As the voices of peacemakers grow faint and their initiatives struggle for survival, the urgency to reignite hope and unity has never been greater

This is my story.  As a child, I often heard harrowing tales of emotional and physical trauma, turmoil, displacement, and violence from my family elders—stories of what they endured during Partition. They spoke of their flight from Rawalpindi and how, as refugees, they rebuilt their lives and made Delhi their home. 

Listening to these sagas of resilience, courage, and the indomitable human spirit, I was reminded of the philosopher George Santayana’s warning: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Tragically, we have done just that—forgetting the lessons of the past and repeating the same mistakes, over and over again.  

Thirty-seven years after Partition, another tragedy unfolded. A so-called “big tree” fell, and the reverberations shook Delhi to its core.

What followed was a horrific bloodbath: gross attempts at ethnic cleansing, as thousands of innocent people were butchered in the nation’s capital within hours. Law enforcement turned a blind eye. Places of worship were desecrated. Homes were looted, ransacked, and burned. Women were violated, and men were hunted like wild animals. 

In those dark and desperate times, when it seemed as though humanity had been consumed by madness, there were still beacons of hope. Veterans like the late Kuldeep Nayar stood steadfast, risking their safety to uphold the ideals of peace. Stories of individuals and groups lighting candles, distributing sweets and roses at the Attari-Wagah border, and praying for harmony between two estranged nations filled me with admiration and hope.

I longed to join them—to move from being a passive observer to an active participant in this peace movement. 

But it remained a dream for decades. Finally, some years ago, the opportunity came during a visit to Amritsar for a seminar. By sheer luck, I was given a VIP pass to witness the Beating Retreat Ceremony at the Attari-Wagah border. 

I was thrilled beyond words. That day, under a gentle winter sun, I took my seat near the massive gate where the ceremony unfolds. It was a spectacle to behold—smartly dressed soldiers marching in perfect sync on both sides of the border. The crowd was electric, brimming with patriotic fervor, singing Bollywood songs, and soaking in the festive ‘pind da mela’ atmosphere. 

But as dusk fell and the ceremony ended, a sense of disappointment crept in. The cold wind seemed to mirror my mood. None of the scenes I had dreamed of since childhood were there. There were no doves soaring freely across the man-made divide, no warm embraces or gestures of reconciliation—only the stark reality of a deeply entrenched divide. 

That day, I walked away with nothing but the wistful reveries of a peacenik. 

Now, as I approach the close of my 56th year, my concern for the future has grown. The peacemakers—the dreamers who championed harmony and understanding—are fading, their initiatives struggling to survive.

A way forward must be found, and urgently. The solution lies within each of us, but it will take collective effort to revive the peace offensive. 

If we fail to act, we risk losing this fight entirely. And history, as well as future generations, will not forgive us.

The path to peace is fraught with challenges, but it is one we must tread with urgency and determination. The fading voices of peacemakers must be reignited, their efforts revitalised, for the sake of a shared future. If we fail to come together now—to heal divisions, foster understanding, and embrace humanity’s collective strength—the dream of harmony will wither away. The responsibility lies with each of us to ensure this does not happen. Let us act before it is too late, for history will not absolve us, and future generations will inherit the consequences of our inaction. Peace cannot wait.

(The writer is an author and blogger; views are personal)