Lost and longing: Hasna Bibi's perpetual wait for her father

In the quiet shadows of Lahore's Shalamar Link Road, an unresolved tale of the 1947 partition comes annually to bite Hasna Bibi as her quest for closure remains forever elusive.

Hasna, whose life has been defined by the blood-soaked memories of migrations that tore her apart from her family, recounts the announcement of independence in 1947, a time when hope clashed with brutal reality during migrations.

Separated from her parents during the tumultuous partition, she has spent decades fruitlessly searching for her lost kin, yearning for closure that continues to elude her grasp. Now, at 80 years old, Hasna says her old heartache resurfaces each year when the month of Independence Day arrives.

She poignantly describes her trauma: "The old sword wounds on her arms turn an eerie shade of green."

Hasna spends most of her days confined to her bed, weakened by the weight of a lifetime's worth of unanswered questions.

At the tender age of four or five, her family had settled in Jalandhar, only to be thrust into chaos during the treacherous journey towards the newly-formed nation.

In her recollections, Hasna Bibi recounts the announcement of independence in 1947 when she was merely four or five years old. Her family was caught in the chaos of migrating to the newly-formed nation when set off for Pakistan.

Tragedy befell the caravan as it neared its destination, as most of their fellow travellers met a gruesome fate. But by some twist of fate, the assailants spared Hasna's life, mistaking her for another casualty amidst the bloodshed.

"I could hear voices urging me to hurry, to get up and join them. But my body was covered in wounds, rendering me unable to walk," she recalls with tears streaming down her weathered face.

"I begged for help, declaring my inability to walk, but the voice reassured me, saying that my brother or father would soon come to take me away."

Yet, as the hours turned into days, and days bled into years, no familiar faces emerged from the shadows of her past.

"I waited, endlessly. But neither my brother nor my father came for me... no one came," she lamented, her voice filled with the weight of unending sorrow.

The cruel question haunts Hasna to this day—whether her loved ones are alive or dead remains an agonizing enigma. The only memories that survived the trauma are of living in refugee camps for months and eventually finding solace in an orphanage in Lahore, where she was given her current name and raised as an orphan.

In the year 1962, Hasna entered into marriage, only to become a widow later. Today, she tells the stories of her arduous migration to her children.

Abdul Musafi, one of Hasna Bibi's neighbours, affectionately calls her 'Dadi,' like the rest of the neighbourhood's children. He reveals how Hasna shares her exceptional journey of survival with the children, recounting the trials faced and the final arrival in Pakistan.

Abdul says: "The true value of freedom is only truly known by individuals like Hasna, who have sacrificed everything."