...it's only words

  • Home
  • Profile
  • Why (the hell) do writers write?
  • Image gallery
  • Readers gallery
  • Blog - Khanabadosh
  • Iqbal Bano and Faiz (music for you)
  • Travel - Ladakh
    • Valley of flowers >
      • Leicester
      • Lake District
      • Shakespeare's birthplace >
        • Pulao Langkawi
        • Singapore
  • Published work
  • Visitors' diary
  • Contact me

A town that fell off the map - Ferozepur

21/2/2013

21 Comments

 
Picture
On the western border of Punjab where India ends and Pakistan begins (or the other way, depending upon which side you're looking from), there lies a stretch of no man’s land, marked off by rusty barbed wire fencing. It hides the scar where a country was once cut into two. Overlooked by the bunkers of young rifle-yielding soldiers in Army fatigues, here you find a small temple and a masjid facing each other like reluctant adversaries from opposite sides of the road. Beyond spread out emerald green wheat fields that look uncannily similar on both sides. So do the people who gather here to watch the retreat ceremony held every evening by India’s Border Security Force and Pakistani Rangers. If it weren’t for the occasional black burkha or a man in pathani salwar you wouldn’t really be able to tell one side from the other. Women in bright flowery salwar kameez, middle aged men with salt and pepper beards, little girls with ribbon flowers knotted in their pigtails and boys with sparkling eyes are all over the place. Stripped of accents, religious ideologies and colours of skin, aren’t people the same everywhere? It’s sad then that they won’t smile at each other.

At Hussainiwalla, 11 km from Ferozepur (where I live), a flag lowering ceremony takes place every evening. The friendly crowd banter stops the moment the soldiers march in and an uneasy stillness creeps in broken only by self conscious throat clearing or a nervous giggle that escapes someone or the other. As the soldiers take aggressive stances, lift their legs high in the air, stomp their boots hard into the ground, twist their moustaches up and glare at each other; someone in the crowd invariably starts a chant of “Pakistan zindabaad” or “Bharat mata ki jai” and these are flung around like insults in a rising crescendo of mutual scorn.

The two national flags are brought down to the buglers’ call and the crowd's jeering that travels all the way to the shelled ruins of India’s last railway station  where visitors, who have escaped the evil spell of the ugly scar, smile and get their pictures taken. Further away there is an abruptly aborted railway line with a painted sign that says: “Northern Railway ends here.” Once the track went all the way to Lahore, about 60 km away. Now, it doesn’t go anywhere. If you are the sensitive, writer type, you stand there and imagine how trains must have once rushed past, clattering on the metal tracks, groaning with their happy loads of families and friends and cattle, smoke coiling into the air. All you hear now is the rustle of the wind in the ripe yellow mustard fields, the banter of children playing on the deserted track and the splash of buffaloes taking a dip in a stagnant pool of water.

If you’ve never heard of Ferozepur, I wouldn’t hold it against you. It is one of those places that fell off the map in 1947 and lies forgotten since, buried under a pile of history and the memories of old sardars in granny glasses who squat on roadsides at dusk sipping hot cups of milky tea. The oldest British district of Punjab, established in 1833 (long before the NRI hubs of Ludhiana and Amritsar became districts) Ferozepur was the place from where the British established control over much of north-west India as well as what is now Pakistan. Now it is the headquarters of a division of the Indian Army which is why it sometimes surfaces in Army people’s conversation, particularly when someone who has not been keeping MS Branch happy has just received posting orders and is scratching his head to “where the @#$% could it be?”.

Beleaguered officers and armchair travellers who like to check out places no one else goes to, might want to know that Ferozepur is a typical old Punjab town on the banks of the Sutlej. It was founded by Sultan Firoze Shah Tughlaq, a Muslim ruler who reigned over Delhi from 1351 to 1388. To get here you will have to drive down from Ludhiana. Yes, the same that is known for woolen hosiery and a large Yo Yo Honey Singh fan base. From here a wide tarred road takes you westwards, initially dotted with roadside eateries and colleges and then vast farms where ethereally beautiful wheat fields in dazzling shades of green surround solitary farm houses. The per hectare wheat yields here are comparable to the best in the world and they have matched wheat yields of even Ontario in Canada which makes us do a bit of balle balle here. And now, I hope, we shall not have anybody sneering at sleepy, small town nobody’s-ever-heard-of Ferozepur.

If you drive our way late afternoon, a beautiful glowing orange sun is going to be right in your eye all through. Because, you’re travelling west my friend. So have those Ray Bans handy. If you are poetically inclined the vision of the setting sun turning the sky a myriad shades with bright pink bougainvillea blooming by the roadside might make you want to erupt into deep poetry so have ear plugs  for fellow passengers handy too.  Ferozepur has the magical quality that proves a Stephen Hawking's hypothesis right – time does slow down here. Long time back the town was surrounded by a wall, which had 10 gates providing protection to people living inside, now five remain (in various states of ruin) but we don’t mind because nobody needs protection anyway. Old timers brag that once upon a time Moti Bazar and Hira Mandi were big markets selling pearls and diamonds with singing girls as an added attraction. Now, you’re more likely to step on a stray dog. And if your life feels incomplete without singing girls, the only option you have is to switch on the car stereo.

At Hussainiwalla, the Sutlej flows quiet and deep, watched over by discerning migratory birds drying their wings on the bridge. This is where they say the British dumped the ashes of revolutionaries Bhagat Singh, Sukhdev and Rajguru after executing them in a Lahore prison a day before their scheduled hanging, fearing public out lash. In Toori Bazaar there is a building where it is said they manufactured bombs, while on the ground floor, Gaya Pershad, an associate, practiced medicine. A memorial to the three martyrs stands in the middle of a small garden where people remove their shoes and bow their heads as a mark of respect. Girls with covered heads giggle as young boys with shiny gold rimmed aviator glasses and a few shirt buttons open get pictures taken. Bored soldiers look on from a nearby Army post, unimpressed. A fallen bridge stretches across the water and water hyacinth now blooms where once a bloody war was fought. Stray fishermen dip their oars in the water and a golden Labrador retriever, trained by the Army’s dog squad to detect bombs, wags its tail and sniffs inside the boots of visiting cars.

There are other things I could tell you but I'm a bit reluctant to. For instance, I could tell you more about the Barki memorial set up in the memory of 7 Infantry Division soldiers who laid down their lives in 1965; about the Saragarhi  Gurdwara, built in the memory of 21 Sikh soldiers who died defending the Fort of Saragarhi in a suicidal battle when they were surrounded by 10,000 Pathans.  Or even the  brutality of the 71 war; about Major SPS Waraich who they say was taken prisoner; about Major Ashok Suri who once wrote a letter to his father saying he was in a Pakistani prison but could never be traced; about 52 soldiers who have been reported missing and will never come back. I could tell you painful stories about destroyed  railways stations and blown up bridges and families emotionally damaged for life but  bad memories are best forgotten.

The quiet of Ferozepur belies its violent history. While memorials to dead heroes fall by the wayside, outside these smile young guava sellers with carts piled up with juicy fruit. Kakke da dhabas dish out Punjab’s legendary butter chicken and at the locally famous Lotan ki machli, tipplers stand around having a drink, balancing Old Monk bottles on car bonnets, since a firm notice says: Yahan baith ke daru peena mana hai.

Spring is returning to Ferozepur even as I write. In my small garden the first red poppy blooms. Out in the villages, mustard fields stretch across for miles, nodding  their heads happily in the breeze. Sometimes I wonder if on the other side too there is a person watching the pigeons fly overhead, if he too feels the breeze on his face, if the faint strains of the azaan from a distant mosque escaping the restrictions borders place on lesser beings, fall on his ears too. And if he too hopes that the ugly scar we're both trying to hide shall finally heal one day and we wont be scared to touch it anymore. Or if  people who look like us  will be able to smile at each other from across the border at Hussainiwala. Goodbye Ferozepur, thanks for sharing your winter and your spring, I understand your pain and hope that one day things will get better for you.
21 Comments
Prithvi
21/2/2013 04:34:52 pm

Awesome piece Rachna. You have crafted this so well ! A befitting tribute.

Reply
bala chauhan
21/2/2013 05:35:25 pm

There's nostalgia and emotions in your blogs and these are things that i love in writing....loved your piece. where u heading from ferozepur now?

Reply
Anju
21/2/2013 06:25:08 pm

Lovely write up . I am sure Ferozepur would always hold special memories for you in times to come . Lucky are those who get posting to a city with rich historic importance and wonderful country side locales .

My best wishes for your new sojourn n ya I would always associate Ferozepur with a lovely person !!

Reply
ather
21/2/2013 06:54:51 pm

wah wah Rachna- what poetry in prose. I wish I could always see the world with your eyes. You have painted a lovely picture of an historic town and done it proud. I went to Waga-Waga border to see the strutting soldiers and the heard the rival singing. There was a huge mix of emotions. My father grew up in India but fled to Pakistan from Gurdaspur at partition-he rarely recounts the tales of bloodshed that he witnessed but always speaks highly of the Sikh community amongst whom he had lived. He didn't last long in Pakistan and within a couple years had emigrated to Kenya. There is little that divides the people beyond line on a map -line in the sand. You are right- we are the same, but destiny has forced people apart and required them to define themselves by their separateness. Who you define yourself as depends on which side of the line you stand. For those of us thousands of miles away, it matters little. But a sadness lingers about what has been gained and what has been lost when one nation became three....

I too wish you well in your new sojourn and look forward to seeing that city too through your eyes..

Reply
anjana link
21/2/2013 07:18:17 pm

Rachna You made me go back summer of 1984 when F' pur was filled with bandookdhari faujis.We had them in jongas and jeeps.Our red brick house was opposite a church. I remember the day we went to Faridkot to attend Amrit chakhna ceremony of our friend and
without any remorse spent the money given for the occasion on a movie and cold drink Iused to smartly sign bills in the instiute. Dad B. P went high when he saw the totalled bill at the end of the month.i remember a wimpy boy who used to stand outside the gate of our ??? Bunglow and stare at me . Ipretended to ignore him but felt quite flattered. Those were the days of innocence when world was seen with tinted glasses. And we felt nothing was impossible.
Now I m feeling middle aged . NO MORE NOSTALGIA. Abhi to main Jawaan hoon Khaate Peete (hic , hic ) ghar ki Auret hoon Can I write ladki hoon?

Reply
Mahendra
21/2/2013 09:27:46 pm

I must say this piece has changed my opinion of Ferozepur, which for some inexplicable reason I always thought of as being dusty and desolate. Very well written, though we could have done with some more pics from GE saheb.

The drama at the border - Yes I have seen it on TV, and I felt sad - It reminded me of a quotation from a US Magazine (Time?) at the height of the Siachen conflict - The reporter said something like "the fact that two of the poorest nations in the world are fighting with equipment imported with borrowed hard currency, for territory that has no value, would be funny were it not for the fact that people are actually dying". Europe figured out that fighting amongst themselves was stupid, and decided to go for European Union. Yet we still take pride in the ridiculous cock strutting at Wagah....

Reply
rajeev
22/2/2013 12:43:07 am

what a wonderful use of words.... you have actually made ferozpur a tourist destination.. as i always say--- the pen can do wonders... take care and keep writing such wonderful things...

Reply
Anima
22/2/2013 04:09:39 am

You've painted such a colorful picture of Ferozepur and brought out all the drama associated with it. I look forward to reading your blogs... it is a real treat... hope you enjoy your spring time in F'pur before you head off to summer in Delhi...:)

Reply
BIG B JB
22/2/2013 10:39:14 pm

As usual beautiful narration of small town..The Firozpur.... It gives pain when you look back history of this place...abandoned raiway line, Gurudwara...arrest of our brave soldiers..above all The place is related to BHAGAT SINGH incident makes this place historical....very beautifully written and thanks to MS branch..:-) .Indeed its always pleasure to read your article.....once again thanks and all the best.........Jai ho

Reply
Geets
23/2/2013 06:24:10 pm

Beautiful writing, as always Rachna. I feel sad I didn't visit the land from where my ancestors emerged but thanks to you, I know something more about it and hopefully someday I will be able to visit it. I will forward the link to my cousins who will definately enjoy this piece of yours. Thanks and keep writing

Reply
Subodh Nimkar
23/2/2013 11:21:29 pm

Excellent Rachna!
As a student, I didn't really care a whole lot about details of history and ended up with lots of holes in the awareness. Your writing is not only filling those gaps but also helping experience that period and events. Keep writing!

Reply
tanu
24/2/2013 04:25:04 pm

Am feeling bad that i made only one short trip to ferozpur and that too in peak winter.But Hussainiwalla was definitely an experience to remember . Ferozpur is immortalized in my memories as one of my fav. pics (and there are very few of those) was clicked by you in the midst of the sarso ke khet.

Reply
jwala
24/2/2013 10:58:43 pm

Very true....the movement we started loving that place,time comes to say good bye,,,,and we dont know, we r comming back to the place or not,,,,,,

Reply
Y S Rawat
26/2/2013 11:07:41 am

Beautifully described a town that you yourself say ‘fell of the map in 1947'. You make it sound an important tourist destination specially for those who wish to have a brush with ‘history’ of this sub continent. I am sure many of your readers will be now motivated to make it a point to visit Ferozpur and that includes us here.
You have used a term ‘milky tea’ that was slight differently coined long back by Mahendra as ‘Tilk’ – Tea + Milk.
Keep it up Rachna, we love to read all such beautiful stories.


Reply
Ganga
27/2/2013 01:18:35 am

Lovely, nostalgic...I'd heard of Ferozepur but you brought it to life!

Reply
Preeti Sharma link
27/2/2013 01:56:45 am

So beautifully written...I could picture the little city in my mind and reminisce about many other similar small yet pretty cities that I have had a chance to live in by virtue of the fact that my father was in the army :)

Reply
rachna
27/2/2013 02:15:25 pm

I'm glad it made some pictures in your mind Preeti. I feel a bit guilty that I didn't mention the narrow laned city and stray cows on the road but writers look at the world and tend to see only what they want to. Thanks for reading it.

Reply
RITEN KHOSLA`
27/2/2013 02:36:34 am

Nicely written,Rachna.Thanks for choosing Ferozepur,a town which has not changed in half a century if not more.It sure is the border,but The people of steel nerves and incorrigible habits never care if there is an international border.My Regiment Ten Engineers put the Hussainiwala Bridge up in record time after it was damaged during the last war.The Cantonment is so well maintained unlike the broken roads,and temperatures soar high in summer,But Punjab is a happy posting for Faujis.Wonderful descriptions and choice of words.

Reply
kr Sanjay banna
27/2/2013 10:51:44 am

I feel unlucky for not making a trip to Ferozepur but lucky to read about a town with historic importance . I too love villages & towns with histori behind them as i like to fallow my ancisters foot staps .Thanks & keep writing such beautiful memories .

Reply
Neha
27/2/2013 04:55:56 pm

Very nicely written Rachna.......seriously you should write travel books. Ferozepur has truly been glorified.

Reply
Suniti
21/11/2016 12:22:51 am

Rachna, loved this article on ferozepur..spent a part of my growing years there,as an army kid..Hussainiwala holds special memories,which came pouring out when I read your article...loved your style of writing .

Reply

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    Picture
    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

    RSS Feed

    Archives

    March 2020
    April 2018
    June 2016
    September 2015
    February 2015
    December 2014
    September 2014
    April 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    September 2013
    June 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011

    From the archives: (click on pictures to read)
    Home alone
    The jeans she had just stepped out of were lying on the floor. She was peeling the sweat-wet T shirt off when she noticed a man's shoes peeping out from behind the curtains.
    Picture
    Picture
    Just another day; just another life
    It is day two of the (wo)man-animal conflict, and I have just finished kicking the little green frog out of the kitchen who has been jumping over my feet and jeering at my nail paint.

    Picture
    A fishy tale
    Chust had Durust and Ikki had Duggi but Sust didn’t have anybody, which is probably why he was the way he was: sad and sluggish and forever hanging around the bottom of the tank

    RSS Feed

    Picture
    Face-off
    Mark Zucherberg may sputter and wipe the foam off his mouth but fact is that Facebook has found its destiny with the 30 plus guys - Deccan Herald

    To read more of the author's work you could google 

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.