“Men alone do not have the monopoly of organizational ability. You have had a taste of this ability of a Patel’s daughter!”

-Mridula Sarabhai

Torn From the Roots, Kamla Patel’s Memoir

When Kamla Patel was summoned from Ahmedabad to Delhi in November 1947, neither she-nor, indeed, those who had requested her help- could fathom the “formidable” task that lay in store for her and her colleagues. At the age of thirty-five, this unmarried Gujarati woman was to become the leading liaison for the Indian Central Recovery Operation in Lahore (newly part of the foundling Pakistani state) and the right-hand man of the head of the Operation, Mridula Sarabhai.

Born into a middle-class family, Kamla, as well as her father and sisters, were associated with the freedom movement “from its inception,” and were trained under the guidance of Mahatma Gandhi. In fact, it was whilst working for the Mahatma at the Sabarmati ashram that Kamla became acquainted with Mridula, under whose tutelage she would become an outspoken and confident activist in post-independent India, gaining comparable veneration as her teacher and friend.

Like others involved in the Indian independence movement, Kamla could hardly foresee the sorrowful chapter that would accompany that of Independence in South Asian history. As she herself attests, they, “were concentrated on one objective alone-to see that [their] country became independent.” It was as unimaginable to her as to many others that the two communities which lived in this vast land could cease to peacefully coexist with one another and require two separate, sovereign nations in which to live. But Kamla does indicate that the ability of these “two communities” to coexist did begin to fade, a development she blames largely on the British Empire’s “divide and rule” policy, as well as the political ambitions of Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah. Her observations and opinions of this period (though perhaps reflecting the bias of a former independence activist and Hindu, as there is as yet no consensus on what caused the bloody division of India and Pakistan) are documented in her memoir, Torn from the Roots (translated from the original Gujurati by Uma Randeria). This memoir, in which she relays the “Herculean task” of recovering abducted women, is an invaluable source. It is not only an account of one of the few who witnessed the traumatic effects violence and displacement had on those women who were rescued, but is also a rare insight into the mind of a woman who walked the thin line of being complicit in, but also defying, the patriarchal system of India.

Silences

“Like an epidemic of plague, the germs of this disease spread its poison throughout Punjab, Sindh, and the North Western Province.”

Although Kamla Patel describes her experience during the recovery operation as “something to be reckoned with,” and expresses a certain fondness for some of the memories of this period in her life, as well as definite pride in her and her mentor’s (Mridula) dedication to this cause, it was not until twenty-seven years had passed that she felt emotionally prepared to recount “the incidents in their proper perspective and in a proper frame of mind.” This long-held silence on what had clearly been highly formative years in her life perhaps helps to shed a light on the many silences that seem to define this era of history. Kamla attributes her initial refusal to discuss her experiences in the recovery of abducted women to the “agitation” and “uneasiness” she felt when recalling “all that had happened.” Discomforted at the bestial actions she had come to learn men to be capable of, she-as so many other witnesses and victims to such gender-based violence- remained silent on the matter. She echoes the very thought of other survivors who have since been interviewed: “What good would it serve to put down on paper such tales of horror and atrocities?”

When she finally did decide to document her time as a social worker, Kamla still maintained many silences. While most of her memoir is direct and lacking in the literary flourishes that many other memoir writers indulge in, her description of the brutality to which women were subject to is uniquely metaphorical- as if there are no “real” words in which to truly capture the horrific violence perpetuated against the women of both communities. She describes the mass abduction of women as a “plague,” and the abuse upon them as “looting.”

When not describing the rape, abduction, and mutilation of women in metaphorical terms, Kamla all but refuses to discuss the violence at all, claiming (perhaps truthfully) that the atrocities which women were subjected to “cannot even be described in words.” As the person in charge of the rescue of Hindu and Sikh women in Pakistan (she headed the rescue camp at the Gangaram Hospital in Lahore), and therefore often the first person with whom the recovered would have contact following the removal from their captors, Kamla was often confided in. At the very least, she was witness to these women’s psychical and emotional states upon rescue, and could likely infer from their trauma the extent of their violation. But Kamla consistently forgoes such grotesque details.

In fact, her extended silence on the matter calls to mind the reaction of the World War II soldiers who liberated the concentration camps of the Third Reich. Though these soldiers were not the direct victims of this violence, nor even the immediate witnesses to the actual acts of violence themselves, the emaciated state of the surviving European Jews left little to wonder. Those few who do speak upon this time generally do so in fictional works, laden with similar metaphors used by Patel.

The choice- or need- to maintain this silence is manifold. For those who are witness to the aftermath of violence, there may be a sense of unspeakable helplessness- what’s done is done, and no matter of voicing one’s disgust and disapproval will change that past. So too might they develop a sense of shame for not having acted sooner (had this even been possible), thus motivating silence and repression of the visions that call forth this sense of guilt. For those in positions such as Kamla and military personnel- both of whom are employed by the government- there is certainly motivation to avoid vilification of the governmental and (particularly in the Indian case) social apparatus within which people- including themselves- must continue to exist.

But for Kamla and other social workers, there is the added weight of their own status as women. It is improbable that female social workers did not heavily identify with the women in their care, did not realize that the only thing differentiating themselves from these poor wretches was the most arbitrary of things: luck. Some social workers could not have helped developing a sense of camaraderie with the survivors, choosing to maintain silence not only because they lacked the words to do otherwise, but out of respect to the real victims. Their silence can be seen as an unspoken recognition of the hidden knowledge to be borne by these women; containing this knowledge is the expression of this respect.

Ally or Foe

“At the outset, the burden of the responsibility which had been thrust upon me seemed unbearable, but gradually I became used to taking decisions in accordance with the dictates of my conscience.”

Though there existed many obstacles for South Asian women who might wish to pursue an education and/or career, there were a fortunate few who-generally due to the liberal attitudes of their fathers and families- were educated and involved in the more public realm of Indian life. Social workers like Kamla Patel were amongst these few. But despite her intelligence and her years of service to Gandhi in the freedom movement, Kamla was not immediately granted the respect and obedience that would have been accorded to a man in her position. This is best captured by the reaction of one Nandi Singh, who- upon meeting Kamla- exclaimed: “Somehow, I had expected you to be a much older person!” She not only faced the prejudice of those who believed women to be incapable of the enormous task at hand, but also the added impediment of being a young woman. She was a female of a child-bearing age at a time when (perhaps more than ever before in this region’s history) women were being reduced to nothing more than sexual symbols to be degraded and defiled.

But Kamla quickly rose above these difficulties. Feeling that she was “surrounded by a pack of wild animals,” who would “make fun of [her] behind [her] back,” she “gradually became familiar with the system as it were, and built up personal relationships with all the officers with whom [she] had daily contact.” Though she was a woman (and a Hindu woman at that, working with the at-times hostile Pakistani and Muslim government), she displayed unparalleled tenacity, many times butting heads with governmental officials of both nations in order to obtain what she thought best for the rescued women in her care.

One must ask, however, what good this leading lady did for womanhood as a whole. As mentioned in “Two Families, No Home“,  the Recovery Operation-for all the undeniable good it achieved- was a gross violation of citizenship rights. Rescued women were rarely asked to choose what they wanted, and the mere presence of a women like Kamla in the rescue task force would be of short-lived comfort if that woman were more intent upon adhering to the the wishes of the government than those of the individual.

“I had to tread a new path while solving each problem. Keeping in mind the framework of the agreement signed between the two countries, I had to struggle to see my way through this jungle.”

Kamla herself admitted to the hardening up of her heart and mind in order to most effectively deal with her charges.

“This, in a way was a blessing for me. Otherwise how could I have mustered up the courage to push along human beings with a stick, as if they were cattle, and decide the future course of action.”

And there were those who would accuse her for maintaining this stance, of being a heartless woman in cohorts with the very patriarchal system that had, in many ways, brought them to this undesirable position by first allowing (and even, in the case of some police, encouraging) these mass rapes and abductions, and then- adopting the convenient role of the nurturing parent or parens patriae– wresting them from whatever comfort they may have found. In one such incident, Kamla describes how-upon returning a group of abducted Muslim women to Pakistan- the women wailed and ranted against Kamla, demanding to know what right she had to remove them from their new homes, and how the government could choose to “protect” them now when it had failed to “protect” them in the first place.

There is perhaps some truth to these accusations. In her memoir, Kamla repeatedly makes biased remarks about the Pakistan government, consistently exhibiting surprise at a good deed committed by a Muslim official and shock at the noncooperation of Indian officials in rescue missions. This attitude begs the question of where her loyalties lay: with the glorification of the Indian government over that of Pakistan, or with the female victims of this political feud. Her sometimes callous responses to the women who begged to be left in their new homes, and her choice of language regarding the Muslim women who “happened” to be in India, suggests the former.

Some of Kamla’s personal beliefs, too, convey a less than liberal (to the Western bias) leaning. She herself proclaims that some of the women brought to the Gangaram camp, who had “changed hands” four or five times were “as good as dead,” reflecting the prevalent belief that a “spoilt” woman was of no use to her husband or family, and was “dead” in their eyes. In fact, she echoes the Sikh men such as Bir Bahadur Kaur who applaud the “courage” and “strength” of Punjabi women who laid their lives down rather than “lose their honor.”

It would, however, be a grave injustice to reduce Kamla Patel to the position of a mere government worker steeped in traditional thought. There are several things to take into consideration.

1. She exhibits sincere care for the women, and worked tirelessly for their fair treatment.

More often than not, Kamla sided with the abducted women, time and again revealing her distaste for the manner in which other government officials (and men in general) viewed and treated her peers. Her own words convey this better than my own ever could:

“Having heard the stories from these women of the inhuman or rather beastly acts to which they were subjected, we lost our appetites and even our sleep.” (Kamla does not elaborate on what these acts were, maintaining her silence)

“I felt like snapping back that a woman is a person, she is not some property when you can have a fair deal of exchange.”

“I have been at a total loss to understand their attitude to women. For them, a woman is an object of pleasure. They would not bat an eyelid to throw her away and replace her with a new woman.”

The sad reality, however, is that she and the women in her care lived in a world dominated by men, in a system premised on the rule of the many by the few. Try as Kamla might, it was unlikely that she would have been such a help if she had been considered too great a nuisance, and had stepped out of line for every case she deemed ill-dealt with. The second quote she never uttered aloud, realizing she could not get work out of officials by attacking them- and they had the power.

But she certainly accomplished much, at times outside of the strict letter of the law. The three following examples exemplify this.

• When sitting on a tribunal to decide the fate of a pregnant Muslim girl who had been kept in a camp in Alwar, India and whose entire family had been massacred, Kamla did what no other man on the tribunal had thought to do: she asked the girl “Do you wish to stay in India or Pakistan?” Though the girl was so frightened that she could not decide, the fact that Kamla should have thought to ask this girl to choose for herself is noteworthy. Ultimately, Kamla and Anis Kidwai’s sister arranged a marriage for this girl, and Kamla – who had already saved so many lives and touched so many people- claims it was this story that gave her “the joy and satisfaction of having achieved something in life.”
• In the case of Ismat and Jitu, a Muslim girl and Hindu boy who had gotten married consensually during the Partition, Kamla asks Mr. Punjabi, an Indian government official, “How can the government of India send her back to Pakistan against her own wishes,” revealing a discomfort with the extent to which the power of the government could extend into the individual choices of its female citizens.
• When a Hindu women, Sudarshan, who was married to a Muslim man confided in Kamla, explaining that she had married her husband of her own free will, Kamla offers to help her escape the camp and the hand of the very law. When Sudarshan asks Kamla why she should take this risk, Kamla responds, “You have married of your own free will. I do not approve of [taking] advantage of the law relating to recovery of women.”

2. The Problem of Identity

During a time when religion is pitted against religion, community against community, and one gender is being subjugated to the vicious reprisals of the other, it is not difficult to imagine that Kamla Patel felt confused as to which aspect of her person she should identify with first and foremost. As a Punjab Hindu? A Gandhian? A government worker? A women? It is clear that Kamla is loyal to the newly independent Indian state. She conveys greater faith in Hindu and Sikh Indian officials, and displays great disappointment in their failures. She and the other social workers at the Gangaram Hospital throw a secret party when the Indian government’s “police action” in Hyderabad results in a victory against Pakistan.

But Kamla Patel was a proud woman, and a woman who was more than aware of the atrocities men of both communities were capable of. She expresses concern over the mistreatment of Muslim women in the Indian rescue camps due to the practice of “untouchability,” and claims she “is a woman and cares not for politics,” but for the thousands of wronged women.

3. Working within the Patriarchy and Tradition

It is a common misconception of feminist scholarship that all women necessarily identify first and foremost with their gender, and then only after that with their nationality, religion, ethnicity, etc. Women are- like men- complex beings with many overlapping identities that affect their decision-making. For women like Kamla Patel, and the other female social workers like her, who had worked tirelessly for Indian independence and for a secular and democratic modern state, it stands to reason that they should wish to see that state succeed. It would be misguided to claim that Kamla Patel and her peers were blind to the weaknesses of the government, or that she did not see the continuities between the traditional patriarchy of colonial times and those of this “new era.” Her many frustrations with the officials of both countries and denouncements of the uncivilized behavior of men in general are testament to her own misgivings towards the institutions that maintain this gender-inequality.

But India was her home, and the government her bread and butter. Kamla Patel could not have achieved even half of what she had – returning hundreds of girls to their families, many of whom did in all truth wish to be rescued- had she worked on her own, without the significant financial aid of this imperfect government. She and other female social workers might- and did- empathize with the conflictual emotional struggles of the women they at times forcibly returned to the Indian state. But disagreeing with some of the methods of the government does not mean that these women were not also compelled to abide by them. Kamla undoubtedly realized it was far better to work within the patriarchy to help in whatever capacity she was allowed, than to work outside or against it, and do little to help her sisters in need.