview, December 2005

[7] Interview, November 2005

[9] Interview, November 2005

[10] Interview, December 2005

[12] Interview, June 2000

[13] Interview, March 1999

[14] Interview, June 2000

[16] Interview, June 2000

[18] Interview, November 2005

[19] Interview, December 2005

[21] Interview, November 2005

[23]Pandey, Remembering Partition, p. 7

Guhathakurta, Meghna, “Families, Displacement, Partition”, Refugee Watch, September 1999.

Majumdar, Ramesh Chandra, Amader Sei Dacca Viswavidyalaya (Ramakrishna Mission

Pandey, Gyanendra, Remembering Partition (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2001).

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Contents - India at 70: Guest-Editorial – India at The forgotten partitions

← The forgotten partitions of northeast India and its lingering legacies

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