Cheti Chand: A Festival Of Faith, Identity, And Sindhi Resilience

As the sun rises over India on the second day of the Sindhi lunar month of Chet, thousands of families light diyas, prepare sweet delicacies, and gather in community halls to offer prayers, sing praises and dance – chej. This day marks Cheti Chand, the Sindhi New Year and the birth anniversary of Jhulelal, the community’s revered deity and symbol of hope, resistance, and divinely guided leadership. However, beyond the festivities, this annual celebration is a reminder of a community that has weathered history’s greatest storms and not only survived but flourished—quietly, powerfully, and without ever losing its cultural soul.

Cheti Chand is not just another festival; it is the living, breathing pulse of Sindhi identity. The festival dates back to the Indus Valley when Sindh—now in Pakistan—was a cradle of commerce, culture, and spiritual evolution. As the story goes, when tyrannical forces threatened the religious freedom of the people in Sindh, they prayed to the Indus River for salvation. Their prayers were answered with the birth of Uderolal, who later came to be worshipped as Jhulelal. A divine child, he united Hindus and Muslims with his message of peace and unity. Today, Jhulelal is seen not just as a deity but worshipped as the god of secular harmony and resilience. 

Healing scars 

In 1947, when India was partitioned, the Sindhi Hindus, who found themselves without a land to call their own, were compelled to migrate en masse. It was a displacement without preparation, without political assurance and promises. Yet, it was only the spirit that Sindhis moved out of their homeland only to be found as refugees in different parts of newly partitioned India. “We came with nothing but our values,” says Kanhaiya Lal Methwani, an 80-year-old Sindhi intellectual and cultural promoter, who moved to India during partition and still visits his relatives back in Sindh in Pakistan. “But that was enough. We never asked for charity, and we never begged. We built, created, and contributed.”

Indeed, post-Partition India has witnessed the Sindhi community etch its name into every sector—from business and banking to arts, literature, cinema, and spirituality. Today, Sindhis are counted among the most successful diaspora communities in India, and it is said with pride, “You will never find a Sindhi beggar.” It’s not arrogance; it’s a deep-seated ethic of hard work, perseverance, and adaptability. And it’s this same ethic that has kept the Sindhi culture alive, even when the land of its origin was left behind.

Writing pain in prose

One of the most remarkable expressions of Sindhi resilience has been its literary journey. The Sindhi language, once rich with the classical poetry of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai and Sachal Sarmast, was threatened by displacement. However, a few visionaries ensured its continuity and evolution in India. Writers like Popati Hiranandani, Ram Panjwani, and Narayan Shyam became torchbearers of a literary tradition that refused to fade. Hiranandani, for instance with her famous biographical work such as Muhinjay Hayatia Ja Sona Rupa Warq (The Golden and Silver Leaves of My Life), the novel Sailab Zindagi-a-Jo (The Flood of Life), and the poetry collection Ruha Sandi Ranjh (The Soul of Sindh) became the first woman to receive the Sahitya Akademi Award for Sindhi literature. Panjwani’s writings like Padma (1939), Qaidy, Sharmila, Asanjo Ghar, Ahe Na ahe and Shall Dhiaru Na Jaman with unique storytelling gave voice to the diaspora’s struggles, blending nostalgia with optimism.

Reclaiming identity 

Coming to the post-Independence, the Sindhi story of Partition has only recently begun to get the attention it deserves. It was a traumatic experience that many Sindhis preferred to forget, as writers like Menka Shivdasani, Anju Makhija, and Dr Arjan Shad discovered while working on translations of Sindhi Partition poetry in the mid-1990s. This project resulted in our book, Freedom and Fissures, published by the Sahitya Akademi in 1998. Sindhi literary journals, cultural sabhas, and publishing houses nurtured new generations of writers. Plays like Raat Jo Rahi and Sainjo Sapno (My Dream) captured the socio-political upheavals of migration while exploring themes of identity, belonging, and transformation. 

"As we began to lose the displaced Sindhis who had lived through Partition, there was a realisation that their important stories were being lost. However, I do believe that the literature produced before the Internet age also has global relevance, even if it has not had the exposure that today’s writers can enjoy," says Menka Shivdasani, an award-winning poet and editor involved in the documentation and promotion of Sindhi literature. 

In recent years, there has been a resurgence in interest in Sindhi literature and its translation. “My impression is that despite the tragedy of Partition and a diminishing readership, dedicated Sindhi writers have kept the language alive and continued to bring out books. It is also true that books written by younger Sindhis today are global and relevant, and they have done much to spread awareness of Sindhi culture and literature. These books, written by a generation that is trying to retrieve its heritage, have had the advantage of global conversations through the Internet,” says Menka. 

River people

One of the landmark contributions is the translation of "Seven Rivers", a monumental anthology that captures the essence of Sindhi poetry over centuries. Spearheaded by Gajwani and Shivdasani, and supported by several linguists and writers, the project aims to open a treasure of verses to non-Sindhi readers. It has become a bridge between generations, cultures, and histories. "Translations into English are certainly helping to bring a few of these books to larger audiences, and much more needs to be done. If older writers and younger ones work together, bringing together their respective skills in Sindhi and English, it can make all the difference," says Menka. 

Sindhi writers often speak not just with words, but with profound emotion that transcends language. “We are a river people,” says Dilip Ramchandani, an award-winning playwright from Jaipur. “You can dam us, you can divert us, but you cannot stop us from flowing," he states. Everything that Sindhis have gone through, their spirit to celebrate and tell their stories remains intact in each one of them. Every folk song, every story, every shared thali of Sai Bhaji and Tahiri are nothing but a declaration: We are still here. We are still thriving, And we are still Sindhi.

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