Manto in his masterpiece “Thanda Gosht (Cold Flesh)” makes us meet a fictional character Ishar Singh who, during the partition violence, on the other side of Punjab, abducts a Muslim girl and tries to rape her. The girl, already dead, was but ‘cold flesh’. This affected Ishar Singh psychologically so much that he lost his libido. The story is a glimpse of pain and suffering that the partition brought to many. They found themselves amidst a dilemma and the choice was difficult – death or migration. Those who preferred lives over land migrated and those who opted for land perished.
Also read: The lost temples of Islamabad – I
At about the same time, on this side of Punjab, in a village of Rawal near Rawalpindi, a real person Ishar Singh found himself stranded and violence consumed his surroundings. This Ishar Singh, unlike his fictitious namesake, was on the receiving end of violence. The change in locality marked him as a victim.
Rawal was a small village comprising of around one hundred households; only forty belonged to Muslims. They were Gakhars or Kiyanis, Syeds, Bafanda (weavers), Thakyal Rajputs and Malhiar (Arian). And Ishar Singh, a Sikh, was headman (Lamberdar) of the village. Until 5th day of March 1947, the life was peaceful in and around Rawal village. As the local legend goes on, Rama and Sita had paid visit to Ram Kund in Saidpur village, while Krishna had taken abode in Rawal village as the farmers of Rawal village had built three ‘Shalwa’ (small temples) in the name of Krishna.
Violence erupted. Jathas from the area of Koh-Murree started attacking villages around Rawalpindi and suddenly Ishar Singh and other Hindu and Sikh inhabitants of Rawal became strangers in their own village.
On 5 March, 1947 Muslim students took out a procession in Rawalpindi. It was a show of power. On 6 March, 1947, the village of Thoha Khalsa, near Kahuta, was attacked and burnt by a Muslim mob. Violence erupted. Jathas from the area of Koh-Murree started attacking villages around Rawalpindi and suddenly Ishar Singh and other Hindu and Sikh inhabitants of Rawal became strangers in their own village. The dilemma of partition was at their doorstep and the choice was difficult – death or migration. They chose migration. With swollen throats and wet eyes, they packed their belongings and left for an unknown destination leaving behind the land they had always thought was theirs.
The village was empty and so were the three temples. One of them was called Grukul; it was eaten up by Rawal Lake when Rawal dam was built in 1960s. The second one became house to a Kashmiri family. Its arches remained intact until 1980s before being devoured by the time. The third one, the Krishna Temple, is about to breathe its last. To fill the government files, Evacuee Trust records its origin as 1883, though no one knows when this temple was originally built. According to these files, the temple was functional in 1935. These files are silent as to when the bell of the temple rang its last — for it is obvious.
Haunted by the memories of the past, today the lone temple stands isolated and indifferent to the surroundings on the bank of Rawal Lake. Alone, silent, dilapidated and awaiting Nirvana, it braves the vagaries of time.
The author is a lawyer based in Islamabad . He is partner at Just & Right Law Company. He can be reached at [email protected]