Ashok Ogra
ashokogra@gmail.com
History is typically recorded through official records, political speeches, and dates. What often gets lost are the quieter truths-the fear that enters homes before people flee, the sudden silence of neighbours who once shared festivals, the confusion of children who do not understand why their world has collapsed. The elderly who leave carrying keys of houses they will never return to. Displacement is not just about moving from one place to another. It is about losing belonging, dignity, and a sense of self. The book untold stories of the exodus is written from this space of loss.
The book is a deeply emotional account of the forced displacement of Kashmiri Pandits from Kashmir in the early 1990s. Written by Pran Pandit, himself a Kashmiri Pandit and a retired senior police officer, the book is shaped by lived experience rather than distant analysis. It is not an academic textbook, nor a political pamphlet. It is a collection of stories that show what exile does to ordinary people over time,emotionally, socially, and psychologically.
From the beginning, the author makes it clear that the events of 1990 did not happen overnight. In chapters Pakistan’s Manoeuvres: To Besiege Kashmiriyat and Pakistan’s Machinations: For Ethnic Cleansing, he suggests that radicalisation in Kashmir was gradual and planned. The Kashmir he remembers was once marked by shared customs, cultural overlap, and everyday coexistence. Over the years, this balance weakened as fear, religious extremism, and violence entered daily life. By the time Kashmiri Pandits were forced to leave, trust between communities had already been badly damaged.
One of the book’s key strengths is that it does not treat displacement as a single moment in history. Leaving home is only the beginning. What follows-life in camps, loss of work, humiliation, mental stress, and broken family ties-is where the deeper suffering lies.
The author repeatedly shows that physical safety alone cannot heal people when dignity and stability are taken away.
Most stories revolve around ordinary families:teachers, shopkeepers, scholars, widows, children, and elderly parents. These are people who once lived secure and meaningful lives in Kashmir. Overnight, they become refugees in their own country. Camps meant to be temporary stretch into years. Families live in cramped tents or one-room tenements. Privacy disappears. Heat, illness, and overcrowding become part of daily life. Many elderly people, unable to adjust to new climates and conditions, decline quickly, both physically and mentally.
Children appear throughout the book as silent victims of exile.
Some witness violence directly, as seen powerfully in Abhimanyu in ‘Chakravyuh’, where a young child’s mind is deeply scarred by terror and displacement. Others absorb trauma indirectly, through fear-filled conversations, sudden poverty, and constant uncertainty.
The book shows how exile affects young minds in different ways-anger, withdrawal, addiction, rebellion, or confusion about identity. Even when some characters manage to rebuild their careers later, the sense of uprootedness never fully disappears.
Another strong theme is the breakdown of trust. Displacement does not automatically bring families closer; in many cases, it pushes them apart. Financial stress, loss of social standing, and prolonged insecurity lead to resentment and suspicion.
In Displacement Caused Mistrust in Steady Relationships, the author shows how a once-stable marriage begins to crack under the pressure of exile. Small doubts grow into serious conflicts. The chapter highlights how mental stress can distort perceptions and damage even long-standing relationships.
The book also reveals how displaced people become vulnerable in unexpected ways. In Tricked and Robbed: Internally Displaced Persons, refugees are cheated by fraudsters posing as holy men. By exploiting illness, fear, and religious belief, these criminals steal money and jewellery from families who have already lost everything else. This episode underlines a harsh reality: displacement exposes people not only to violence and neglect, but also to everyday exploitation. Without strong social networks, refugees become easy targets.
Faith and spirituality appear throughout the book in complex ways. For some characters, belief offers comfort and strength. For others, it becomes a space where hope is manipulated. The author neither glorifies nor dismisses religion. Instead, he shows how faith interacts with trauma. In some stories, religious memory keeps people connected to their roots. In others, blind faith increases vulnerability. This balanced approach adds realism to the narratives.
Memory plays a powerful role across the book. Simple objects-religious texts, ornaments, walking sticks, old rituals-carry deep emotional meaning. They become symbols of a life left behind. Dreams, especially among the elderly, are filled with images of orchards, snow-covered rooftops, temples, and familiar landscapes. This longing is most painfully captured in And She Died Craving, To Go to the Homeland, where an elderly woman dies imagining her return to Kashmir. Her death becomes a symbol of thousands who could never emotionally leave home, even when physically forced to.
The writing style is intense and emotionally charged. Some scenes feel stretched, and dialogues can appear heavy. There are moments where coincidences seem too neat. However, these weaknesses appear to come from the author’s deep personal involvement rather than carelessness. The book is less concerned with literary polish and more with ensuring that these stories are not forgotten. There is urgency, driven by the fear that silence may erase painful truths.
Politically, the book takes a clear stand. It points to Pakistan-backed militancy, ideological radicalisation, and failures of governance as major causes of the exodus. It also questions the silence and indifference shown by institutions and society. Readers may debate certain interpretations, but the book’s main strength lies in documenting lived experience rather than offering abstract theories.
What makes Untold Stories of the Exodus especially relevant today is its reminder that displacement does not end with relocation. Trauma passes to the next generation. Children grow up hearing fragments of a lost homeland, sensing grief they cannot fully explain. Cultural continuity weakens. The question of return remains unanswered, hanging over families like an unfulfilled promise.
The book demands emotional engagement and patience. It does not offer neat solutions or comforting conclusions. Instead, it leaves readers uneasy-and perhaps that is its greatest strength. By refusing to soften pain, the book honours the reality of exile.
For students, the 10 stories in the book show that history is not only about policies and power, but about human lives. For general readers, it opens a window into a tragedy that continues quietly, away from headlines.
Published by Zorba Books, Untold Stories of the Exodus stands as an act of remembrance. It insists that exile is not a closed chapter, but a living reality-and that remembering is the first step toward dignity and truth.
(The author works for reputed Apeejay Education, New Delhi)
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