Night of Burning Terror

It was a clear, cold night early in February 1948. There was a feeling of mystery and excitement in the air. We were a group of about 100 boys, ranging in age from 8 years to 16 years, in a boarding school in Panchgani, a lovely hill resort high in the Western Ghat Mountains, and about 200 miles from Bombay. Something was afoot, because after supper, the teachers and the Principal had taken us all into the junior dormitory to spend the night. The younger boys were asked to go to bed, but we seniors (after all, I was almost 14 now!) were organized into small groups, each with a teacher in charge. While the rest dozed fitfully, each group would take it in turns to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. Even now, we boys had no idea what could happen; all we knew was that trouble was expected.

It was well past midnight when distant noises became audible. Within a few minutes, everyone was awakened. Wrapping our blankets around us, we crept excitedly but stealthily out, onto a small basketball field on a terrace below the school. The sounds grew more clear; they were the yells of an approaching mob. Bewildered and by now quite apprehensive, we waited, shivering and as quiet as mice.

I was positively scared by this time. I had not been at the school very long, and this was my first experience of a boarding school. Less than a year before, I had been at day-school in Karachi. My father was an agricultural scientist in charge of a cotton research station there. Indian independence from Britain was expected at any time, and it was rumoured that Partition into India and Pakistan would follow independence. We had lived in Karachi nearly 8 years, and had several dear friends amongst the Moslems. And yet, my parents knew that as Hindus, we would no longer be welcome after Partition, as Pakistan was avowedly to be a Moslem state. For safety’s sake, my sister and I were sent to schools within the new India.

So I arrived in Panchgani, aboard the decrepit old bus that made the one daily journey from Poona, wheezing up the hairpin bends, with frequent stops! The 80 miles from Poona were usually covered in a mere 5 hours! Panchgani’s bracing climate and peaceful atmosphere have made it an enviable center of education, boasting several boarding schools, some for boys and some for girls. It is also blessed with a huge natural tableland, a flat expanse with sheer cliff edges, large enough to accommodate cricket, field hockey, and football playing fields. Each school is allotted certain days to use the fields.

My school was built on terraces on the slope of a hill. Each classroom, the assembly hall, the dining hall, the senior dormitory and the junior dormitory was in a separate building. The Principal and the resident teachers, except for the two in charge of the dormitories, lived in small bungalows on the grounds. The pupils were all Hindu boys, mostly boarders, with a few day-students from the nearby village.

I had been at the school just a few months, when, on August 15, 1947, India became independent. We celebrated with flag-raising ceremonies. To our delight, we were allowed to stay up late to listen to Prime Minister Nehru’s speech on the radio at midnight. We all cheered lustily when the next day was proclaimed a holiday.

Partition followed independence. My parents returned to Delhi. In our sheltered school world, we were only vaguely aware of news reports of riots in several cities between Hindus and Moslems, and of Mahatma Gandhi’s speeches pleading for more tolerance and brotherhood between them. On January 30, 1948, we were aghast at the news that the Mahatma had been assassinated. Once more, we all clustered around the radio, listening to the sorrowful speeches and eulogies at the funeral. The assassin was soon caught. We all thought he would be a Moslem. However, he turned out to be a Hindu Brahmin, a member of a fanatical sect who could not tolerate Gandhi’s liberal views about Moslems.

We resumed the thread of normal school life, or so I thought. Yet here we were, just a few days later, huddled in our blankets on the playing field, watching as a glow approached the top of the hill. In a few more moments, the crowd came into view, and to our horror, we saw that each man was carrying a burning torch! Those flames could mean but one thing! The smaller boys began to whimper, and the seniors crowded round the teachers, pleading with them to stop the men somehow. I remember murmuring over and over, uncontrollably, “Please, God, don’t let them burn the school.”

However, there was nothing anyone could do. We watched spellbound as the crowd turned into the school grounds, and set fire one by one to the teachers’ bungalows, the assembly hall, the senior dormitory and one classroom. Why they spared the junior dormitory and the rest of the classrooms, I’ll never know. Intent on their work, they were unaware of the sea of terrified faces on the terrace below. Then they turned and marched out of the grounds and over the hill the way they had come. We waited until their yells had died down in the distance, and then the teachers and seniors tried desperately to put out the flames with buckets of water. Our puny efforts were in vain, for the fires were too fierce by now. We all spent a sleepless night on the playing field.

Daylight revealed that all the phone lines had been cut. There was no quick way to reach our parents, so the Principal started to write to them. Later that morning, it was learnt that ours was the only school that had been attacked. We plied the teachers and the seniormost students with questions, and gradually pieced together the story.

The huge province of Maharashtra, surrounding Bombay, had for several days been the scene of trouble between Brahmins and non-Brahmins. The caste system had originated centuries ago, in villages, as a result of division of labour. The Brahmins were the priests and learned men, while the merchants, the warriors and the menial workers formed the three non-Brahmin castes. Persons who are descended from any caste automatically belong to that caste, although their present occupations might be entirely different from those of their forefathers. Although it is against the law, a mild form of discrimination does persist between the castes, in more remote or orthodox parts of India. This is accepted passively almost everywhere, except in Maharashtra, where the non-Brahmins, the Mahrattas, are stalwart and more progressive, and nurse an abiding hatred of the Brahmins. The death of Mahatma Gandhi at the hands of a Maharashtrian Brahmin was the spark to kindle this hatred into a blazing fury. Poona, Kohlapur and other cities in Maharashtra were in the grip of a reign of terror. Murder, pillaging and arson were the order of the day, with the victims being the Brahmins. The police were powerless in the face of this mass rioting, and in several cities, the Indian army had to come to their aid.

Our school was run by a Brahmin family, and a potential target for the hate-mongers. The principal had got wind of the attack a few hours before it was to happen. He had tried to enlist the aid of the Panchgani and Poona police, but they had more than enough on their hands in their own towns. Besides, they found it hard to believe that a boarding school would be attacked. So he had done what he could, by organizing us into little groups of watchers, to make sure that we would not be trapped while asleep.

We all expected the mob to return to finish off the remaining buildings, so the round-the-clock group vigil was maintained for the next two nights. Because of lack of accommodation, the teachers and seniors had to camp on the playing field. However, the mob never came back. By the second day after the fire, most parents living in Poona and Bombay had come to collect their sons. The news could not yet have reached my parents, who were far away in Delhi. With most of my friends gone and nothing to do in the charred wreckage of the school, I was getting quite lonely. Two days after the fire, an army Colonel came up with a small detachment of soldiers from a cantonment near Poona, to see if there was anything they could do. As luck would have it, he turned out to be a family acquaintance. He offered to take me to Poona with him, to await instructions from my parents. So I went to Poona in his jeep. A few days later, an uncle of mine came from Bombay to fetch me. I stayed with him for two weeks. By then, enough of the school had been repaired hastily to enable the boys to complete their school year. When I returned, I found most of my friends back as well. I stayed to finish my exams, and then said goodbye to the school where I had spent such an eventful year.