Snap of a twig. It came from somewhere on my right. Alert, I turned my head in a flash and scanned the clearing from behind the tree trunk. No movement. My heart was thumping in my chest. A crunch of dry leaves. Like a shot, I straightened myself pressing hard against the trunk, breathing heavy and clutched my baby to my bosom as firmly as I could. He was fast asleep in my arms and I prayed with all my might that he would not wake up.
The sound of few more footsteps came from the same direction and suddenly stopped. Sweat trickled down my forehead.
'Koi jaanwaar hoga, jaane do!', said a voice irritably.
'Nahi janaab, ek ladki thi!', another voice said, laced with lust.
I flinched.
'Arey toh zameen kha gayi use ya aasman nigal gaya?!', demanded the first voice.
'Kuch waqt aur dhoond lete hain, kya pata mil jaaye', the second requested eagerly.
'Junaid tumhaari tashnagi badhti jaa rahi hai. Zara kaabu karo khud par. Ek ladki haath se nikal bhi gayi toh kya hua. Peeche kayin hain humaari giraft mein', the first voice said casually.
'Ab janaab jab zamaana hi is mard ki saari tashnagi mita raha hai toh hum kyun apni aarzuon par kaabu paayein?', he said with a snort.
'Aur jo pata chale ki woh kaafir nahi? Humaare hi qoum ki hai toh?', the apparent superior asked.
'Usse hume bhala kya fark padega janaab. Shayad usine kabhi koi ikhlaqi gunaah kiya hoga jo Allah Taala ne uska yeh hashr hona likha hai', he brushed him off.
I flinched.
'Junaid mujhmein toh aur sabr nahi. Thodi der mein din dhalne ko hai. Aur Attari border bhi kitni hi door hai ab? Khaamakhaa kisi Hindustaani sipaahi ne dekh liya toh ghuspaith ka ilzaam laga denge humpar. Main camp par wapas jaa raha hoon. Tumhe aur dhoondna ho toh shauq se dhoondte raho! Allah Haafiz!', he said and turned to go.
A ray of hope lit up inside me. The border was very near.
After a while, I heard the junior running away, calling out to his senior, 'Janaab thehrein! Main bhi aap-hi ke saath chal raha hoon!'
Noiselessly I peeked in that direction and stood rooted to the spot. They were soldiers. Pakistani soldiers.
I slumped down the tree trunk and sat reclined there in a state of stock. It had been a very close shave. I held Kabir up and smothered him with kisses, my tears dampening the cloth wrapped around him. If not for him, I would have given up long ago. He only stirred a bit. My baby was tired. But I did not have enough milk in me to nurse him. I weeped harder. I'm sorry my love. You were going through this because of me.
Wiping of my tears, I looked around at the trees I was surrounded by. There were a couple of pear trees.
After waiting for a good ten minutes, I cleared the gound beneath a fruitless tree and making sure there were no insects, reptiles or rodents, I lay down Kabir for a while. Following this, I picked up stones and aimed at the pears hanging on the branches. I made sure to aim at the direction away from my son and in the meantime kept checking on him every couple of minutes. In a series of mixed attempts, I managed to gather a dozen pears. I gobbled down two and tied as many as I could on my dupatta. It was time to move.
Ascertaining the direction, I took to my heels. I ran but stealthily. My mind had given up on trusting anyone. A slight movement around me and I would take a hiding spot. In the past couple of days, I had come across a couple of buses who could take me to Amritsar but as soon as I neared them, I heard women screaming for help from inside. Therefore I did not reveal myself. I had bumped into two caravans but they refused to help me on the pretext that I was a Muslim. One was afraid to help me, the other doubted my intentions. A few more caravans came my way but I didn't approach them and hid away from the fear of capture, assault or killing or any harm to my child.

Being starved had slowed me down. I took refuge under the trees whenever my baby needed a feed, to give him a bit of proper sleep, to calm him, to rock him around a bit, and to gather food for myself.

The sun was about to set. Running and gasping I stopped and propped an arm against a tree for support. Tiny lights could be seen at a distance. It could be lights at a camp, it could be fire torches of a caravan. It could be anything. Manzil bohot kareeb hai. Ab mere pair nahi tham sakte! Pinning my hopes, I ran again.
To my dread, it turned out to be a pair of bullock carts. I quickly hid behind a tree but probably they had noted the movement.
'Kaun hai wahaan?!', someone asked unsurely.
I made no noise, hoping they would pass.
'Dekhiye humaare paas rupiye-zevar kuch bhi nahi hai! Bas jism par ek Jodi kapda lapete hue hain! Hum toh khud sabkuch gawa kar yahaan panaah lene aayein hai', a man pleaded.
'Khuda ke waaste hume jaane dijiye! Jo yahaan se bhi nikaale gaye toh kahaan jaayenge?!', a woman added.
I peeped from behind my hiding place. It was a convoy of six- an elderly couple supposedly the parents with a young man on one cart, another elderly man and two young women on the second one.
For some unknown reason, I felt I could allow myself to be seen. It could be a grave mistake but what else did I have but my instinct to rely on.

Feeling for the dagger around my waist, I crept out from behind the trees and came out in light.
'Abbajaan ye toh ek ladki hai!', the young man exclaimed. All of them took a sigh of relief.
'Haath mein baccha bhi hai', his mother added with a gasp.
Surveying me from top to bottom , the elderly man on the first cart said softly, 'Beti, pehnaawe se toh humaare hi mazhab ki dikhaayi padti ho! Tum bhi Hindustan se bhaag kar aayi ho?'
'Hum bhi Lahore jaa rahe hain. Aap aa jaayein humaare saath! Aapka koi rehta hai Lahore mein? Kisiko jaanti hain aap wahaan?', the young man asked courteously.
The question hit me like an arrow in my chest. Until a few days ago, Lahore had been the centerpiece of my existence.
Gathering my courage, I replied, 'Maine ye mulk chhod diya hai. Main Hindustan jaa rahi hoon basne'
'Akeli?', the other elderly man asked, bewildered.
'Ji'
'Kyun khud maut ke muh mein koodne chaahti ho? Wahan ab humlogon ka kuch bhi nahi!', he replied with a pained voice.
'Mera toh dil hai wahaan. Ab is mulk mein mera koi wajood nahi!', I said, tears welling up in my eyes.
'Iss nanhi si jaan ke baare mein hi socho! Kyun iski jaan ke saath khel rahi ho! Humaari maano, humaare saath chalo!', the elderly lady requested earnestly.

'Jaan ka khatra toh dono hi taraf hai. Mere bacche ki main hifazat karungi. Allah iski hifazat karenge par iski zindagi par iske abbu ka utna hi haq hai jitna ki mera. Iske Abbu Hindustan mein hain. Main isse iske Abbu ko nahi chheen sakti!'
Kabir had woken up in my arms and was playing with my hair.
'Bibi, aap ghalati kar rahi hain –', the young man tried to protest but his father stopped him.
'Main tumhaare jazbe ki kadr karta hoon. Allah kare tum sahi-salaamat apne parivaar se dobaara ja milo. Par tum iss tarah Hindustan nahi jaa sakti!', he said.
'Ji?', I asked in confusion.
'Tumhare pehnaawa chheekh cheekh kar keh raha hai ki tum musalmaan ho. Aise mein tumhe shayad border tak na paar karne diya jaaye', he noted thoughtfully.
He turned to the women in the cart behind him. They were wearing patiala salwar kameez in contrast to my sharara suit.
'Humari bachi Fatima ke kapde tumhaare liye zyaada munasib rehenge', he said after a thought.
'Thik kehte hain aap', his wife said. Turning to me she said, 'Tum dono kapdon ki adla badli karlo. Aao main madad karwa doon.'
She got down from the cart and untied the small cloth bale which held their belongings and emptied it to reveal it was a bedsheet.
The young man in the group approached me. 'Aapke bacche ko tab tak main pakad leta hoon', he said politely.
I cringed away looking at him apprehensively.
After a moment he said, 'Khuda ki kasam aapko ya aapke bacche ko humse koi khatra nahi'
I stared him down but he didn't budge. I saw honesty in his eyes.
Bluntly I said, 'Agar aaj mujhe madad ka bharosa dilakar aapne daga di, toh Khuda aapko kabhi maaf nahi karega.'
He bowed his head gracefully in acceptance. Hesitantly I passed Kabir to him.

The elderly lady and the other young woman held up a bedsheet all around us while we exchanged our clothes. Meanwhile the man played with Kabir.
'Iska naam kya rakha hai aapne?', he asked fondly.
'Kabir', I replied with affection, as I adjusted my clothes before coming out of the cover.
'Bohot khoob!', he smiled approvingly and handed me my baby back. Immensely relieved to have him back in my arms, I kissed him hard on his forehead.
Turning to the benevolent family I apologized, 'Maaf kijiyega maine aapki niyat pe shaq kiya. Aapka bohot bohot shukriya.'
'Maafi koi baat nahi beti', the old man in the first cart said. 'Allah miyaan tumhe tumhaare parivar se jald mila de', he said raising his hands, his palms facing the sky.
'Allah aapsab ko bhi ek khushhaal zindagi bakshe!', I prayed. Taking a leave from them, I dashed towards the direction they had come from.

It was almost dark. As my legs gave way, I slowed down a bit. I could already hear the hustle-bustle of people at a distance. Soon the source of noise came in view. The area was lighted with numerous torches of fire. Small groups of people were sitting, huddled here and there. Before me were two parallel waist-high iron fences which ran in both directions as far as the eye could see. A dash of soldiers was lined in front of the fence. It opened at a point from where the people moved across. An official sat on desk placed near this gate. A couple of soldiers stood near him engaged in conversation. The flag of Pakistan stood near the gate and the Indian flag stood on the opposite side of parallel running fence. I had reached the Attari border.

Ironically the people of both the nations had been so prompt in constructing the separator in this wilderness.

I proceeded to stand in the queue of emigrants. It was not long before it was my turn.
'Naam?', the soldier asked, without looking up from the register.
'Vashma Baig'
Everyone within earshot turned to look at me including the soldier at the desk. I stood my ground firmly.
'Aap Hindustan jaana chahti hain?', he asked in confusion , as if to reconfirm.
'Ji'
'Jaan ki baazi Mubarak ho', he added with an indifferent snort. The soldiers standing near him were still occupied in a discussion amongst themselves but now with an eye on me.
The soldier at the desk asked me for my original address, stamped a temporary identification card and handed it to me.
'Aaj se aap Hindustan ki nagrik hui'
The iron fence parted to give me way. It was then that it dawned upon me, I was crossing the border of nation to be a part of another forever. A chill ran down my back. My boy grasped my little finger in one of his hands. I looked down at him. In the light from the fire torches, he had such a radiant smile on his face. I kissed his tiny hand. 'Bas thodi der aur, meri jaan. Hum ghar jaa rahe hain!'
He cooed in reply.
I looked behind for a second and turned ahead again with a resolve. 
Embracing Kabir tightly, I crossed over the border, looking around vigilantly. The platoon of soldiers here was olive-uniformed as opposed to the khaki ones I had left behind. I got my identification card stamped again. The soldiers who saw my name again looked at me dubiously. I ignored them and moved ahead. Later I would know I should thank my stars a million times for not being detained at the border itself.
There were bonfires with people sitting around with there belongings. I found a slightly torn but discarded shawl strewn on the ground, which I wrapped around myself. I untied my bundle of pears and ate a few. 

Soon I heard a call from a pickup truck leaving for Amritsar. Drapping the shawl tighter around me, I hurried and took a seat on the back of the truck. People started filling in and soon the truck set out. In a short while, with a whimper, Kabir started crying. He was apparently hungry. Behind, in a corner, stood about a dozen tall bamboo sticks along with a few large drums placed one upon the other. The portion behind it seemed to offer some privacy. I shifted over and settled there, with my back to the bamboos to feed my baby.

The truck traversed in silence for about an hour. Kabir suckled eagerly and by the time I heard noises outside the truck, indicating that we had reached the city, he had almost fallen asleep with a satisfied smile. I sighed in relief.

The truck didn't stop. It kept moving. From here, I could see nothing but the fellow passengers from the gaps of the bamboos and drums. For once my child needed an undisturbed sleep. I too reclined against the wall of the truck in a relaxed manner, trying to plan where should I go looking for Amrit, Uday and Radha Chachiji in this unknown city.
Suddenly I heard a loud screech from behind me and the truck abruptly came to a halt. I turned in a flash and looked through the gaps. A horde of people had attacked the truck with sticks and axes. My heart thudded inside. The people struggled, shouted for help, screeched in pain but the attackers slaughtered everyone in sight mercilessly. There was no chance of me escaping the killing if anyone spotted me. Noiselessly I uncrossed my legs and sat there still and stooped, in a position ready to run if the unfortunate happened. The assailants slashed and killed, slashed and killed and I looked on with horror in my eyes. They looked as if the human in them had died, it was just the fiend who knew only how to kill.
In a matter of minutes, the entire truck was cleared. I had to cover my mouth hard to stop myself from screaming. The assailants, once satisfied that no living person was alive on the truck, kicked some lifeless bodies and left. I was numb. For a moment I couldn't breathe. I sat there stupefied for what seemed like an eternity.
Holding up my weary self I tried to stand up but sank back. Kabir had started crying but I didn't have the strength or spirit left to calm him down. After a while I jerked myself straight. I could not afford to lose my disposition. Both our lives depended on it.
Gathering courage, I stepped out of the cover and looked around. Only bodies all around, dead bodies. I rocked my baby and embraced him so that he would stop crying.

Carefully, I stepped down from the truck. What I saw in front of me was a city in ruins. There was not a soul around. Pyres were burning, vehicles were burning, bales of cloth carrying belongings were burning, bodies were burning.
Following my intuition, I took the path to my right. Out of nowhere a hand clasped my mouth from behind and another hand locked around my waist, lifting me off the ground. The person who had grabbed me, hurried with a struggle towards the nearest structure – a building under construction. I wriggled in his arms to free myself but could not move much, fearing Kabir would fall from my arms.
I bit his hand with all my strength and he had to let go of me for once with a yelp of pain. I stumbled a few steps before I steadied myself and turned around. It was burly man with a hint of lechery in his eyes mixed with anger now. He moved towards me. I backed away. He lunged at me but missed twice. This time he caught my arm and held my neck and shoulder with the other hand.

'Mujhe bahaduri dikhaati hai ladki!', he glowered. 'Tere bacche ko teri aankhon se saamne patak'ke maarunga aur fir tera vo hashr karunga...'
I held his stare fiercely.
He dug his nails into my arm and squeezed my shoulder hard. I did not blink. The pain was shooting. My kameez was about to tear any moment. I did not blink.
Reaching out to my dagger with difficulty, I drew it out slowly and thrust it in his abdomen.
His eyes bulged, his hold slackened and he fell on his knees and back on the ground squirming in pain.
I pulled out my dagger again, making him scream in agony and kept it back safely my scabbard.
I walked out of the unfinished building to hunt for my family.
Succumb to fate, I would not.