Nonica Datta

The Forgotten History of Hussaini Brahmins and Muharram in Amritsar

A community historically considered to be “half Hindu” and “half Muslim” has lost its vibrant tradition in the city of Amritsar.

Amritsar: As battle lines are being redrawn and strengthened over borders, many shared and eclectic cultural practices and spaces in the subcontinent are forgotten. Certain stories are being gradually erased from the shards of memory and history.

In the month of Muharram this year, on the day of Ashura, I decided to recover the lost narrative of Hussaini Brahmins – also known as Dutt/Datt/Datta Brahmins – and their intimate connection with the taziya procession in the city of Amritsar. In the pre-Partition days here, the taziya juloos, a grand public commemoration, would not start without the presence and participation of Hussaini Brahmins.

Before 1947, my grandfather, Padma Shri Brahm Nath Datta ‘Qasir’, a Hussaini Brahmin and a well-known Urdu-Persian poet, would initiate the taziya procession in Farid Chowk, in Katra Sher Singh, in his beloved city of Amritsar. There was a prominent Shia mosque in the area from where the taziyas were commenced and brought to the historic Farid Chowk.

The grand procession would then move towards the Imambara and Karbala maidan, near the Kutchery, which was a meeting point for all the processions coming from several imambaras. The final convergence of the taziyas was momentous. It is believed that this was close to the pivotal site, known as Ghoda pir, where the legendary steed, Zuljanah, of Imam Husain was said to have been buried.

Hussaini Brahmins: bringing two cultures together

In pre-Partition Amritsar, the taziya procession would start only after the Hussaini Dutt Brahmins lent their shoulder to carry the taziyas forward through the city. In 1942, Dr Ghulam Nabi, a prominent dentist of the city who had a clinic in Hall Bazar, rushed to the first floor of my grandfather’s house in Katra Sher Singh at Farid Chowk. He was from the Shia community and a close friend of my grandfather. He said with urgency, “Dutt Sahib, we are all waiting. Aap kandha doge tab taziya uthengee.”

A community which was historically considered to be “half Hindu” and “half Muslim”, the Hussaini Brahmins traditionally brought two cultures together. Often referred to as either Shia Brahmins or Hussaini Brahmins, phrases such as “Wah Dutt Sultan, Hindu ka dharm, Mussalman ka iman’; and ‘Dutt Sultan na Hindu na Mussalman” became a part of folklore.

Mohammad Mujeeb, the distinguished historian writes, “they [Hussaini Brahmins] were not really converts to Islam, but had adopted such Islamic beliefs and practices as were not deemed contrary to the Hindu faith.” Family narratives reveal that the name of Imam Husain was recited during mundans of young Dutt Brahmin boys, and halwa was cooked in the name of bade (Imam Husain) at weddings. Until the Partition in 1947, the Dutts were commonly called Sultans in different parts of the subcontinent.

Ashura in Amritsar on September 10, 2019. Photo: Nonica Datta

Also read: On Ashura, Two Impassioned Poetic Tributes to Hazrat Zainab, the Heroine of Karbala

The genealogical map of Hussaini Brahmins covers their settlements in Kufa in Iraq around the time of the historic Battle of Karbala (680 A.D.), and later in Balakh, Bokhara, Sindh, Kandahar, Kabul and Punjab. Their scribal and military traditions and commercial and marriage networks attached them to regional courts during the 17th and 18th centuries and they were mostly found in Gujarat, Sindh, Punjab and Northwest Frontier.

It was in this context that many Hussaini Dutt Brahmins expanded their influence into the city of Amritsar. For instance, historical evidence testifies that before the accession of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, Mai Karmon Dattani, the wife of a leading Dutt, was appointed the ruler of Katra Ghanaiyan in Amritsar. She was reputed to have presided over her court, dispensing even-handed justice at a public place which has been immortalised by her name, and is known as Mai Karmun ki Deohri, later a prominent bazar (known as Karmon Deori) in the city. She is remembered as the “Joan of Arc” of Amritsar.

However, what is most remembered in history is the historic link of the Hussaini Brahmins with Karbala in Iraq, as underscored by British ethnologist Denzil Ibbetson. T. P. Russell Stracey in 1911 provides a fascinating account:

“From the Kavits of the clan, it is evident that the ancestors of the Datts were once in Arabia. They participated in the Karbala War between the descendants and followers of Hazrat Ali and Yazid Sultan, the son of Amir Muaviya. They were friends of Hasan and Hussain, the martyred grandsons of the Prophet, the incidents connected with which furnish the material for the passion play of the Shias at every Muharrum.

When these princes fell, a brave warrior of the Datts named Rahib, resolutely but unsuccessfully defended the survivors. The slaughter of his band, however, compelled him and the small remnant to retire to India through Persia and Kandahar.”

Legend has it that on his return from Arabia, Rahib Dutt brought with him the Prophet’s hair, which is kept in the Hazratbal shrine in Kashmir. Nohas and Kavits, recorded in local vernacular histories, oral narratives and British ethnographic literature, endorse the glorious appeal of Karbala and Muharram among Hussaini Brahmins:

“Laryo Datt [Dutt] dal khet ji tin lok shaka parhyo
Charhyo Datt dal gah ji Garh Kufa ja luttyo.”

(The Datt warrior alone fought bravely in the field,
and plundered the fort of Kufa.)

“Baje bhir ko chot fateh maidan jo pai
Badla liya Husain, dhan dhan kare lukai.”

(When they won the field, the drum was beaten;
Husain was avenged and the people shouted “bravo”, “bravo”.)

“Rahib ki jo jadd nasal Husain jo ai
Diye sat farzand bhai qabul kamai.”

(The seven sons of Rahib (Datt) throwing in their lot
With the faithful few on hapless Husain’s side,
Died as Datts fighting, deeming their death
But friendship’s welcome sacrifice.)

Finally:

“Jo Husain ki jadd hai Datt nam sab dhiyayo,
Arab shahr ke bich men Rahib takht bathayo.”

(Off-spring of Husain! forget not thy father’s friend
Rahib, once enthroned in Arabia’s city ere thy father’s end.
Wherefore the name of Datt recite
In thy prayers to Allah, at morn and night.)

Muharram as late as the 1940s was a moment to commemorate the sacrifice of the sons of Rahib Dutt for Imam Husain. The Hussaini Brahmin was an indispensable presence on such a sombre occasion of collective and shared mourning. Partition sealed the fate of this community, as they were left abandoned on both sides of Punjab.

Also read: Discovering Jashn-e-Chiraghan, the Mughal Festival of Lights

In Pakistan Punjab, they were seen as non-Muslims, in Indian Punjab they were perceived as being closer to Muslims. The horrific politics of the border entered the portals of my ancestral home, too. Brahm Nath Datta Qasir’s house at Katra Sher Singh in Farid Chowk, Amritsar, was set on fire by Hindu fanatic groups in 1947.

It seems there was no Muharram procession in Amritsar in 1947. At least, it didn’t happen in Farid Chowk. In the tragic transformation of Amritsar as a border city, Hussaini Dutt Brahmins were amongst its worst victims. Their fluid identity came under siege as the politics of aggressive religious identities shattered their porous cultural world.

The Dutts’ enduring link with Imam Husain, Karbala and Muharram came under threat. But all was not lost. Some of them did openly identify with their Hussaini Brahmin heritage.

Not very long ago, Indian actor Sunil Dutt, while making a donation in the Shaukat Khanum Hospital in Lahore, recorded his commitment to Karbala and said:

“For Lahore, like my elders, I will shed every drop of blood and give any donation asked for, just as my ancestors did when they laid down their lives at Karbala for Hazrat Imam Husain.”

Needless to say that Sunil Dutt was intimately connected with the cultural landscape of Amritsar too.

Ashura in Amritsar

I reached Amritsar early on the morning of Ashura, on September 10. My first instinct was to visit the Imambara at Farid Chowk in Katra Sher Singh and to trace some crucial sites connecting the gaps between Hussaini Brahmins and Amritsar. This was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

However, I was lucky to find locals who knew about the city’s pluralistic culture and gladly directed me to a lone surviving Imambara, Anjuman-e-Yadgaar Husain, in Lohgarh, just about five minutes away from Farid Chowk. Currently known as the Kashmiri Imambara, it stands on Gali Zainab (named after Imam Husain’s sister), and now renamed as Gali Badran.

As I walked into this self-enclosed, small inconspicuous structure, which houses the Raza Mosque inside its precincts, I saw a large number of policemen and the Rapid Reaction Force.

I was warmly welcomed by the caretaker of the Imambara, Syed Abdullah Rizvi, popularly called Abbuji. He told me that the structure is nearly 110 years old, and was built by Syed Nathu Shah and was regularly maintained by local Shia and Hussaini Brahmin families of Amritsar before 1947.

Also read: Malerkotla, Where Tolerance is a Way of Life

Abbuji was touched to meet me as a Hussaini Brahmin in the majlis. He enquired whether I had a mark of a cut on my throat (in folklore, the Hussaini Brahmins are known to have a faint line across their throats as a symbol of having sacrificed their lives for Imam Husain). The story of Dutt Brahmins was shared in the assembly (majlis):

“It was Rahib’s mother, who instructed him to sacrifice his seven sons for Imam Husain. Rahib’s mother had been blessed with seven boys by Imam Husain. As a token of her gratitude to Maula Husain, she implored Rahib to sacrifice his own sons. So he did.”

A mourner, Amit Malang, told me, “Unfortunately, Hussaini Brahmins left for Delhi and Bombay. What did they do for Amritsar?” He said sarcastically, “Aj kisi Hussaini Brahmin ki himmat hai ki voh haath kharha kare (Can any Hussaini Brahmin dare to raise his hand today?).”

His angst was shared by many who felt that the community which could have probably preserved the vibrant tradition of the city had abandoned them. Abbuji, a cementing force, a favourite amongst Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs in the congregation, said, “Imam Husain means haq (rights) and aman (peace). We want to convey this message to Amritsar.”

I then awaited the taziya procession.

Muharram within the four walls at Imambara Amritsar on September 10, 2019. Photo: Nonica Datta

A lost narrative of Juloos-e-Ashura

“Ab koi juloos nahi nikalta. Juloos-e-Ashura Imambare ke andar hi hota hai. Muharram yahin Imambara ki chardiwari mein hota hai (Now there is no procession. Muharram is confined to the four walls of the Imambara),” Abbuji said. Zaheer Abbas, a Shia from Lucknow who has been living in Amritsar since 1980, added: “The grand shared tradition of Muharram in Amritsar was destroyed by successive wars: 1947, 1965, 1971. Partition didn’t end in 1947.”

Abbas said that the Shia mosque in Farid Chowk had been razed to the ground in 1948-49. Almost all the imambaras, over a hundred in number, were taken over (kabza) or dismantled. Abbuji added:

“Although the government took over the Karbala maidan, until recently the most prominent route for the Muharram procession was via the famous Sikri Banda Bazar to the present Imambara; taziya and alam would be brought there with much passion. But Bajrang Dal stopped it. Sunnis also didn’t support us. Now there is no procession: Ab ham darwaze diware band karke matam karte hain (Now we perform the mourning ceremony by shutting the doors and walls).”

Farhat, a sole Punjabi Muslim mourner, said that with the exodus of Hussaini Brahmins and Shias, the matam had lost its Punjabi flavour.

Abbuji asked me to write about the lost narrative of Hussaini Brahmins in Amritsar.

The openly public commemoration of Muharram in Delhi, Lucknow, Saharanpur, and even in nearby Malerkotla, Patiala, Jullundur and Jammu contrasts sharply with the slow erasure of this inclusive tradition in Amritsar. A city where Muharram was associated with the sacred geography of Imam Husain and Shia beliefs, such as Ghoda pir, Hussainpura, Gali Zainab and Yadgaar-e-Husain Imambara, the marginalisation of this vibrant cultural practice is heartbreaking.

Interview | Why the Context of the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre Is So Important

In conversation with V.N. Datta, author of the path-breaking study, ‘Jallianwala Bagh’ (1969).

Nonica Datta in conversation with her father, distinguished historian V.N. Datta, on the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. Datta’s path-breaking study, Jallianwala Bagh (1969), is one of the earliest works to appear on the Amritsar massacre. In this interview, he briefly shares his insights.

Tell us why you wrote the book, Jallianwala Bagh?

I was born in Amritsar. My house was close to Jallianwala Bagh. As a child, I used to walk frequently in the Bagh. The bullet marks that I had seen on the wall of the Bagh made a deep impact on my mind. In fact, the image still haunts me.

In the 1920s and ’30s, stories about the Jallianwala Bagh massacre were still reverberating in the air. Amritsar was reeling under the trauma. People were trying to come to terms with the horror of violence. I was troubled by many stories of shared pain and intense suffering that I heard as a child from my elder sister, Shanti. There was no escaping from this ghastly atmosphere.

My father, Brahm Nath Datta ‘Qasir’, a well-known Urdu-Persian poet and a leading businessman of the city, had written a poem on the massacre:

Ab toh hai apne sud o zyan par nazar mujhe
Voh din gaye ke lab pe mere ji hazur thaa

(We now can tell what’s good from the bad
No more are we yes-men)

The palpable violence of 1919 was always at the back of my mind and I began to reflect on the character of the Amritsar violence.

Another reason was that I had already written, Amritsar: Past and Present in 1967, which was a local history of the city based on municipal records. From that local and therefore city’s perspective, I moved to study the event that had hit Amritsar so violently and irreparably wounded its people’s psyche. My impulse to write Jallianwala Bagh, in 1969, primarily arose from having grown up in the city.

What is unique about your pioneering work?

I made a conscious effort to examine the massacre from within the context of the city of Amritsar and connect the local with the national perspective. My work is based on archival sources and oral testimonies of survivors, witnesses and private papers (like the M.R. Jayakar papers).

While tracing the history of the massacre, in my book, Jallianwala Bagh and other subsequent works, I tried to maintain a fair balance between objective investigation expected of a professional historian and a personal empathy for the city I grew up in.

My discovery of Vols. VI and VII of the Disorders Inquiry Committee (also known as the Hunter Committee, appointed on October 14, 1919) proved to be indispensable for my work. These volumes had never been consulted before as the British government had suppressed them. The evidence gave key insights into the study of the events leading up to the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. Interviews with local residents and family friends enriched my work.

A volume on the Hunter Committee, edited by V.N. Datta. Credit: Nonica Datta

I tried to understand the massacre, or what I also called a carnage, from various perspectives and steered it away from a provincial and nationalist lens. This does not mean that I overlooked the larger imperial and regional imperatives, but I decided to ask different set of questions. Apart from a meticulous use of the archives, I spoke to many survivors of the incident who as young boys were in the crowd.

For instance, my father’s friend, Rattan Chand Kapur, as a 16-year-old was present in the Bagh on April 13. When Dyer’s soldiers shot, Rattan Chand thought that they were firing blanks and cried aloud, phokian (empty), phokian (empty). But then the crowd shouted ‘maare gaye (we are dying)’, Rattan Chand ran fast for a mile. He was hit on the foot. He had a limp for the rest of his life. He showed me the bullet scar.

Can you tell us why you say that the massacre was not an isolated phenomenon?

It’s a complex question. We need to consider the wider economic and political developments taking place in India and the world. The resources provided by India and especially the Punjab to Britain in the First World War had caused a strain in the economy. The coercive recruitment campaign during the Great War was felt mostly in the Punjab followed by massive demobilisation in its aftermath. The Ghadrites had become increasingly radical. The regressive Rowlatt Act had brought Gandhi to the forefront. The country was seething with resentment.

The tyrannical administration under Michael O’Dwyer, the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab, had alienated the Punjabis. The Rowlatt agitation had rapidly gained ground in the Punjab and local leaders like Dr Saifuddin Kitchlew and Dr Satyapal played a key role in it.

How would you interpret Dyer’s action?

A historian is like a detective. By writing a biographical chapter on Dyer in my book, I could understand the calculating mind at work behind the sinister action. I rejected the prevailing theory that Dyer had arteriosclerosis. Instead, I maintained that Dyer was absolutely sure of what he was doing.

Also read: A Single Heart Beating in Jallianwala Bagh

The incidents of April 10 are crucial to what was to follow three days later. Amritsar was hit by a tide of violence. People reacted sharply to the police firing and the killing of 20 locals in the city. The molestation of a lady missionary, Miss Sherwood, the looting of banks and post offices are significant factors to understand Dyer’s subsequent dastardly action in Jallianwala Bagh on April 13.

Recognising the relevance of wider political developments and the British context does not preclude us from studying Dyer’s intentions. He was incensed by what happened in Amritsar on April 10. His action was triggered by feelings of revenge shaped by a visceral racial hostility towards the people of Amritsar. He also feared a mutiny like situation, a repeat of 1857.

Was Dyer solely responsible for the massacre?

You can’t easily answer this question. There are always conditioning circumstances in history.

V.N. Datta with his book on Jallianwala Bagh. Credit: Nonica Datta

However, this is not to exonerate Dyer for what he did. He was in full charge. He had the backing of Michael O’Dwyer and Lord Chelmsford. Remember, there was no martial law in Amritsar and Lahore until April 15, 1919. People went to the garden totally unprepared for the calamity that awaited them.

Not only was Dyer conscious of what he was doing, but the whole affair was devised principally by him. During the Hunter Committee Inquiry, he told the eminent jurist, Sir Chimanlal Setalvad, that he would have taken machine guns inside if the entrance lane was not so narrow.

Dyer was clever enough to bring in Indian soldiers, Gurkhas and Baluchis, to do the shooting. There were local agents like Hans Raj to assist him in his plan. Hans Raj was an agent provocateur, a government approver who had laid out the ground. When Dyer arrived with his troops, it was Hans Raj who manipulated the crowd by pacifying and assuring them that the government meant no harm. That’s why I called the Jallianwala Bagh massacre a ‘conspiracy’.

Why did you study the crowd in the Bagh?

I studied the crowd because ultimately it was their tragedy. It comprised peasants from nearby villages, who had come for the cattle fair and Baisakhi festival. There were domestic workers, craftsmen, artisans, young boys who were playing cards or just hanging around. No prominent leader, national or provincial or even local, was present in the Bagh.

Contrary to Dyer’s claim to the Hunter Committee, this was not the same rebellious crowd that had gone violent on April 10, 1919. Let me add that women and children, as is generally believed, were not present. The figures on the plaque stating that thousands perished are exaggerated. On the basis of the local police records, I questioned both the official and the Congress estimates and ascertained that about 700 people were killed.

You also studied the impact of the Jallianwala Bagh tragedy. Tell us about it.

The Jallianwala Bagh massacre was a watershed in the history of Indian nationalism. It prepared the ground for a new nationalist leadership. It paved the way for Gandhi’s emergence as a major political figure of the country. The Congress entered into a different political phase of mass nationalism. Bhagat Singh and Udham Singh were products of the massacre. Their heroism, patriotism and revolutionary stance grew in the light of the Amritsar atrocity.

Also read: Why Popular Local Memory of Jallianwala Bagh Doesn’t Fit the National Narrative

The nationalist histories tend to present the Jallianwala Bagh event as an integral part of the national movement. Though the nationalist leadership appropriated the Jallianwala Bagh incident in the ambit of Gandhi’s satyagraha and ahimsa, it is important to identify the causes, nature and consequences of the carnage.

The larger British imperial context and the national, provincial and local circumstances complicate the picture. There was tension between the Congress leadership and the local leaders of Amritsar and Punjab, who were brushed aside.

See what happened to Dr Saifuddin Kitchlew. I knew him very well. He was immensely popular with the people of Amritsar but he died in utter poverty, abandoned and forgotten. Except for Jawaharlal Nehru, nobody cared for him.

Nonica Datta teaches history at Jawaharlal Nehru University.

Why Popular Local Memory of Jallianwala Bagh Doesn’t Fit the National Narrative

The construction of a definitive history of Jallianwala Bagh obfuscates the complex truths of the massacre.

This article is part of The Wire‘s series, Memories of a Massacre, to mark the centenary of the Jallianwala Bagh killings.

The Sikh cop at the gate leads me to the narrow ‘Historical Lane’ to Jallianwala Bagh. He tells me that General Dyer had brought guns and troops through this constricted passage to shoot the innocent crowd that had assembled in the Bagh on April 13, the day of Baisakhi which is celebrated with much fanfare in Punjab. “There were no exit points,” he says. “People in panic ran to the walls to escape. They jumped into the khoo (well).”

As I entered the Bagh, I was taken over by mixed feelings. It looked like an insignificant garden with some old trees abutted with residential buildings at the back. The garden exudes a troubling aura. The structures and images speak another story. To the right is the Amar Jyoti burning with the emblem, Vande Mataram. There is also an old samadhi with a dome.

At the centre of the Bagh stands an impressive oblong shaped Smarak (Martyrs’ Memorial). And to its right is the deadly khoo. Further down is the passage to the Martyrs’ Gallery and a museum. The bullet-ridden wall represents the most horrific memory. The gaping marks are a tragic testimony to Dyer’s savagery in the Bagh. They are all too visible. The plaque says:

The wall has its own historic significance as it has thirty-six bullet marks which can be easily seen at present and these were fired into the crowd by the order of General Dyer. Moreover, no warning was given to disperse before Dyer opened fire which [sic] was gathered here against the Rowlatt Act. One Thousand Six Hundred and Fifty Rounds were fired.

Then I walked towards the Martyrs’ Well, which invokes painful emotions. For many, it symbolises the suffering of the ‘martyrs’ to whom homage is paid by dropping coins in it. Others gather around it out of curiosity, unaware of its significance as a relic of a terrifying memory of the massacre.

The Martyrs’ Well. Credit: Nonica Datta

The Martyrs’ Gallery and the adjoining museum narrate the story of Indian nationalism and patriotism, with the portraits of national and provincial political leaders, a polished narrative of Congress agitation and the reign of terror unleashed by Michael O’Dwyer, the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab, and General Dyer’s savagery in the city of Amritsar.

I was struck by Udham Singh’s commanding presence in the Bagh. His ashes are kept in the museum and his massive statue towers over the main entrance of the garden. In the plaque, he is portrayed as being present in the Bagh at the time of the massacre and valorised for killing O’Dwyer in London in 1940. His eventual hanging bestows upon him the status of an avenger, warrior and a martyr.

The crowd around Udham Singh’s ashes in Jallianwala Bagh Museum. Credit: Nonica Datta

The Bagh shapes a national memory and constructs a national past through a patchwork of myth and history, fact and fiction. As Madan Lal Vij, the city’s local historian, says, “After the kand (episode), Jallianwala Bagh became a historic garden and a national memorial.”

The city’s local tragedy is fashioned as a national crisis through the idea of shahadat (martyrdom). A white flame-like structure stands with the faces of the ‘martyrs’ and their names engraved underneath on a wide marbled platform. The compound surrounding the Jallianwala Bagh is part of a heritage site connecting it with the Golden Temple and the Town Hall. The Congress narrative, as shown in the plaque, makes a direct connection between the massacre and the Rowlatt Act.

The White Flame (victims) in the galliara (corridor) outside Jallianwala Bagh. Credit: Nonica Datta

A complex truth

Obviously, the construction of a definitive history of Jallianwala Bagh obfuscates the complex truths of the massacre which contain unresolved contradictions and ambiguities. One such ambiguity is the nationalist attempt to forge a direct connection between the crowd in the Bagh and the anti-Rowlatt Act protests.

However, the irony is that to represent the crowd as agitators alone would authenticate the claims of Dyer and official histories and do massive injustice to the plural memories and differentiated experience of the victims. “It was a random crowd, some were playing cards, others had come to celebrate the Baiskahi mela,” says the octogenarian Om Prakash Seth from Katra Ahluwalia. “It was not a political meeting,” adds Trilok Chand, one of the oldest booksellers at Hall Bazaar.

Udham Singh’s history in the Bagh presents yet another dilemma. It is doubtful whether he was present in the Bagh at the time of the massacre. Doubtless, Jallianwala Bagh as a historical site is primarily dominated by Gandhi’s satyagraha and Udham Singh’s martyrdom.

A portrait of Udham Singh in the museum. Credit: Nonica Datta

The constructed history of the Bagh tends to ignore diverse echoes and voices. Little do we know of all those who were in the Bagh. People’s memories too are shifting now. Dyer’s shooting is no longer central to their recollections. They feel excluded from the mainstream history of Jallianwala Bagh. The locals see themselves as victims of the state that let them down consistently since 1919.

Popular memory

Amritsar’s popular memory of the massacre is layered. Many struggle to be a part of the killings and claim that their families were present in the Bagh on that fateful day. Other voices express complete disillusionment: “Who cares for the dead?”

Vijay Kohli, a munim (accountant) in the vicinity, remembers, “My father was in the jalsa, but luckily he was saved. Mar gaye jere marne wale si, koi nahi parvah karda? (The dead are long gone, who bothers now?)” The tales of victimhood suggest the difficulty of distinguishing between the real and the imagined victims. They contest the powerful linear discourse of any persuasion – nationalist and colonial.

Ironically, many locals seek to disassociate themselves from Jallianwala Bagh. Sidharth from the nearby Krishna Market says, “Jallianwala Bagh is a historical monument, a heritage walk site, I never go there.” Shyam Sundar, a local merchant, elaborates on the state of the katras (market squares) adjoining the monument which are in a pathetic condition. “The politicians never visit the katras amidst which lay the Bagh once upon a time. The heritage complex and the galliara (corridor) have severed the connection with the katras.”

Historical lane from where Dyer brought his troops on April 13, 1919. Credit: Nonica Datta

For the officials of the Bagh, April 13 is the moment to pay homage to the nation’s freedom fighters and commemorate the commanding political event. But for the people of Amritsar, April 13 is a local reference point to confront their historical insecurities and express their cauldron of grievances, hardships and obstacles. These muted voices wrestle to lay claim to the legacy of the massacre and to forget and challenge the dominant, rarefied versions of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre.

In such myriad and fragmented testimonies, Dyer’s atrocity somewhat fades. A narrative of victimhood soaked in a vocabulary of exclusion and oppression pervades. The shift from a focus on Dyer’s kand as the source of their trauma to blaming the successive ruling dispensations for their fate is what shapes the public memory of Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar today.

While the mainstream and nationalist narrative is obsessed with numbers in terms of how many were killed amongst those present in the garden, in the popular imagination figures do not matter. But memories of the ‘real victims’ of the violence do have a lingering presence in family and community histories of the city and adjoining villages.

One such faded memory is that of Bhag Mal Bhatia, who became a victim of Dyer’s gunshots. Usha lives in Bhag Mal Bhatia’s dark house in Mohan Nagar. She narrates to me that when Bhatia was killed, his wife Attar Kaur, with a laltein (lantern), struggled to identify his body in the Bagh. She was pregnant at that time. She dragged the dead body home on her shoulders.

Usha grew up with Attar Kaur’s life story of intense suffering and admirable courage. For the Bhatia community of Lakkarmandi, Attar Kaur is regrettably an unrecognised figure. Having not accepted the compensation from the British Government may account for her absence in the Martyrs’ Gallery in Jallianwala Bagh.

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Another agonising memory is that of Mahesh Behal’s grandfather, Hari Ram Behal, who was a victim of the massacre. The painful stories about Hari’s victimhood, his sister losing her voice and his wife giving him water during his last breaths, are passed down to every succeeding generation. Behal recalls that Baisakhi since that dark day became amavas for the family. He regrets that apart from him and his siblings, “Kaun yaad karda hai? (Who remembers now?)”

Local victims seldom become big political heroes, even though it is upon their bodies that India’s freedom movement took a decisive turn after 1919. Trilok Chand says, “Azadi esto [Jallianwala Bagh] hi mili sannu (We got freedom because of Jallianwala Bagh).” Behal adds, “All these leaders from Gandhi to Udham Singh emerged because of Jallianwala Bagh, as saadda (our) Amritsar had become a ‘pathar da keel’ (a nail in the coffin) for the British Empire.” The city’s residents feel Gandhi had no role in Amritsar. Saifuddin Kitchlew, the local Punjabi leader, remains the most significant personality for them. They feel that the country has let him down.

The nation commemorates Jallianwala Bagh on April 13, 2019. A hundred years of an event which even today provokes the most traumatic memory of horror and violence, but overshadows the people’s histories and their suffering. Isn’t it time to listen to the unaddressed memories of the people of Amritsar?

Nonica Datta teaches history at Jawaharlal Nehru University.

Debate: Unlike Our Varsities, AAS-In-Asia Conference Transcended Ideological Affiliations

One of the serious questions that arises from this type of AAS-Ashoka University initiative is, why is there a yawning gap between our idea of a public university and the reality of its gradual degeneration into nepotism and stagnation?

Rains have arrived in Delhi. At last it seems that the dust has settled. Amid the stormy monsoon rains early this month, I had the opportunity of attending the highly controversial AAS-in-Asia conference, organised jointly by the Association for Asian Studies (a scholarly organisation based in the US) and Ashoka University (a newly founded university in Sonepat), in New Delhi. This was the first conference of its kind to be held in India. But the government of India denied visas to our Pakistani colleagues to attend the conference. A denial which by no stretch of imagination is acceptable and morally justifiable. Unfair does not even come close to describe it. There was a call for boycott of the AAS-in-Asia conference in New Delhi by the fraternity of scholars world over. Rightly so. Such voices of dissent and protest are absolutely essential and fundamental to the growth of an independent intellectual public culture.

The call by scholars, worldwide, for boycott of the conference in New Delhi opens several important questions in India. But can we read in this type of boycott a response that inevitably feeds into the Indian state’s routine disinclination and antipathy towards any fruitful and robust intellectual exchange of ideas in Indian universities? Second, who will benefit from the boycott and who will lose from it? Would it matter to the powerful political dispensation in India if scholars boycott this conference? On the contrary, it might just serve the purpose of that dispensation. It may also further alienate and isolate Indian researchers (especially the less mainstream ones) from a global community of scholars. Third, can we argue that universal principles of boycott and exclusion cannot be applied in all situations, to all countries and we need to open a more serious discussion about the genealogies and histories of individual countries to arrive at any definite conclusion.

Scenes from the conference. Credit: Facebook

Besides being the first international conference in Asia, a kind I had attended for the first time, the majority of scholars in AAS-in-Asia conference were from India. They were not just from elite public universities, but from lesser-known state institutions from all over the country, from the north to the south as well as the northeast. Many of them were graduate and postgraduate students eagerly waiting for an opportunity to express themselves and exchange views on each other’s research work.

In my own long experience of public universities in India, I have seldom been exposed to the possibility of any meaningful exchange of academic ideas of ‘elite’ central universities with state institutions, the reason often being given is that some of these state universities are not academic enough. The lack of a genuine conversation across universities in India is exasperating. The AAS-in-Asia conference, it seemed to me, broke that barrier. It did more. It connected the local researchers to a global academic community.

I noticed that the conference’s academic panels provided different spaces for intellectual debate connecting various Asian regions and introducing diverse themes ranging from environment, gender, geographical borders and frontiers, food, culture and area studies to experimenting with innovative methodological and conceptual tools. Indeed, this type of intermixing of interdisciplinary Asian concerns could set an example for our own academic institutions. The AAS-in-Asia panels were constituted by presenters themselves on the basis of their own research interests. The selection process was peer-reviewed and transparent.

Pratap Bhanu Mehta, vice-chancellor, Ashoka University, in conversation with James Scott, Sterling Professor of Political Science, Yale University, at the AAS-in-Asia Conference 2018. Credit: Facebook

I know all too well that in some of our public universities, ideology and political, regional, caste, religious affiliations play a vital role in deciding how conference panels are constituted. The same speakers, same themes and same audience are rehearsed and rehashed. Intellectual scholarship thus becomes like muddy, static water. But Ashoka University offered a platform which transcended any such affiliation. Of course, some would argue that it is a question of funding, as the AAS and Ashoka University, given their institutional linkages and resources, can generate enormous funds. But is it really only to do with funding? One of the serious questions that arises from this type of AAS-Ashoka University initiative is – why is there a yawning gap between our idea of a public university and the reality of its gradual degeneration into nepotism and stagnation?

The other aspect of the AAS-in-Asia conference which I found equally refreshing is the type of dialogue that it opened up. As part of a roundtable on ‘Forgotten Genealogies’ organised by the US-based journal, History and Theory, I found myself sitting next to a Chinese historian (my first encounter with a Chinese historian), a historian working on Vietnam, a South Asianist and a historian of medieval England! This was like being transported to a virtual island of a new possibility of transgressing borders, boundaries, chronologies and meandering through Asia and the rest of the world via a conversation between microhistories and global histories. The world looked very different from that perspective, I can tell you. By the way, in this well-attended session, the most interesting interventions came from some of our very fine academics teaching in different undergraduate colleges in India who were also presenting their ideas in extremely innovative panels.

Significantly, the panels were brimming with ideas and new frameworks waiting to be explored and researched. The energy of Asian scholars was palpable. After all, most of the scholars came from remote parts of Asia. Not to forget that one of my most fruitful discussions was with historians from Cuba, Mexico and Turkey. Apart from that in this truly non-hierarchical ambience, to cite one example among many, stood our very own Professor Shekhar Pathak, founder of People’s Association for Himalaya Area Research and former Professor of History at Kumaon University, Nainital, mentoring young scholars over tea and biscuits during the afternoon break, even to the extent of giving them exact references to archival sources and fieldwork tips in Uttarakhand. The distinction between ‘seniors’ and ‘juniors’ was conspicuously missing. Interestingly, after the conference I received several emails from young, upcoming scholars in India and abroad really interested in broadening their areas of research and connecting with different streams of thought and researchers.

Let me make it clear I am not making a case for AAS or the new Ashoka University, which hosted the conference in New Delhi amid wide global outrage and protest. Paradoxically, in some ways the outrage, protest and the conference itself opened a new type of conversation, which may not be possible in many situations, contexts and countries. Yet, I also feel that the protest loses its bite once we confront the local reality in India. There is an irony here, an irony that may not be true for other parts of the world. The deprivation and favouritism in most intellectual circles and educational institutions and the hostility of the state have crushed the quest and creative spirit of an open, free and ideologically neutral discussion in India.

The AAS-in-Asia conference may be seen as a turning point in terms of opening the gates of scholarship in Asia and beyond and in connecting the local/provincial with national, or centre with state within India in a radically novel way. A new conversation, a samvad, has thus started. Let’s take it forward to our own institutions. Clearly, we need to address the types of exclusions rampant in our own public universities.

Calls for international boycott may only add to the isolation and parochialism that has eaten into our universities. The same may not hold true for the universities in the West. The new possibilities generated by the AAS-in-Asia conference and Ashoka University deserve appreciation. A call for a new imagination for our very own universities! The world looks very different from this vantage point, indeed.

Nonica Datta teaches history at the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.