The journey from Sialkot to Sambrawal was uneventful. But from there, the caravans of people from either side, the Hindus moving to the Indian side and the Muslims to the Pakistani part, were on the move. Suddenly, our Jonga was stopped. An old Sikh stood on the way and begged us to take his grandchild to India. I told him politely that I was still studying and would not be able to carry his grandson, however fair his request was.
The old man said that he had lost all his family members and the only survivor was his grandson. And he wanted him to live. I still recall his tearful face but I had told him the facts. How would I bring up the child when I myself was not sure about my future? Then we moved on. And, as we travelled, we could see the scattered luggage all over but the bodies had been removed by the time. The stench, however, was very much in the air.