Prologue: The Forgotten Province
Partition stories are often told as if they belonged only to Punjab and Bengal. History books and films overflow with images of trains packed with refugees, of fields running with blood, of borders hastily drawn by Radcliffe’s pen. Yet another land, older than both Punjab and Bengal in its civilisation, sanctified by the mighty Sindhu, is absent from mainstream chronicles. That land was Sindh.
Sindh was no periphery. It was the cradle of the Indus Valley Civilisation, home to Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa, to centuries of saints, traders, and thinkers. Its river gave Bharat its very name. And yet, when Partition came, Sindh became the “forgotten province.” Unlike Punjab and Bengal, it was not divided. It was surrendered in its entirety to Pakistan. For nearly a quarter of its people, the Hindu Sindhis, this meant overnight exile, dispossession, and silence.
As Nandita Bhavnani records in The Making of Exile, Sindhi Hindus were unique among Partition refugees: they had “no half of a homeland” to retreat to, no linguistic state waiting for them in Bharat. They were uprooted wholly, scattered across Bharat and the world, carrying only memory and faith.
In this moment of betrayal and erasure, when governments faltered, when Congress leaders grew indifferent, and when British administrators turned their backs, one organisation stood as a silent sentinel: the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS).
The Sentinel Awakens
The RSS was not born in Sindh, but its spirit found fertile soil there. Founded in 1925 in Nagpur by Dr. K.B. Hedgewar, by the 1940s the Sangh’s call of discipline, unity, and self-defence had reached Sindh’s cities and towns.
K.R. Malkani, a proud son of Sindh and later Vice-President of the BJP, describes in The Sindh Story how shakhas spread rapidly in Karachi and Hyderabad. M.S. Golwalkar, the second Sarsanghchalak, visited Sindh annually from 1943 to 1947, inspiring youth leaders like Rajpal Puri and Dada Lilaram to establish shakhas.
At dawn, Hindu boys gathered barefoot in open fields. They performed Surya Namaskar, practiced lathi, and absorbed baudhiks about Shivaji, Rana Pratap, and Guru Gobind Singh. In a society under siege, these shakhas were not mere drills: they were living declarations that Hindus would not bend, that Hindu Dharma would endure.
As L.K. Advani recalled in My Country, My Life, the RSS gave him “samskaras” that defined his life. In shakhas, caste barriers dissolved. An Amil administrator’s son stood beside a Bhaiband trader’s apprentice, united by discipline and dharma. The shakha became both shield and sanctuary.
A Province Encircled
Sindh’s Hindus had long prospered as traders, teachers, and administrators. But their security ended once Sindh was separated from the Bombay Presidency in 1936. Outnumbered, they became politically exposed in a Muslim-majority province.
The Muslim League pressed aggressively for communal dominance. From the Manzilgah incident in Sukkur in 1939 to the riots of the 1940s, Hindus faced repeated assaults on their temples, shops, and neighbourhoods. Time and again, the colonial administration looked away. The state abandoned its duty as guardian, leaving Hindus to the mercy of violent mobs.
In this grim environment, the RSS became the shield of the community. Swayamsevaks formed patrols to guard localities, trained youth in self-defence, and carried intelligence from town to town. They did what no government or Congress leader would do: stand as the disciplined protectors of Hindu lives and honour.
Through Fire and Blood
When Partition struck in 1947, Sindh’s tragedy was sealed. While Punjab burned in open massacres, Sindh witnessed systematic intimidation, humiliation, and terror. Hindus were targeted, their temples desecrated, their businesses looted, their families driven from ancestral homes.
By January 1948, Karachi had become a death trap. Hindu shops were torched, women harassed, and families forced into hiding. Towns like Nawabshah and Hyderabad saw organised violence to uproot Hindus permanently.
Amid this storm, RSS swayamsevaks emerged as the silent sentinels. They rescued families under attack, carried the elderly on their shoulders, shielded women, and organised convoys to ports and railway stations. At Karachi docks, cadres guided terrified Hindus onto ships bound for Bombay. In refugee trains, they guarded compartments, ensuring children and mothers were protected first.
It was not survival alone, but dignity preserved. As K.R. Malkani recalls, swayamsevaks encouraged departing families to perform a final arati to the Sindhu before leaving, so that exile began not with despair but with prayer.
Where official histories reduce these sacrifices to “refugee management,” the lived truth is different. Without the Sangh, Sindhi Hindus would not have left as a community with unity and spirit intact. They would have been scattered and broken.
The Shadow of Controversy
British officials and hostile journalists slandered the RSS, painting its drills and preparations as conspiratorial. The discovery of arms in Shikarpur was used to brand the Sangh as violent. But to Sindhi Hindus, these preparations were not crimes. They were the natural duty of a people abandoned by the state.
Even Gandhi, after meeting Golwalkar, admitted that the Sangh was not an organisation of hate, but of discipline. For the Hindus of Sindh, this was not abstract: it was the only force that said, “You are not alone.”
Across the Border
Exile did not end the Sangh’s mission. It simply shifted its arena. When Sindhi Hindus arrived in Bombay, Kutch, and Gujarat, RSS volunteers were waiting.
In the refugee camps of Kalyan and Ulhasnagar, shakhas sprang up amidst tents and hunger. Boys who had lost fathers were taught lathi drills at dawn. Girls and mothers were given courage by volunteers who organised education, food, and rituals.
In Ulhasnagar, barren barracks became thriving bazaars. In Adipur and Gandhidham, temples, schools, and markets rose. This miracle of renewal was no accident. It was the Sangh spirit transplanted: discipline, seva, and brotherhood.
By the 1960s, these settlements had become thriving hubs of Sindhi commerce. What the world saw as resilience, the community knew as the fruit of the Sangh’s silent service.
A Living Legacy
Today, Sindhi Hindus are scattered across Bharat and the globe. They are renowned as industrialists in Dubai, shopkeepers in London, and entrepreneurs in Nigeria. Yet beneath this global success lies the unbroken thread of dharma.
Festivals like Cheti Chand, once whispered in Karachi lanes, now blaze with saffron flags in Bharatiya cities. The cry of Jhulelal, Jai Shri Ram echoes from Ulhasnagar to Hong Kong.
Advani’s rise to Deputy Prime Minister and Malkani’s role as a nationalist thinker were not accidents. They were the living legacy of the Sangh’s samskaras in Sindh. These leaders carried the exile of Sindh into the heart of Bharatiya politics, ensuring that the sacrifices of their community became part of Bharat’s national story.
Why This Story Matters
Why has Sindh been forgotten in Partition memory? Because its tragedy does not fit the neat binaries of history. Because its exile lacked Punjab’s bloody imagery. And because Sindhi Hindus, instead of wallowing in victimhood, rebuilt themselves with quiet strength.
But forgetting Sindh is dangerous. The story of its uprooting is a warning: what happens when Hindus are politically isolated, undefended, and abandoned. It is a lesson for the Hindu nation: that only vigilance, unity, and organisation can protect dharma.
For Hindu nationalists, the message is clear. The Sangh was not a bystander in Sindh. It was the sentinel, the protector, the rebuilder. Its legacy is not one of victimhood, but of defiance and renewal.
Epilogue: The Silent Sentinels
In remembering the RSS in Sindh, we remember not only exile and loss but resilience and rebirth. The forgotten province must be remembered. The forgotten sentinels must be honoured.
Sindh’s story is Bharat’s story: of civilisation, of fracture, of survival. And in that story, the RSS remains what it was then, the silent sentinel, watching over dharma when all else failed.
Now, as Bharat celebrates the centenary of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, it is imperative that we also recall its Sindh story, for it was here that the Sangh proved its mettle as the guardian of a people abandoned by politics but upheld by dharma and discipline.
— Ashmodhrav Vaswani
