It seems it was just yesterday when I attended a public meeting addressed by many Muslim League leaders, near the now DC office in Hyderabad. I had just come back from Thatta with my father who had gone there to sell his two-storey old style house.

My father was a Khilafati mullah but notably associated with the Pakistan Movement. He quit his government job as the headmaster of Baghdadi High School during the Khilafat Movement to express solidarity with the Turkish leadership against British policies in the subcontinent. At that time he used to get a salary of Rs12 and 8 annas plus Rs2 and 5 annas for being the in-charge of kanji house and the post office.

My father used to attend the pro-Pakistan rallies and meetings in Hyderabad, addressed by the Muslim League leaders. The slogans generally heard were Ban ke rahega Pakistan, Bat ke rahega Hidustan, or Take beeri take paan, bat ke rahega Hidustan. Whenever I asked what it meant my father would only say that Muslims would get a new home. At the age of eight it was wonderful to hear.

I was studying in a government school located off Qazi Abdul Qayoom Road in Hyderabad. We were required to recite a poem 'Aye khuda asaan je shahanshah khe salamat rakhjaan' daily. I knew what that meant: freedom for all. I was assured that when the police sergeant would pass through the city thoroughfares they wouldn’t be clogged to prevent the uninterrupted passage of the dual carriage of the gora sahib.

Hindus had a strong press, which was financed by Hindu businessmen. Newspapers such as Sansar Samachar and Hindu used to plead the case of freedom in the form of a united India, while Muslim press, led by daily Al Wahid, repelled all arguments of Jansinghi activists. Muslims, though poor, had the courage to face all odds. Hilal-i-Pakistan published from Hyderabad by a Munshi family, out of love for Pakistan opted for that name in 1946.

Before the Cabinet Mission recommendations on June 4, 1946, I used to read Al Wahid. The summer of 1947 was very hot. The temperature shot up to 52 C and the political atmosphere also shot up. The Hindu press began cooling off as the sun of freedom was about to rise.

On August 13, 1947, I recited the poem in praise of the emperor for the last time. Our teacher, Daadi Sawitari, dressed in a traditional sari, told us that the next day would be the final day of school. I could feel the change.

The next day, Pakistan came into being. The teachers had told us not to bring any books that day. It was 27th of Ramazan. We assembled in the courtyard but did not recite the poem praising the emperor; instead we recited from the holy Quran. Our headmaster delivered a speech highlighting independence, after which sweets were distributed. We were given the day off and we went home rejoicing.

The news of violence was spreading and the Al Wahid reported that Amritsar, Patna, Delhi and Lahore were full of killings. We used to offer Eid prayers at Mir Bagh near the railway station along with our father. There were reports that Hindus from Sindh were leaving for India and they were being looted by gangs.

At the same time there were reports of refugees arriving at various stations. On the second day of the Eid my father went to the railway station and brought one family to our house to stay there till they got a home. They stayed with us for a fortnight and then moved to Jodhpur Colony behind the Old Campus of Sindh University.

Hyderabad quickly swelled as refugee trains from India arrived with uprooted people in miserable conditions. An office of Rehabilitation and Settlement was set up at Mukhi House, where claims of the refugees were being settled and houses and buildings vacated by Hindus were being allotted to the refugees. Many suffered in the process but most of the cases came to a settlement. As the population grew new colonies began to take shape in Hyderabad.