Wisp #writephoto

Sue’s #Writephoto prompt this week:

Sitting cramped in the corner of the train carriage, Meena glimpsed a flash of the blue sky, wisps of cloud dancing across without any cares in the world.
Why?
Why, when the sky was the same, here, and there?
Why, when the clouds moved with such freedom?
People were squashed in the carriage, fear etched on their faces. some were crying. The only laughter came from small children who were unaware of what was happening.
Meena and her family had fled their ancestral home, in the city of Lahore.
It was February, 1947.
Partition.
One of millions of families, displaced when the border was announced, they had hurriedly collected basic belongings, and disappeared in the middle of the night, to catch a train, hoping to reach the other side of the border in one piece.
The stories that had reached them had told of endless bloodshed.
Fights, murder, rape.
The Muslims in the area, once friends, were gathering Hindu and Sikh families and slaughtering them brutally.
And across that shiny new border, the same was happening, but in the opposite way.
There, Muslim families, not unlike hers, were battling a journey in the opposite direction, leaving their homes and lives, trying to reach the apparent safety of Pakistan.
She thought of  Amira, her best friend.
They had clung together, in tears at the thought of being separated, having grown up together.
But there was no choice. If she stayed, she would be killed, just like all the other non-Muslims.
The train was moving. They were safe. Stories of gangs boarding trains, and killing whole trainloads of passengers haunted the minds of everyone.
As long as it kept moving, they would be fine.
After a short while, the train slowed, coming to a halt.
Fear spread among the passengers, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
Cries of battle were called, and the train was soon a blood bath. Passengers pulled out by their hair, throats cut. Woman mauled and raped before being left for dead. Small children witnessing atrocities being committed on their families, before being cruelly killed.
Meena’s eyes glazed over for the last time, staring up at the sky.

***

Above her, the clouds still danced, untouched by the events below, so it seemed, but if you looked closely, the pink tinges seemed to reflect the rivers of red flowing beneath…

#writephoto

Sorry for the slightly sombre entry this week.

I am sitting here, watching a series of programmes that aired on BBC1 last night, My Family, Partition and Me: India 1047.

August 15th and 16th, saw Pakistan and India respectively, celebrating 70 years of Independence from British Rule.

But the horrors that the partition which preceded this independence will never be forgotten by those who experienced it.

I have been lucky to have been brought up in an atmosphere of equality, where regardless of race or religion, friendships look at the people first, rather than their background.

My best friend, and soul sister is a Muslim. I am Sikh.

I cannot imagine a life without her, or her family.

I thank God that we are living now, rather than 70 years ago.

Though, with the happenings around the world in recent years, it scares me.

Like the Holocaust and Jewish ethnic cleansing, the Partition tore families and friends apart.

Please, let’s not let this happen again.

Alone #writephoto

Sue’s prompt for this week’s #WritePhoto:

Today, no poems or prose. No stories or tales.

No stories or tales.

Just a sense of calm, peace and wellbeing.

Looking at the above photo brings me all that.

An idyllic location to lose yourself for a while, to sit and think about all, or nothing.

Viewing the world around you, the vast landscapes ahead, the endless sky above, you realise just how small you really are.

A tiny piece of this universe, a speck.

But how often do you take the time to just look, and reflect?

 

#writephoto

 

Thursday photo prompt – Watchers #writephoto

Sue’s prompt for #WritePhoto today:

The walls have ears, so they say
Silent they stand, stark and grey
But the things they’ve seen over the ages
Could overfill a writers pages
Happiness, sadness and all in between
A bit of it all, they have seen
Buildings ravaged, falling down
Roots creeping round, gnarled and brown
Yet the things they see, memories may fray,
But sights can never ever be wiped away

Ritu 2017

#writephoto

Sails – #writephoto

Sue’s #Writephoto prompt this week:

windmill at sunset, Brill, Buckinghamshire. Image: Sue Vincent

“I saw a mouse!”
“Where?”
“There on the stair!”
“Where on the stair?”
“Right there!”
“It didn’t by chance have clogs on, did it?”
“No! It was a bloody mouse, you wally!”
Pete smirked to himself. Jane was always such a drama queen, and he had to inject a little humour into their lonely existence.
Since buying the old windmill, and trying to restore it to its original glory, so they could then organise tours around an authentic working old school windmill, Pete and Jane had sunk into a hermit-like existence.
But it had been a tough time. There were no neighbours nearby. They had to drive at least half an hour to the nearest shops in the village, and they were a little too off the beaten track for their friends to visit. Even if they did, there was no guest room for them to stay over, so most people just stayed away.
Sure, they phoned or sent messages once in a while, but it wasn’t the same.
So, when she presented him with opportunities like this, he milked it for all it was worth!
The thing was, there was no one to share the joke with.
This was what happened when you married a young un…
Ronnie Hilton’s 1965 classic was lost on her!

#writephoto

Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

Sue’s #Writephoto prompt this week:

A tanka was born!

Rising out of flames
Evoking fear with those eyes
Destined to haunt you
A devil walks among us
Which mask does he hide beneath?
Ritu 2017

#writephoto

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