Jallianwalla Bagh - 100 years and the wound is still raw

A first day cover - and this cover is very close to my heart because it commomerates an event in Indian history that evokes a pained emotion in my heart !! 

Punjab, which experienced a series of great tragedies in the last century, will perhaps never forget the one that happened on the day of Baisakhi ( New Year ), April 13, 1919. The Jallianwala Bagh massacre, which came barely months after the Armistice on November 11, 1918 ended World War I in Europe, occurred as undivided Punjab was struggling and in ferment.

Undivided Punjab had contributed an enormous number of soldiers to the colonial government’s war effort — 3,55,000 combatants over four years of conflict. But the war-time sacrifices of Punjab were forgotten by the colonial rulers as demobilised soldiers from various fronts in Europe returned home to unemployment. To complicate matters further, crop failure meant there were food shortages and skyrocketing prices.

The British began to feel cornered as Indian independence leaders called for peaceful protests against the draconian Rowlatt Act- this act effectively authorized the government to imprison any person suspected of terrorism living in British India for up to two years without a trial, and gave the imperial authorities power to deal with all revolutionary activities. 

The prelude to the Jallianwala Bagh shooting was a complete hartal in Punjab on April 6, which the Indian National Congress described as 'spontaneous and voluntary', against the Rowlatt Act. But what started as a peaceful strike was followed by large-scale violence.

A large number of people — estimates vary between 5,000 and 20,000 — gathered at Jallianwala Bagh on the day of Baisakhi. The mood was somber and fear was writ large on their faces as people felt trapped inside the city. Every exit was guarded and it was impossible for anyone to leave without permission.

British General Dyer arrived at the Bagh with 50 soldiers, armed with .303 Lee–Enfield bolt-action rifles. Others had knives or khukris. His team fired 1,650 rounds in about 10 minutes, stopping only when they ran out of ammunition. He made no effort to provide medical aid to the wounded, saying it was not his duty and left the scene of devastation.

This "brutality stunned the entire nation", resulting in a "wrenching loss of faith" of the general Indian public in the intentions of the UK. The ineffective inquiry, together with the initial accolades for Dyer by the House of Lords, fuelled great widespread anger against the British among the Indian populace, later leading to the Non-cooperation Movement of 1920–22. The massacre remains an enduring scar from British colonial rule in India. 

The poem 'Khooni Vaisakhi', written by Punjabi writer Nanak Singh on the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, was banned by the British after its publication in 1920. The poem was a scathing critique of the British Raj. Singh was present at Jallianwala Bagh on April 13, 1919. He was 22 years old at the time.

As the British troops opened fire on the unarmed gathering protesting against the Rowlatt Act, killing hundreds, Singh fainted and his unconscious body was piled up among the corpses.

After going through the traumatic experience, he proceeded to write "Khooni Vaisakhi", a long poem that narrates the political events in the run-up to the massacre and its immediate aftermath. After long years, the poem has been rediscovered and now translated into English by the author’s grandson and diplomat, Navdeep Suri.

The English translation of the poem : 

Rowlatt Act Controversy

Rowlatt Act stirs up a hornet’s nest

Gloom spreads like fire across the land.

A smouldering cauldron, this Hindustan,

With bated breath, trying to understand.

A reward they thought they’d get for sure

For service long, abiding each command.

Instead, as they hear of these shackles new,

Hopes are dashed, crushed into sand.

Protests and Martial Law

Dispirited and despondent by the turn of events

They lamented, aghast at miserable fate.

With sinking hearts, they then witnessed

A shadow spread across a nation great.

All comforts and pleasures now sadly gone

Leaving gloom and grief to stalk the state.

So sad they sound, like the wailing crane

To smile or greet they hesitate.

Shops closed and workplaces empty

Forlorn and lost, in streets they wait.

Strikes called in every city and town

Sobs muffled, they roam in a sorry state.

Those valiant sons of Bharat Mata

Shedding tears, dismayed and desolate.

Each tragedy retold, notes get compared,

Every nook and corner, a place to debate.

But a scene so different on the other side

Friends gather at homes to celebrate.

A mission accomplished, the Act is done

’Tis time for wine and feast ornate.

Their quislings, turncoats and traitors all

Come laden with gossip and tales narrate.

‘Rebel’, ‘robber’, ‘scoundrel’ and more

Names used against us, to aggravate.

Frame our heroes with guilt and treason

Damage they wreak on our nation great!

And a smirk of delight it brings upon the rulers

Who divide and rule, planting seeds of hate!

Sir Michael O’Dwyer, armed with a pen

Brings martial law and a Police State.

Young men of ours, innocent, upright

Sent packing to jail at an alarming rate.

My pen shudders, drops from trembling hands

Ah! Tales of torture – so deliberate.

Young boys flogged and bleeding lie

Like fish out of water, in dire straits.

Tied to poles and whipped with canes

Skin peels, their tender backs lacerate.

Flesh and bone do take the brunt

As streams of blood rush to the gate.

In desperate search their parents reach

Pushed rudely, ordered: Go home and wait!

Stay in your homes, don’t dare come out!

Or face a bullet, if it’s later than eight!

A funereal spirit pervades the air,

A stifled wail, a silent dirge and a pain innate.

Says Nanak Singh, Ah! The pain of Punjab!

Words choke as I speak, they suffocate.

Ram Navami Celebrations Amid Hindu–Muslim Unity

Hindus and Muslims they gathered together

To rejoice at a festival, O my friends.

Brotherhood conveyed by Muslims that day

Beyond incredible it was, my friends.

A festival of Hindus though it was

Muslims made it just their own, my friends.

‘Tis hard to describe this feeling new

A miracle, it truly seemed, my friends.

Doctors Saifudin, Satyapal together

Tread on a path united, my friends.

Feted with garlands, our stalwart duo

Sent out a message clear, my friends.

Their friendship displayed a bond so strong

Hindu Muslim were the same, my friends.

Such harmony never seen before

Since God made this world, O my friends.

The seed of friendship between these faiths

Descended from heaven itself, my friends.

Discord and difference seemed to vanish

Each saw the other as brother, my friends.

Shared the same glass to drink their water,

Sat down for meals together, my friends.

Like brothers separated since their birth

Stood united now by a miracle, my friends.

Each Muslim tried to outdo the other

Served sweetened drinks to all, my friends.

Each one stood with their Hindu mate

Showering flowers on devotees all, my friends.

Groups joyous lined up on the festive route

Cheering the jubilant Hindu parade, my friends.

Lord Krishna seemed charmed by the sight

Like Holi played at Vrindavan, my friends.

But Fate, it had some different plans

Why open your shops today, my friends?

The town will be on strike tomorrow

You’ll catch a hail of bullets, my friends.

The Gathering in Jallianwala Bagh

As the clock struck five on thirteenth April

They all gather in the Bagh, my friends.

Seeking justice fair and honour, they stand

Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims together, my friends.

Folks young and old, and lads went too

For only a handful had stayed back, my friends.

They went to speak, to share their grief

Place lives at stake without fear, my friends.

Worrying no more about their precious lives

They left this world behind, my friends.

With slender hope of coming back home

Desires and dreams abandoned too, my friends.

With their own blood, they wanted to bloom

The parched soil of the Bagh, my friends.

Like swarms of moths, they gathered around

To be singed by violent flames, my friends.

Fed up with life, they courted death

Forcing Yama to accept their will, my friends.

Like Mansour, who said, ‘I am the Truth!’

When he knew he’d meet the gallows, my friends.

Like Shams Tabrizi, whose quest for God

Ended up in a painful death, my friends.

Like birds from the woods, they flocked together

So the hawk could have his fill, my friends.

To quench Dyer’s deadly thirst

With streams of blood their own, my friends.

Ah! My city mourns with grief today

Happy homes lie shattered because they go.

Heads held high offered for sacrifice

For Bharat Mata’s pride and honour, they go.

Pray, stop these valiant souls of God!

Straight to the abyss, they rise and go.

O mothers, watch your precious sons

To give up their youthful lives, they go.

O sisters, hold back your brothers dear

You won’t see them again once they go.

O wives, hang on to your dear beloveds

Or you’ll spend your lives widowed, if they go.

O children, go run and hug your fathers

’Cause you’ll be orphans if they go.

Stop them, hold them, do what you can

They won’t come back, once they go.

Says Nanak Singh, Can’t stop them now

For nation’s sake to die they go.

Brig. Gen. Dyer Arrives, Gunfire Begins

Five-thirty sharp the clock had struck

Thousands gathered in the Bagh, my friends.

Leaders came to lament the nation’s woes

Taking turns to speak out loud, my friends.

Voiced grievance, hardship, anger, sorrow

Saying, no one listens to us, my friends.

What can we do, what options left?

Can’t see any ray of light, my friends.

Those words forlorn, they barely voiced

Came soldiers thundering down, my friends.

At Dyer’s command, those Gurkha troops

Gathered in a formation tight, my friends.

Under the tyrant’s orders, they opened fire

Straight into innocent hearts, my friends.

And fire and fire and fire they did

Some thousands of bullets were shot, my friends.

Like searing hail they felled our youth

A tempest not seen before, my friends.

Riddled chests and bodies slid to the ground

Each one a target large, my friends.

Haunting cries for help did rend the sky

Smoke rose from smouldering guns, my friends.

Just a sip of water was all they sought

Valiant youth lay dying in the dust, my friends.

That narrow lane to enter the Bagh

Sealed off on Dyer’s command, my friends.

No exit, no escape, no way out was left

Making the Bagh a deathly trap, my friends.

A fortunate few somehow survived

While most died then and there, my friends.

Some ran with bullets ripping their chest

Stumbling to their painful end, my friends.

Others caught the bullet while running away

Dropping lifeless in awkward heaps, my friends.

In minutes, the Bagh so strewn with corpses

None knew just who was who, my friends.

Many of them did look like Sikhs

Amid Hindus and Muslims plenty, my friends.

In the prime of their youth, our bravehearts lay

Gasping for one last breath, my friends.

Long hair lay matted in blood and grime

In slumber deep they sleep, my friends.

Says Nanak Singh, Who knows their state

But God the One and Only, my friends.