A poem for India's indepedence day, submitted by Vikram Doctor:
(Poem #868) Partition
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission, Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition Between two peoples fanatically at odds, With their different diets and incompatible gods. "Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late For mutual reconciliation or rational debate: The only solution now lies in separation. The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter, That the less you are seen in his company the better, So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation. We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu, To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you." Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away, He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect, But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot, And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot, But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided, A continent for better or worse divided. The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not, Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
From the Collected Poems, 1976, p. 604, poem dated May 1966. A good example of how while poets are normally thought of as estranged from daily life, they can comment on news events in illuminating ways. This poem says as much or more about the impossible nature of Radcliffe's job that any thing I've read on the subject. The only thing perhaps to add in Radcliffe's defence is that he refused the fee he was offered for his services. Vikram.