WHEN A VIOLENT storm descends on an area, it does not pause to discriminate between a tree that is big and another that is small, one that is healthy or another that has dried up. It is hell-bent on destruction and will try to decimate anything that comes in its path.
The tempest of communal strife that had descended upon Amritsar was such a storm. While many of the city’s residents had managed to escape from its destructive force, how many had remained unaffected by its malign influence? That’s a hard question to answer. Those who used to swear by the creed of communal unity had suddenly acquired such a sectarian slant that it was hard to believe they were the same people who had been ardent supporters of brotherhood between the faiths. Even those bravehearts who served in Subhas Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army—the ones who solemnly took the oath of Unity, Faith, and Sacrifice—had now become fiery leaders of their respective communities, swearing that they would come down on the opposing faith like the messengers of Death.
For Satnam, the unpardonable actions of erstwhile officers and soldiers of the INA was the unkindest cut of all. One had such high hopes from them when they had returned to India! Every Indian had believed that these noble soldiers were a godsend to navigate their nation’s boat out of the morass into which it had been trapped by two centuries of colonial rule. But many of them revealed their true colours when they became standard-bearers for bigoted outfits.
The INA veterans were respected for their strength, valour, battlefield experience and, above all, for their deep sense of patriotism. Mother India had great expectations from them and was ready to entrust them with the responsibility of guiding the nation in this hour of trial. But their blatantly partisan behaviour had rapidly tainted their reputation and left people wondering if they could do anything worthwhile for Mother India. Today, the valiant Sikhs of our famous Indian National Army are sharpening their weapons to butcher the Muslims, while its brave Muslim soldiers are taking charge of their own sectarian troopers to wreak havoc on the non-Muslims.
And let’s not even speak about the sectarian outfits that had wedded themselves to the singular purpose of attacking the other communities. The poison of communalism had spread throughout their nervous system to such an extent that even a God of the opposing faith appearing before them might have had to confront a mob brandishing naked kirpans or unsheathed daggers.
There were predominantly three sectarian groups that were active in Amritsar during this period: the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, the Anjuman Himayat-i-Islam, and the Akali Dal. Each of these was engaged in mobilizing its adherents and vigorously pursuing its agenda. Much of the blame for the damage and destruction experienced by Amritsar could be laid at the doorstep of these three organizations.
Satnam was spending a lot of time in trying to understand the social turmoil being witnessed by the city and found himself getting lost in the maze of conflicting statements and actions. He was particularly perturbed by the actions of some of his own erstwhile companions. They didn’t just abandon him when he needed them the most but were enthusiastically participating in the campaign of arson and bombings in the mistaken belief that they were somehow serving their own communities.
March gave way to April and there was a discernible change in the weather. Some brought their jute string cots out into the courtyards, while others even started to take them up to the rooftops because summer seemed to be heading their way earlier than usual.
Satnam was among the few who preferred to sleep indoors despite the change in season. With its door and windows, his rooftop barsati had decent ventilation. Besides, he also had the luxury of a ceiling fan that kept him comfortable even during the height of summer.
The relentless violence and mayhem in his beloved city had taken a toll on his health. There was no particular ailment that could be identified, just that nagging feeling that he had contracted some major illness. A careful diagnosis might reveal several causes for this. One could be the fact that the wave of bloodletting had had its impact on virtually every resident of the city and even though he was more sensitive than most, he was hardly the only one to feel depressed. But in his case, there was a second reason too. He had been deeply invested in the work of the Unity Council; establishing the council hadn’t just been a passing fancy. He believed passionately in the cause of communal harmony and had put his heart and soul into trying to provide his countrymen with an antidote to the venom of religious bigotry. He wanted to coax them back towards their traditions but it was to no avail. Seeing his cherished dream recede into the distance like a faint mirage was breaking his heart.
And over the last few days, a third factor had emerged, one that pushed him further into the doldrums. What was this new factor?
The inferno of bloodletting, arson and destruction that scarred Amritsar during the early days of March was going to produce a reaction more horrific than anyone could have imagined. The sheer savagery with which the Muslims targeted Hindu and Sikh communities in an arc ranging from Peshawar to the banks of the Ravi during the second, third and fourth weeks of March could perhaps be described as a retaliation against the mayhem in Amritsar. The ferocity of the attacks carried out during the fortnight of 10th March to 25th March and the utter barbarity with which the victims were treated was recounted through the hair-raising tales of thousands of survivors as they made their way towards Amritsar.
Let there be no doubt that Amritsar did see some extremely brutal violence in early March, and each side played a role in escalating it. If the Hindus and Sikhs attacked the Muslims, then the Muslims also did pretty much the same. But that’s not how Lahore’s Muslim press presented the events to its readers. Every attack on the Muslims of Amritsar was narrated in such lurid detail and with such exaggeration that it was almost designed to inflame communal passions among the Muslim populations of West Punjab and the Frontier Province. And once the blaze was ignited, you could count on the Muslim League, the Muslim National Guard and the maulanas from the countryside to not only fan the flames but also pour oil on them.
The Lahore papers weren’t alone in playing fast and loose with the facts. Their role in exaggerating the magnitude of events in Amritsar was amplified by the Anjuman and its offshoots. The resulting vengeance against the innocent Hindu and Sikh communities of Peshawar, Attock, Pindigheb, Chakwal, Campbellpur, Fatehjung, Rawalpindi, Gujjarkhan and other places pulverized them. The savagery with which they were attacked was unprecedented.
So, the Muslim press of Lahore did what it did and the results were there to see. But what about the non-Muslim papers of Amritsar? They were the other side of the same coin, recounting the attacks by the Frontier Muslims with the same zeal and the same hyperbole to create the same impact. If the Lahore press had poured oil on the flames of communal violence, the Amritsar press was willing to go a step further and use petrol to feed the inferno.
The immediate impact could be seen on the infuriated faces of the city’s Hindu community as their simmering anger turned into an unbridled rage. They were curbed only by the fact that Muslims comprised a large part of the local police force: policemen who could be seen inciting arson attacks and providing a cover to Muslim mobs when they killed Hindus and Sikhs. The situation was getting out of control as members of non-Muslim communities accused their own leaders of impotence and advocated a final solution that would rid the city of its Muslim population.
Satnam found himself struggling to maintain his equanimity. The fiery winds of communal violence were scorching the city and Satnam found that he, too, was being buffeted by the strong gusts. He, who had always treated Muslims with the same respect and empathy that he demonstrated towards non-Muslims, could feel a change taking place within himself. As his mind dwelt on the stories of the brutality with which Muslims had attacked Hindus and Sikhs, his long-standing belief in the welfare of all beings started to waver; he found himself looking at Muslims with a sense of animosity that bordered on hatred. And while he wasn’t going to join the ranks of compatriots who sought nothing short of the annihilation of Muslims, he had to concede that the happenings around him were beginning to affect his mind.
But this wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind. He was also perturbed by another development—a constant stream of letters from his elder sister and brother-in-law urging him to pack their bags and join them in Agra. He could see that they had two sound reasons for sending these missives. First, they believed that Amritsar was now trapped in an endless cycle of violence and it was no longer safe for the family to stay there. Second, they reminded Satnam of his engagement almost a year-and-a-half ago with the daughter of an affluent Sikh family in Agra. They were getting impatient and wanted to arrange the marriage soon. His sister thought that a move to Agra would accomplish both objectives quite nicely.
Kesar Kaur was of the view that her daughter’s suggestions were eminently sensible. Leaving the constant turmoil of Amritsar and embracing the safety of Agra appealed to her even without the added incentive of Satnam’s marriage. But Satnam didn’t like either of the two proposals. He wasn’t in favour of leaving Amritsar, and he certainly wasn’t ready to embrace the shackles of a married life. The subject of marriage, in fact, was becoming a bone of contention in the family and he would often squabble with his mother, ‘Come on Bhabo! The world is killing each other and all you can think of is marriage…’
Satnam spent his days and nights wrestling with such anxieties, troubled and struggling to rediscover some sense of purpose. His friends would occasionally come over to distract him with a game of cards. He would barely manage to complete a hand or two before turning in his cards and walking away from the game.
The regular curfews in the city didn’t make things any better. For many young people, it was like a house arrest, an imprisonment for a seemingly indeterminate period. Some of his friends became quite adept at keeping themselves entertained with cards, chess or other sports or just with some idle chatter with friends. But none of this worked for Satnam and he often found himself lying in bed as his mind grappled with one issue after another. His only task during the day was a visit to one of the refugee camps to serve food. The errand was usually carried out in the morning when the authorities relaxed the curfew for an hour or two. And after that, it was back home to the nothingness—no work, no play, no purpose.
One day passed, then another and another—each day weighing heavier than the last one, each day filled with boredom and emptiness.