When Noorpur Was Home

Chapter 1 – Before the Border Noorpur, Punjab March, 1947 The first rays of the morning sun slowly spread across the fields of Noorpur. A cool breeze carried the scent of wet soil, while the golden mustard flowers swayed gently as if greeting another ordinary day. Life in Noorpur had always been simple. Before sunrise, farmers would leave with their bullock carts, women would light clay stoves to prepare breakfast, and children would run barefoot through the narrow streets without worrying about tomorrow. The village wasn’t wealthy, but no one felt poor. Every family knew the other, every celebration belonged to everyone, and every sorrow was shared. The mosque stood at one end of the village, while the gurdwara stood at the other. The distance between them was only a few minutes’ walk, but no one ever thought about measuring it. The sound of the morning azaan and the peaceful hymns from the gurdwara blended into the same sky, just as they had for generations. For the people of Noorpur, they were neighbours first. Among the children who filled the village with laughter, two names were impossible to separate. Joravar Singh. Afsana. If someone saw one of them, they automatically expected the other to be nearby. “Where’s Joravar?” the shopkeeper would ask. “Probably following Afsana,” someone would reply with a laugh. That morning, Afsana stood outside a small brick house, tapping her foot impatiently. “Joravar!” she shouted. No answer. She folded her arms. “Joravar Singh! If you’re making me late again, I’m leaving without you!” A voice finally came from inside. “I’m coming!” “You’ve been coming for the last ten minutes.” A few seconds later, Joravar rushed outside while trying to fix his turban. “My mother kept stopping me.” “Oh yes,” Afsana teased. “I’m sure your mother forgot how to tie a turban.” Joravar laughed. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re slow.” Without waiting, Afsana started walking. Joravar quickly caught up. “You know,” he said, “one day I’ll leave without you.” She raised an eyebrow. “You?” “Yes.” “You can’t even find your school bag without my help.” He looked away, pretending to think. “That’s… not important.” Afsana burst into laughter. The dusty road to school passed between endless mustard fields. Sparrows flew across the sky while buffaloes rested near small ponds. The same road had become part of their daily lives. Halfway there stood an old banyan tree. It was the children’s favourite place. The moment they reached it, Afsana suddenly smiled. “Race you to the school gate.” Before Joravar could answer, she started running. “That’s cheating!” he shouted, chasing after her. She reached the gate first. “I won.” “You started before saying ‘go.’” “So?” “That doesn’t count.” “It counts in my world.” “And who made the rules?” “I did.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand you.” “You don’t have to.” Their laughter echoed across the schoolyard. Even Master Abdul Rahman, their teacher, smiled when he saw them. “You two again?” The entire class laughed. “If you spent half this energy studying,” the teacher continued, “you’d both become great scholars.” “We already are,” Afsana replied confidently. The classroom filled with laughter once again. Joravar quietly whispered, “I’ll beat you in mathematics today.” “You said that yesterday.” “And today is different.” “We’ll see.” The lesson began, but the two spent more time trying to distract each other than paying attention. When the teacher turned toward the blackboard, Joravar quietly slid a folded piece of paper onto Afsana’s desk. She opened it. It simply read— ‘You’ll still lose.’ She smiled without looking at him. Then she wrote underneath— ‘Dream on.’ She folded it and pushed it back. When Master Abdul Rahman turned around, both of them were pretending to solve mathematics problems as if nothing had happened. Neither realised that years later, these tiny moments would become their most precious memories.