Jallianwala Bagh history

Excerpt | The Man Who Told the World of the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre

The book ‘The Case That Shook the Empire’ is a deep dive into the aftermath of the Punjab massacre and the unique role played by Sir Sankaran Nair at that time.

Sir Chettur Sankaran Nair was a well known public figure at the beginning of the 20th century. He had been a president of the Indian National Congress in 1897 and then, was elevated to the bench of the Madras high court as a judge and been knighted in 1912. In 1914, he was invited by the Viceroy Lord Hardinge to become a Member of the Viceroy’s Executive Council, the highest governing body in British India. He was the only Indian member of the Council.

When Lord Chelmsford sent his recommendations for reforms that advised that more time was required before Indians could be placed in higher positions, he dissented. His dissent came to the attention of the then Secretary of State for India, Austin Chamberlain who agreed with Sir Nair.

Sir Nair was in the Executive Council when the massacre at Jallianwala Bagh took place, and martial law was imposed in the Punjab. Even in this exalted position, he had not been aware of the horrors that were occurring there as press censorship was so severe in the Punjab. When news trickled down he was horrified that he was part of a government that had permitted these atrocities and resigned.

He went initially to England to fight for the right of Indians to govern themselves and later, on his return to India, wrote a book in which he blamed the then Lt. Governor of the Punjab, Sir Michael O’Dwyer for the atrocities that were committed. As Sir Nair refused to apologise or retract, O’Dwyer sued him for defamation at the Court of the Kings Bench in London to be tried by an English Judge and Jury. It was this case, that was followed by the entire world, that resulted in the world coming to know of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre and the British government’s atrocities.

In this excerpt from the book The Case That Shook the Empire, authors Raghu Palat and Pushpa Palat describes the events after the massacre.

Nair’s resignation

But the news did trickle through, and Indians were appalled at the callous manner in which innocents had been massacred in Jallianwala Bagh and the horrors of martial law. These were viewed as yet another clear indication of British racialism and as an affront to Indians. Political intelligentsia now lost faith in British justice and rule, as did the rest of the people. There was a sense of intense outrage across India.

Edwin Montagu was at this time in London and had not really appreciated the enormity of the horrors of Jallianwala Bagh and the Punjab because he had not been given the entire story. The Government in India had only forwarded Deputy Commissioner Irving’s initial report that there had been 200 casualties.

Lord Chelmsford even stated that the ‘effect was salutary’. However, Montagu received reports from newspapers published outside the Punjab such as Bombay Chronicle and he asked the Viceroy for more information on the shooting in Amritsar, the imposition of martial law and the manner in which it was imposed.

Chelmsford sent a telegram to Montagu on 21 May 1919 with the estimates of casualties at Delhi, Amritsar, Lahore, Ahmedabad and Calcutta, mentioning that about 6 or 9 Europeans and about 400 Indians were dead. He was also told about the imposition of martial law and the crawling order.

Chelmsford’s detailed report dated 7 May, which Montagu received on 8 June 1919, upset him. The crawling order was particularly obnoxious.

He immediately telegraphed the Viceroy:

‘Dyer’s judgement and temper have in my opinion proved so unreliable that I am of the opinion that he cannot be fit to retain command. I consider it very undesirable that he should continue in the army of India…I think you should relieve him of his command and send him to England.’

Lord Chelmsford, aware of how popular Dyer was with the army and Britishers in India, said Dyer’s prompt action had saved the Empire.

‘I was extremely sorry to get your telegram with regard to Dyer, not that I think it was unnatural in the circumstances… I have heard that Dyer administered Martial Law in Amritsar very reasonably and in no sense tyrannously. In these circumstances you will understand why it is that both the Commander–in–Chief and I feel very strongly that an error of judgement, transitory in nature, should not bring down upon him a penalty which would be out of proportion to the offence which must be balanced against very notable services which he rendered at an extremely critical time.’

Montagu’s reaction to this telegram shows his concern.

‘I have again deferred on this matter to your opinion. I should not have complained if Dyer had lynched those who attacked the lady missionary. It was the savage and inappropriate folly of the order which roused my anger… I cannot admit that any service Dyer has rendered anywhere can atone for action of this kind, and I am very much worried that he should escape punishment for an order, the results of which are likely to be permanent.’

Meanwhile, the All India Congress Committee passed a resolution in Allahabad on 8 June demanding an enquiry into the actions of the British and requested Sankaran Nair to go to London to lobby for one.

Nair was increasingly uncomfortable and disillusioned by the events, especially when he discovered that Lord Chelmsford had in fact approved of the actions in the Punjab. ‘That to me was shocking.’

The Case that Shook the Empire

Sir Nair wanted to resign from the Council, but was dissuaded by Charles Freer Andrews, an influential priest and friend of Mahatma Gandhi, Annie Besant, Motilal Nehru and others. They wanted him to advance India’s cause from within the Executive Council in which he was the only Indian member.

Andrews had been a priest of the Church of England who had come to India as a missionary. He had instead fallen in love with the country. After meeting Indian leaders and seeing the plight of Indians, he became an active supporter of the Indian nationalist movement.

Nair asked Andrews to meet Lord Chelmsford and seek his permission to visit Lahore, then capital of the Punjab. But when Andrews met Lord Chelmsford and obtained permission to visit Lahore, the Viceroy flew into an apoplectic rage and asked him whether Indians had now realised what it meant to goad an Englishman when Andrews broached the matter of martial law excesses.

On hearing this, Sir Nair became even more determined to resign but Andrews requested him to continue until he returned from Lahore. Unfortunately, Andrews was arrested on his way to Lahore and sent back ignominiously.

Nair resigned from the Viceroy’s Executive Council on 23 July. Soon after, he was called in by Lord Chelmsford for a final interview to the Viceregal Lodge. As soon as he entered the mock-Tudor palace designed by Henry Irwin, he was escorted to the Viceroy’s study.

A giant portrait of the monarch was placed above the impressive, perfectly-polished mahogany table and dominated the room. The Viceroy rose from a straight-backed but ornate, maroon, velvet-upholstered chair embossed with the imposing crest of the British Empire, and gestured for him to sit on another equally ornate chair in front of him. This was not an occasion that involved the exchange of pleasantries.

Once they had both settled into their chairs, Lord Chelmsford politely expressed his regret in receiving Nair’s resignation. Then, with no real interest in Sir Nair’s opinion but with typical British courtesy, the Viceroy enquired whether Sir Nair could suggest someone as a successor. Sir Nair, sensing the Viceroy’s disinterest and unconcern for anything an Indian had to suggest, found it hard to resist one last dig.

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

Looking directly at the Viceroy and speaking in a solemn tone, as though he had given this matter very serious thought, he said, ‘Yes’ and pointed to the turbaned, red- and gold-liveried peon standing ramrod straight by the giant doorway. Sir Nair, still perfectly straight-faced, continued, ‘That man there, Ram Parshad.’

Lord Chelmsford almost shot out of his chair. Nair replied, ‘Why not? He is tall. He is handsome. He wears his livery well and he will say yes to whatever you say. Altogether he will make an ideal Member of Council.’ Leaving the Viceroy speechless, Sir Nair warmly shook his hand and quietly exited the chambers.

Nair’s resignation stunned the nation. The immediate outcome was that press censorship in Punjab was lifted in three days. O’Dwyer announced four days after Sir Nair’s resignation that martial law would be terminated, and it was so done within a fortnight.

With Nair’s resignation, Montagu now asked Chelmsford to hold an inquiry on the Punjab disturbances. The Viceroy reluctantly agreed and the Hunter Committee was set up in October 1919, to be chaired by Lord William Hunter, a Senator of the College of Justice of Scotland.

Its purpose was to determine what exactly had transpired in Amritsar and in other parts that year. Four of its members were British and three Indians.

Raghu Palat is a banker and chartered accountant. Pushpa Palat is a veteran journalist.

Watch | Khooni Vaisakhi: The Lost Poem on Jallianwala Bagh by Punjab’s Greatest Novelist

In conversation with Navdeep Suri – the grandson of Punjabi writer Nanak Singh whose poem, “Khooni Vaisakhi” about the Jallianwala Bagh was lost for decades.

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

Punjabi writer Nanak Singh was present at Jallianwala Bagh on April 13, 1919. As General Reginald Dyer’s British troops opened fire on the unarmed civilians protesting against the Rowlatt Act, Nanak Singh, then 22, fainted and his unconscious body was piled up among the hundreds of bodies of the dead and the wounded.

Singh’s long poem, “Khooni Vaisakhi”, narrates the political events in the run up to the massacre and its immediate aftermath. A scathing critique of the British Raj, the poem was banned soon after its publication in May 1920 and then, lost for decades.

On the centenary, Nanak Singh’s grandson, Navdeep Suri – also India’s Ambassador to the UAE – has translated it into English, in a book now published by HarperCollins India. Suri tells The Wire about how the poem resonates even in the present day.

An excerpt from “Khooni Vaisakhi” to mark the centenary of the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre.

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.

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.