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Recently, we commemorated the 70th anniversary of the Partition. Terrible tales fill the wash with stories emerging from this period when British India split into what is now Pakistan, India and Bangladesh.

My late father was born in British Kashmir. When the British relinquished Kashmir, it was a whole year before the people in my father’s isolated village learned that Partition had taken place. I’ve been to Kashmir and glimpsed its vast ethereal beauty. Yet despite its shimmering splendour I am moved to remember the resting place of ancestors that I can never visit.

In the 1960s, a huge dam was constructed called Mangla Dam. Hundreds of ancient villages were submerged beneath its dark waters. 110,000 people were displaced. 280 villages sank into oblivion. Gone are the homes and gone are the graveyards of Muslims and Hindus, submerged forever in the cold waters of Mangla Dam.

Modernity had a price; it needed energy to fuel its growth and the past was buried as a result.

However, it was this displacement of people that ultimately led to thousands of Kashmiris settling in England and forging a new life for themselves.

I was born in England as were my children and the practice of returning the dead to the ‘motherland’ has virtually disappeared. My father passed away two years ago and although his absence brings sadness, I can stand by his graveside in Manchester and pray for him, something I cannot do for my ancestors buried in the waters of a man-made dam in picturesque Kashmir.

Lord, we pray for all those who have lost someone precious. Nothing is lost to you; all belongs to you; all returns to you. Bring solace to the living and peace to the dead, Amen.