The scar on her nose tip and severed first finger on her hand is a witness when she along side my Dad, is ready to put a ritual garland on newly weds me and Harvinder after the Anand Karan Sep 9,1972
Remembering My Mother on Her Fortieth Punya Tithi
Today, on the fortieth death anniversary—her Punya Tithi—I remember my beautiful mother, who left us far too young. Her life, like those of millions, was scarred by the unimaginable turmoil of the Partition of 1947.
During those dark days, my father and uncle decided to move to this part of India in search of safety. We had come earlier on pilgrimages, and in what can only be called a tragic misjudgment born of chaos and fear, we chose to settle in Faridkot. We rented a small place—just one room—where my mother and my Chachi ji slept together.
Those were lawless times. Fear ruled the nights.
One horrifying night, a cruel woman entered the room carrying a toka (a sharp cutting weapon). She attacked my mother without mercy. My mother instinctively raised her right hand to protect herself. Her index finger was chopped off in that very first blow. The attacker then struck her face, severely injuring her nose.
The assailant then turned on my Chachi ji PremKaur. By then, She had alerted and gathered the courage that only terror can force upon a person in turmoil. She managed to seize the toka from her hands and threw it away. Realizing she had been overpowered, the woman fled into the darkness.
Later, it was strongly suspected that the very woman from whom we had rented the room was the culprit.
My mother lived on, but the wounds never truly healed. Her severed finger and the scars on nose tip she carried became lifelong, silent witnesses to the savagery of those times, brutal reminders of the price innocent people paid during the madness of 1947.
On this Punya Tithi, I bow my head in remembrance. My mother’s suffering was immense, her courage quiet, and her endurance extraordinary. May her soul rest in eternal peace.
