Violence against women during the partition

This essay focuses on the issue of violence against women during the communal riots that followed the Partition of India in 1947. The gender-specific reading of partition genocide allows for a discussion about various forms of violence against women and the symbolic meanings behind these acts. In addition, the paper explores the notion of the nation as a "mother" and its ideological implications for female citizens. Furthermore, the paper highlights the issue of abducted women, the recovery and rehabilitation program undertaken by the state to rescue them, and the working ideology behind the state’s actions. Arguably, the paper, taken in its entirety, allows for a more refined understanding of how, in the name of religious or national pride, women’s bodies and sexuality were and are either regulated or exploited in patriarchal societies. It is through women that an ethnic community or nation-state demonstrates its sense of purity and honor. As a result, women turn into mute objects stripped of individual autonomy and of control over their bodies and lives.
In the story "Lajwanti" by Rajinder Singh Bedi, the plot of the story goes thus: "'Would you marry a city boy?'- No, sir, not me. " "Look at his boots, and my waist is so narrow...", and "forgot all about her narrow waist" when he wanted to marry her (1951: 16). After marriage, Sunder Lal, quite as predicted by the song, "never spared any effort in treating his own Lajwanti as badly as possible" and beating her "taking exception to the way she got up, the way she sat down, the way she cooked food – anything and everything" (15). Nevertheless, during the partition, when Lajwanti Sunder Lal was abducted, Sunder was inconsolable. He became the secretary of the program to rehabilitate the abducted women and worked with fervor.
Then one day, Lajwanti was spotted on the Wagah border. Unlike "the husbands, parents, or siblings who refused even to recognize" the recovered women (18), or those who raised voices that they "were not about to take back... Muslim leftovers!" (26), true to his word and deed, Sunder Lal went and brought Lajwanti back. After Lajwanti’s return, however, there was a remarkable change in Sunder Lal’s treatment of her. From this point on, he "no longer called her Laju, but ‘Devi’" (27). He stopped beating her and treated her as befitting a Devi, a goddess. His Devi, however, was not allowed to speak of her trauma, no matter how much "she felt overwhelmed with the desire to tell him all, holding back nothing" (28). While Sunder Lal assured her, that she was not to be "blamed for what has happened". "Society is at fault for its lack of respect for goddesses like her (28). He also "deftly avoided listening to her" (27). And therefore, "Lajwanti could not get it all out" (28). As "Lajwanti" allows us to see, there is complex contiguity, even overlap, between the violence that frames women’s lives in ordinary times, in perfectly banal household arrangements, and the violence that erupts in political upheaval, especially that created as the violence of nation-marking and nation-making. It is "the everyday world" that lends logic to the domestic battery of women; it is also the everyday world that provides the ready availability of logic, expressible in easy everyday speech, which renders recovered women as "leftovers." This story also puts into relief how it is "the everyday world" of nation formation that renders logical the abduction of women. The stylization of the narrative is such that the household story of Lajwanti’s abduction and recovery mirrors – laterally inverting as a mirror would – what would be the sequence of patriarchal logic of "woman as the goddess" to "woman as victim" if we could organize your long-winded history as a series of logical steps. The story ends on a dark note with two statements by Lajwanti. First: Lajwanti "withdrew into herself and stared at her body for the longest time, a body which, after the partition of the country, was no longer hers, but that of a goddess" (27). And second, she was filled with "a distressing doubt, a misgiving," which turned into an "invigorating finality. And not because Sunder Lal had started mistreating her, but because he had started treating her with exceeding gentleness "(29). I think the two statements are intended to be read together because they explain each other. I have been arguing above that it is the symbolization of the nation as a woman/goddess that locates the nation in flesh-and-blood female bodies, which renders the female body of "the other community/nation" as a logical location for abduction, rape, and other forms of gender violence. Here, we see a reversal: the only way Sunder Lal can accept the abducted-and-recovered body of his wife back is by inverting the logic of this victimization to return her body to that of a "goddess." The violence that the female body experienced during its transformation from goddess to abducted woman is thus forcibly erased. It is, therefore, of critical importance that Lajwanti is not allowed to speak of her trauma. This process of goddess-making is also, however, historically imbricated with that of nation-making, and Lajwanti feels the violence that underwrites her becoming a goddess. This is why she is full of "misgiving" even though Sunder Lal stops beating her; the new gentle treatment from her husband she receives upon return is more unbearably violent to her than the beating she was used to earlier. This story, therefore, shows how an analysis of the woman of/in partition makes visible the violence of symbol-making, central to cultural nationalism, and provides us with an imminent critique of this process.
Exile by Jamila Hashmi tells the tale of a lost Muslim girl who was abducted by Gurpal several years ago but still lives in the memories of her childhood. She is introduced as a Bahu and a slave at the same time. This defines her journey throughout the story. Before the birth of her daughter, she dreamt of going back to her homeland. She hoped each day that the next would be with her dearest brother. All her actions are associated with her past. This may be because she had an identity there. Every member of her family recognized her for her quirks and personality. But now, she is reduced to being a slave, a wife to a man who didn’t bother marrying her, a bahu to a woman who needs her to keep the house clean, and a mother to a daughter who needs protection. She is part of this circle, yet she feels abandoned by her brother and caged by her memories. The height of her depersonalization is such that the reader doesn’t even know her name. She is Sita, captured by Raavana but never to return to Ram Rajya.
Throughout the story, she expresses her tiredness and fatigue. The darkness has engulfed her and there doesn’t seem to be a way out. The darkness is a metaphor for depression. Of course, having seen the death of her parents and the betrayal of her brothers, nothing can bring her to the light of life. However, as her children grow older, she realizes there is nothing to go back to. Gurpal owns her and all these years living under his shadow have made her accustomed to this way of life. Her mother-in-law also realizes, after putting her through hell, that she must be a Goddess, Lakshmi, to have gone through all that without raising a plea. The protagonist describes everything around her as illusory; she confuses nostalgia with hope. A fragrance reminds her of her home, and her heart searches for a life that is unattainable.
Her future is defined by this expression: "Instead of going into exile for a second time, it seemed as if Sita had accepted Ravana’s home. "How will I ever have the strength to leave again, without the certainty of support?" (66).