This story is set on 15 August 1947 when India gained independence but was also partitioned into 2 countries - India and Pakistan.
The radio crackled "At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom."
Instead of tumultuous applause at this happy event, there was silence as hundreds of people listened from their tents. These small tents held their entire belongings. They were leaving behind their homes, their possessions, the familiarity of their towns and the legacy of their ancestors to start a new life.
"Amma, when will we go home? I don't like it here." 8-year-old Minnie tugged her mother's clothes.
Her mother sighed and looked at the two bags into which she'd shoved a few pieces of her home before she was rushed towards the other side of the border.
"We can't go back, this is our home now."
"Why?"
Amma chuckled and then grimaced. She kneeled and stroked Minnie's hair.
"We can never be truly independent. Behind the happiness of freedom is also the pain of partition. Some of us must sacrifice for the greater good."
"But I miss home like it was a person. My dolls, my friends, my school." Minnie murmured.
"I miss the trees, the paths where my grandmother walked, the place where I got married, where you took your first steps." Amma continued.
"Where I took my first breath, where I knew everyone in my part of the town, I'll miss the scent of Lahore. Minnie's father added.
He sat down next to them, "There is a lot to miss but there is a lot to rejoice too. For this moment of this midnight, we are free."
The family hugged each other and slept under the roof of the skies.
