South-central Sindh isn't quite a holiday destination, but I spent a fortnight there some months ago while on a vacation to Pakistan. My host was the amiable, 70 year-old Khurshid Khan Kaimkhani, a well-known leftist activist, author of the only book on Pakistan's almost three million Dalits. Along with a friend, he edits the only Dalit magazine in the entire country.
Khurshid met me at the railway station in Hyderabad, Sindh's largest city after Karachi, where I took the train to from Lahore. We drove to his goth, on the outskirts of his town of Tando Allah Yar, a two hour bus-ride ahead. A goth is an estate belonging to a landlord. It is surrounded by high mud walls to keep out dacoits and strangers. Behind the walls is the house of the landlord, who often also has a house in the neighbouring town or city. Surrounding the main house are the hovels of the haris or landless labourers and peasants. They generally do not own the huts in which they live and are entirely at the mercy of the owner of the goth.
Khurshid's goth is modest by Sindhi standards, around ten acres large. This is fertile land, fed by a channel that draws water from the Indus. It contains a mango orchard and several small vegetable patches. Several Hindu Bhil families live in the goth. 'They are like my own family', Khurshid says as the gate swings open and Balu Bhil, the manager of the goth, welcomes us in.
After we have refreshed, Balu takes me around. There are almost a dozen mud houses in the goth, humble structures, but neatly painted. In a corner is a little shrine of Jog Maya, a Bhil goddess, in the form of a conical-shaped stone wrapped in red cloth and placed in a cradle. Pictures of various Hindu deities, some of which Khurshid has brought with him on his numerous visits to India, grace the walls.
Balu's wife makes us a delicious meal: thick rotis, dal and beans. The next morning, I find Balu in the driver's seat of a small open truck. His nephews are struggling to load a buffalo in the rear. 'Balu is going to Dadu to sell the animal, and he's agreed to take us on from there to Moenjodaro', Khurshid informs me. Moenjodaro. 'The Mound of the Dead'. The major settlement of the five-thousand year-old Indus Valley Civilisation. A ten hour journey by road.
I lunge into the rear of the truck. I sit nervously at the edge, warding of the occasional droppings of the buffalo. We head back for Hyderabad and, passing by miles upon miles of suburban squalour and filth, we cross the mighty Indus at Kotri. The river appears placid, and country boats gently move down with their sails billowing in the breeze, as they have for thousands of years. We drive past lush fields of rice, mustard and sugar cane and vast mango orchards. In this part of Sindh one can travel for miles without seeing any villages, for much of the land is owned by a single landlord, some of whom have estates several thousand acres large.
The countryside soon turns stark, stony and sandy. Water-logging has rendered vast stretches of land here unusable, turning much of it into semi-desert. A thick crust of salt spreads like foamy waves over a sea over large stretches. We pass by small settlements. Stark poverty hits one in the face, as does the virtual absence of the state, the only visible presence of which appears to be roads, street lights in some places and tower-like police stations. As darkness falls, we reach Larkana. We cannot go ahead, for fear of dacoits.
Larkana appears like an island of prosperity in a sea of desperate poverty. Huge mansions, belonging to landlords, occupy vast parts of the town. Khurshid takes me to see the Bhutto family's mansion, the forbidding walls of which stretch from one end of a street to the other. Larkana still has a substantial Hindu population. Many of the Hindus here, as in other towns in Upper Sindh, are Lohana traders. Some of them are large industrialists and Hindus control the grain trade in this area.
Although inter-community relations are peaceful, many Hindus remain apprehensive. That evening's newspaper speaks of a Hindu merchant in a town near Larkana who was kidnapped and later killed by dacoits.
In the aftermath of the destruction of the Babri Masjid in India, some Hindus in this part of Sindh lost their lives and several temples were destroyed by irate mobs. 'Because of this fear, some Hindu families arrange to send at least one son to settle in India, so that if things get worse they can migrate there', Khurshid says.
Before day breaks, Khurshid is up and ready. He pulls of my blanket and forces me to get ready. 'You get the best views of Moenjodaro early in the morning', he announces. It takes us two hours to reach Moenjodaro. A giant mound, pictures of which every Indian child has seen at school, dominates the ruins. The bricks are still intact, remarkable because these ruins are over six thousand years old. The mound was later used as a Buddhist stupa. Sindh was a major centre of Buddhism before most of its inhabitants converted to Islam, starting in the tenth century. Built around the mound are tiny cells, paved lanes lined with covered drains and a great bath. A well-maintained museum boasts a large collection of artifacts culled from the ruins—jewellery, pottery, toys, statuettes, seals and even something that looks like a chess board.
After brunch, we head back for Hyderabad, taking a different route this time. Some hours later we reach Udero Lal, a small township not far from Hyderabad. It gets its name from a saint with the same name, whose shrine is located here. This is one of the most popular pilgrimage centres for Sindh's Hindus. The shrine is built behind a fortress-like wall. Inside is a vast domed-shaped structure that houses three chambers. One contains a Hindu temple, with a large portrait of Uderolal, or Jhuley Lal as he is popularly known. He bears a large white crown on his head and sports a flaming red tilak and a long, bushy beard. He perches on a large fish in the middle of a river.
'Udero Lal is the saint of the Indus', says a Hindu pilgrim. 'He appeared at a time when Hindus here were being forced to become Muslims. He saved us from forced conversion by showing a Muslim ruler many miracles'.
In an adjacent room is a grave-like structure built in the Muslim fashion. A Muslim man, who claims to be the descendant of a disciple of the saint, tells me a different story. 'He was a Muslim faqir. Because he was such a devoted man of God, the Hindus, too, venerate him'.
I do not know which story to believe.
Which version is right, I ask Khurshid, who is known for his knowledge of Sindhi folklore. 'Both stories are probably fiction', Khurshid chuckles. 'In any case', he assures me, 'if Hindus, Dalits and Muslims all worship here together in peace, that's enough, and who needs to know anything more?
