westland ltd
THE SIALKOT SAGA
Ashwin Sanghi ranks among Indias highest-selling authors of English fiction. He has written several bestsellers ( The Rozabal Line, Chanakyas Chant, The Krishna Key ) and a New York Times bestseller Private India together with James Patterson. Sanghi has also penned a non-fiction title, 13 Steps to Bloody Good Luck.
He was included by Forbes India in its Celebrity 100 and is a winner of the Crossword Popular Choice award. He was educated at Cathedral and John Connon School, Mumbai, and St Xaviers College, Mumbai. He holds a Masters degree in business management from Yale University. Ashwin Sanghi lives in Mumbai with his wife, Anushika, and his son, Raghuvir.
You can connect with Sanghi via the following channels:
Website www.sanghi.in
Facebook www.facebook.com/shawnhaigins
Twitter www.twitter.com/ashwinsanghi
YouTube http://www.youtube.com/user/ashwinsanghi
Instagram http://instagram.com/ashwin.sanghi
LinkedIn http://www.linkedin.com/in/ashwinsanghi
THE SIALKOT SAGA
Ashwin Sanghi
westland ltd
61, II Floor, Silverline Building, Alapakkam Main Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai 600 095
93, I Floor, Sham Lal Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110 002
First published by westland ltd 2016
First ebook edition: 2016
Copyright Ashwin Sanghi 2016
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-93-86036-10-0
Typeset by Art Works, Chennai
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way
of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, circulated, and
no reproduction in any form, in whole or in part (except for brief
quotations in critical articles or reviews) may be made without written
permission of the publishers.
Contents
Acknowledgements
It would be impossible to write the books that I do without the assistance and inputs of many. Here are some names of those I specifically wish to thank although there are many who shall remain sadly unnamed.
Ma Shakti: The one who puts the power in my pen. When I sit down to write, the words that flow from mind to matter are merely through me, not from me.
Gautam Padmanabhan: My publisher, who has also been my long-time friend, philosopher and guide and was responsible for giving me my first break in publishing.
Prita Maitra: My editor, who is one of the biggest reasons why my voice shines through in my books.
Team Westland: including Krishna Kumar, Satish Sundaram, Sudha Sadhanand, Preeti Kumar, Deepthi Talwar, Varsha Venugopal, Jayanthi Ramesh, Sanyog Dalvi, Gururaj, V. Senthil Kumar, Sarita Prasad, Naveen Mishra, Shatrughan Pandey, Neha Khanna and Avani Dedhia, who have tirelessly worked to publish and promote my titles.
Semy Haitenlo and Vipin Vijay: My cover designer who provided us with a stunning visual to crown the book, and Vipin Vijay who executed everything else so perfectly.
Ameya Naik and Rajesh Sawant: The talented composer and singer who are the creative team behind the music of this books video trailer.
Team Oktobuzz, including Hemal Majithia, Neha Majithia and Ankita Bhatnagar, who have energetically and patiently supported all my social media efforts.
Team ThinkWhyNot: In particular, Saurabh Sharma, for the wonderful video trailer that accompanies this book.
Team Clea, for their effort and advice on promoting this book.
Dr Anand Shroff and Dr Shailendra Bhandare, whose advice in the area of numismatics was invaluable.
Anita and Sanjiv Malvi, who shared with me their knowledge, views, insights and material on physics and spirituality, time and time again.
Dipali Singh, Karthik Venkatesh, Malvika Mehra, Ashok L. Rajani and Deepak Sawant for helping make the final manuscript tidy and error-free.
Aparna Gupta: My aunt, who is usually the first person to read my work in progress. This book was no exception.
Mohan Vijayan, for his advice and input on my speaking tours and events.
Ashoo Naik, for his sound advice on how my stories can be retold in new ways.
Namita Gokhale and Meru Gokhale: The amazing mother-daughter duo, who have always encouraged, inspired (and often pushed) me into uncharted territory.
Her Majesty Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck: the Queen Mother of Bhutan, whose infectious enthusiasm inspired parts of this book.
Kajol Devgan, for her invaluable support in my efforts to promote this book.
Ramprasad and Ramgopal Gupta: My maternal grandfather and maternal granduncle, who inspired me with stories and books when I was but a child. Their blessings prevent the ink in my pen from running dry.
Mahendra, Manju, Vidhi and Vaibhav: My father, mother, sister and brother, who have always encouraged me to follow my dreams.
Anushika and Raghuvir: My wife and son, who have been my constant support in my writing endeavours. You are my greatest source of inspiration.
Thanks to Haroon Khalid and Shoaib Daniyal for special help rendered.
And countless others, including my readers, fans, friends and well-wishers.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction set in a background of history. Public personages, both living and dead, may appear in the story under their given names. Scenes and dialogue involving them are invented. Any other usage of real peoples names is coincidental. Any resemblance of the fictional characters to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No claim regarding historical accuracy is either made or implied. Historical, religious or mythological characters, events or places, are always used fictitiously.
T he train arrived in Amritsar leaking blood. It had started its journey crammed with Hindu and Sikh refugees in Sialkot on the Pakistani side of the border. It had rumbled into Amritsar Junction three hours later.
Railway Constable Sukhbir Singh boarded the train with an impending sense of dread. There were no waving hands, nodding heads, wailing babies or excited shouts. In fact, there was no sound at all. The eerie silence was the first sign of things to come. The second indication of what lay within was the swarm of buzzing flies.
Inside compartment after compartment lay slaughtered bodies tangled together grotesquely, almost like a tossed salad of human corpses. Bodies hanging out of windows, piled upon each other, stabbed, decapitated, mutilated or with throats slashed. Men, women and childrenno one had been spared.
When the train departed from Sialkot Junction, the people on board had foolishly heaved a sigh of relief. They were blissfully unaware that a hastily formed battalion of avengers was awaiting the trains arrival at the bridge over the River Ravi. By the time the train rolled off the bridge, it carried a cargo of human death. The river beneath the bridge had turned pink with bleeding corpses that had rained into it from the train above.
On both sides of the hastily drawn-up border, there had been ruthlessness and depravity by all communitiesHindus, Muslims and Sikhs. Shooting and stabbing of victims seemed almost humane when one considered the ghastly catalogue of other horrors that had been perpetrated. Previous communal riots paled in comparison to the unprecedented brutality that Indias Partition had thrown up. Over fifteen million people had been left homeless, with Muslims fleeing India for Pakistan, and Hindus and Sikhs abandoning Pakistan for India. The eventual death toll of Indias Partition would exceed a million souls.