I was fascinated to see the website and relished the old memoirs of Bhera which I would like to share with viewers. In 1946, I studied in Class 5th at Government High School Bhera. My stay there was short but eventful, never to be forgotten despite the passage of so many decades. My late father Syed Munsif Hussain was posted as “Thanedar” (Sub Inspector) at the local police station. The police of those times were smarter, more responsible and well respected, with no resemblance to today’s police. Two majestic Jaman trees were in the vast compound of the police station. My favourite recreation was to put some constable on the Jaman trees and get as many Jamans as were big, colourful and tasty. Recently, I happened to visit Bhera, those trees were still there, ravaged with age, denuded and bereft of their old majesty. So was the police station itself, all in ruins. I saw myself as a child of nine years, running around and walking to my father’s office, which also laid in ruins. I felt like crying. I also saw the lock-up where once on some misbehaviour and complaint of my mother, my father put me in the lock-up for a while. That gave me a lot of saddening, disgusting and nauseating feelings. I could never confine anything in captivity in later years.
We lived in a rented house in Mohallah Sahiniawala, which was predominantly a Hindu locality. All houses had connected walls; the streets were narrow but pucca bricks-laid. There was a Hindu temple nearby. I can still recollect the keeper of the temple blowing the “Sunkh”. During those days it was usual for the people to sleep on the roofs of their houses during summer. The roofs were also connected except for low walls in between. The evenings were a great fun. The roofs, bustling with ladies, girls and children and the neighbourhood resounding with their greetings and exchange of pleasantries like “Babay” Ram-Ram”, “Masi” Ram-Ram, Sita Ram-Ram, Gita Ram-Ram. I can still hear those pleasant voices. Everybody knew everyone around.
I also remember a Sikh gentleman passing in front of our house during afternoons. He used to be drunk and abusive. People in the street on seeing him would run away. But I generally waited for him and greeted him with “Sat-Siri-Akal”. He would kiss me and move on. I always felt very brave.
The Government High School was located outside the walled city. I do not remember the names of the teachers, but could never forget its beautiful layout. There was a vast rectangular building with a lawn in the centre and well-laid-out green playing grounds all around. There was a mango garden also which gave an occasional kick of stealing one, once in a while.
Being an old city, there were some well-established and competent old Hakim families. I was a little sickly and pale. Probably some liver malfunction. A Hakim gave me some “Maajun” to be taken with the water of “Lassi” which comes on top if left for a while. Surprisingly I improved quickly. I always prayed for him.
Bhera was also a city of saints. It was abound with Sadhus, saintly and holy people of all religions moving around. I was the only child of my parents and the children born after used to die. Once my father was going in a street, and he heard someone calling him. He looked back and found an old lady sitting in a corner nodding him to come near. She told my father in Punjabi “Beta (son) you remain worried because you have only one child and the children born thereafter have died”. My father shook his head in the affirmative. This was the first time my father had even seen the old lady. He was astonished. She gave him a folded paper (a Taaviz) and instructed him to tear off one fold, and put it in a gold casing around the neck of his wife. She further instructed that any other childless person you come across, similarly give one fold to him. God will bless him with a son. I don’t believe in such things but seeing is believing. Soon after my mother was on the family way. My younger brother was born and has lived a full life. My father gave that fold of the paper (Taaviz) to many people as long as it lasted and they were all blessed with sons.
The strange thing was that the old lady was never in correspondence or communication with us. But wherever my father used to be posted even in far-flung areas, the sainted lady would visit our home off and on. She never asked for anything or never accepted any money or favour. We used to call her “Mai Mastani”. Every time she came, my mother never recognized her, unless she identified herself. Once she did accept rupees two from my mother. But then she came in the dream of my mother at night and said, “I have accepted your rupees two but now I give these back to you, you may give this money to the first needy who comes to your door the next morning”. Lo and behold when my mother woke up in the morning those two rupees were in her fist. Miraculous! Some more such things happened. My father started talking about her to his friends etc. She disappeared and after a long time came the dream of my mother. She said in Punjabi that her son (my father) had revealed her to others, so she had stopped coming. Now she had died and was buried at so and so place. Only three people could come to her grave, otherwise they would not find the grave. My father, mother and my brother went to the indicated place, found the grave, paid their respect and came back. Unbelievable, isn’t it?
The woodwork in Bhera was traditional and of excellent quality. When my brother was born in our ancestral village, I had saved some pocket money. With that small amount, I purchased many beautiful wooden toys for the infant some of those were replicas of fruits and were so nicely carved/made that they looked original.
Let me mention another incident. Shabi-Barat was about to come. My mother had gone back home. I, being an only child, was pampered by my father. He was also out on some duty. He sent me a lot of fireworks for the coming event. One big item was “anar”. I curiously put it in the centre of our bedroom and set it on fire. I never thought it would create so many problems. It produced a lot of fireworks and consequently, the beds and other things caught fire. My frantic hue and cries attracted our Hindu neighbours, who rushed in and put the fire down seeing my helplessness. I have never forgotten that nerve-racking incident and the timely help of our neighbour.
The same year i.e. 1946, a circus came to Bhera. I have forgotten the name but it was one of the biggest circus of the sub-continent. Several horses, dogs, lions, elephants, zebras, goats, monkeys and some birds like parrots performed astonishing and hair-raising tricks. Beautiful European girls swinging on a trapeze, jokers making everybody crazy with their humorous acts. It was tremendous. I have never seen another one like that.
Bhera, I will always remember.
Memoirs of Bhera shared with Zahid Mumtaz
Memoirs of Colonel Syed Iftikhar Hussain ( Retd), who lived in Bhera in his childhood. The link of Youtube is given below