I quickened my
pace as the golden dome of the great Gurudwara came into view, glittering in the
late afternoon sun. I weaved my way through the crowded lanes, skirting the
pedestrians, cyclists and tongas with practiced ease. The city was more crowded
than usual, bustling with people who had come to take part in the annual Baisakhi
mela. The air was festive, the excitement palpable.
But my mind
was not on the festivities. We had nothing to celebrate I felt. Punjab was
burning. The last few days had seen violent protests after a few
revolutionaries were arrested. The government had retaliated by making mass
arrests and prohibiting all gatherings. Now
the city lay quiet, but beneath that thin veneer of forced calm, revolt
simmered.
In a flagrant defiance of our rulers, the local leaders had called for a protest
gathering in an empty ground near the Gurudwara. That is where I was headed.
The speeches
had started by the time I reached the place. It took me some time to get in through the
narrow cramped entrance. Once inside, I realized that the ground was actually quite
huge, the size of a small football field. But in spite of its size I felt
claustrophobic, may be because it was hemmed in all sides by houses and was
packed with people. Most of them were local shopkeepers and traders, who had
closed their shops early to come here. I could see a lot of students – they
were the most enthusiastic, shouting slogans along with the speaker. There were
also many outsiders from the surrounding villages. Farmers mostly, with their
sun blackened faces and colorful turbans, out to enjoy the Mela after months of
back breaking toil in their fields. The windows of the surrounding houses were
framed with people, mostly women who did not or I suppose were not allowed to
come down to hear the speeches. People stood on rooftops and I envied them
standing there on wide open spaces while I stood here in the heat and dust, being
jostled by the crowds.
I joined
some students cheering lustily. But after some time I realized I could barely
hear the speakers. Still, I was reluctant to leave the place as it was closest to
the entrance and I wanted to leave quickly once the meeting was over. I was not
looking forward to getting stuck in that cramped space with so many people
trying to go out together.Then the man
in front of me hoisted his small child up on his shoulders, blocking my view
further. Giving up, I threaded my way to the other side where the crowd was
thinner. Although now I only had a side view of the speakers I could hear them
clearly. Durga Das, editor of the newspaper ‘Waqt’, was speaking. He was a great
orator and I listened spellbound, all discomfort forgotten.
I heard the sound of the soldiers’ boots on
the brick ground even before I saw them. They marched in and stood just inside
the entrance staring straight ahead as if waiting for a command from the man standing
next to them. I felt a little uneasy but not unduly concerned. As usual they would
fire in the air to disperse the crowd or lathi charge us. A few lathis on the
back was a small price to pay for in our fight for freedom.
We all stood there - peasants, students, traders, children and women all united
in our defiance.
Then in the blink of an eye all hell broke loose.
The first
thing I heard was something that sounded like the crack of thunder. Then I
heard screams and realized that the soldiers were firing at us. For a few
seconds I stood rooted in dazed disbelief and then I ran towards the nearest
exit only to realize that it was already crammed with people trying to get out.
The only other way out was to jump over one of the boundary walls and I ran
blindly towards the nearest one. Frenzied, panicked People ran helter skelter, desperately
trying to find an exit out of that closed space. The air was filled with the cacophony
of rifle shots, screams and of bullet hitting flesh and walls. Somehow I
expected the soldiers to stop firing once the crowd had dispersed, but they
fired nonstop and methodically, aiming at the spots densest with people. Even
as I ran, I could see people jerk and fall, limp as rag dolls as the bullets hit
them. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw some women fall into the well that
was near the speaker’s podium. I was not sure if they got pushed in due to the
stampede or if they jumped in to escape the bullets.
I reached the boundary
wall and tried to make my way up. People were clambering over each other to
climb over it. A man next to me was trying to push his wife up but she kept
sliding back. I felt bullets ricochet next to me in the wall as I desperately
scrambled to find a foothold in the bricks. Finally I managed to climb over and
without a second thought, jumped to the other side.
I ran
mindlessly, stopping only when I was out of breath. Panting, I looked down at
my feet and realized I had lost my shoes somewhere and my hands and feet were bleeding
and raw. My eyes widened in shock as I saw the blood splattered on my clothes.
It was a few moments before I realized that it was not my own.
I started running again, dashing through the now
deserted lanes, staying in the shadow of the houses and stopping only once I had
reached the safety of my rooms.
By nightfall
the city resembled a ghost town. A curfew was imposed with shoot at sight
orders. None of us would have dared to venture out anyways. Because of the curfew,
the injured couldn’t reach the hospital and the relatives of the dead couldn’t come
to claim the bodies. For days, the air reeked with the stench of human flesh
and vultures circled overhead.
Behind
closed doors all of Amritsar mourned silently, while the Gods in their Golden
Temple remained a mute spectator to the horror that would later be known as ‘The
Massacre of Jallianwallah Bagh’.
Note:
This is a
true story. My grandfather was at Jallianwallah bagh that day, and he actually
lived to tell the tale. He was 19, a student in Amritsar and fired up by patriotism
just like any other youth of that time.
He recounted the incident to us many
times and I have tried my best to reproduce it here as he told it.I had always wanted to visit Jallianwallah Bagh with him but couldn’t do so
before he passed away. He took my mother and her sisters there though, and showed
them where he stood and the wall he jumped over to escape.
The fact
that he changed his position a few minutes before General Dyer and his troops entered
the complex and opened fire was instrumental in saving his life. For had he stood
where he was, he would have been among the first to be killed.
The door slammed and she heard him leave.Loneliness and despair clutched at her heart like cold hands. She shivered, opened the door and stepped out. The first rose was peeping its way out of the almost- gone winter frost. The sun warmed her skin but her heart remained covered with a layer of ice.
She sat outside, waiting for the Sunrise, her mood as dark as the Night Sky. Slowly the sun peeped out from behind the mountains, bright and shiny as a newly minted coin, its rays like yellow arrows against a backdrop of flaming orange sky. Suddenly, all was well with the World again.
