1984 story

[DhadiMania]

you may know i made a story on 1984, in which a guy called hindustan insulted others in that thread. remember? anyway, teacher gae me C+ (stingy). kids were like "no way, that has to be a B".

so i have to make it more dramatic and add some facts.

did gandhi attack other minorities? or was it just us?

witness accounts on the attack on darbar sahib?

did anyone witness the killing of indira gandhi by beant and satwant singh? did they comment on why they did what they did?

anything else to make an assasin story really in teresting aside these stuff above?

p.s: like my pic Prakash Singh Badal as Mr Burns? both corrupt as each other!

[Guest mehtab]

you have to suck all the attention to ur new avtar in every thread...lol...

[DhadiMania]

hanji true, normally i had raagis for avtaars, so why not the change?

back to the topic...

[stopsingh]

you may know i made a story on 1984, in which a guy called hindustan insulted others in that thread. remember? anyway, teacher gae me C+ (stingy). kids were like "no way, that has to be a B".

so i have to make it more dramatic and add some facts.

did gandhi attack other minorities? or was it just us?

witness accounts on the attack on darbar sahib?

did anyone witness the killing of indira gandhi by beant and satwant singh? did they comment on why they did what they did?

anything else to make an assasin story really in teresting aside these stuff above?

p.s: like my pic Prakash Singh Badal as Mr Burns? both corrupt as each other!

One interesting conspiracy angle for the assasination of indira was that although Satwant Singh and Beant Singh only fired x bullets (forgot how many) it is said doctors found x+2 bullets in her. Where did the other 2 bullets come from ?

May just be rubbish but a few people have mentioned that such a story was published in the Indian press.

During Bluestar Badal hid in his village and did not surface for a while. Tohra came out with his hands up and surrendered, this was strange as it shows he was well in with the Congress sarkar as whilst all those innocent people were being mown down how did the army spare him and his stooges.

[DhadiMania]

the story i am planning of is revolved around beant singh.

what was his occupation?

did he say why he killed gandhi?

anyone there on the scene?

eye witness reports saying what happened at the attack of darabar sahib? anyone who saw the killing of gandhi?

thanks fot the info on badal stopsingh, though he had nothing to do with my sory, other than he is a bit like mr burns (a guy from the simpsons, the best cartoon around!).

but extra info is always welcome ji.

p.s. no respose from sgpc stopsingh.

[DhadiMania]

i should have said this earlier, but can anyone also get me the two hukamnamas which maharaj said indira would die for what she did.

1st hukamnama went...

those who slander the saints will end up rolling in dust.

2nd hukamnama

you saved prahlad by killing haranaksh.

it went something like that, but i need the actual two lines, i could comment on how beant singh was eager to listen to bani and always listened to the hukamnama on darbar sahib radio (though it was cut off when the attack happened), i could say for the second part he knew it was the day to -- gandhi because of that line.

any other suggestions. i'll just improve it and put it up (many times have i posted this, and many times have i improved it, but teacher is just not satisfied).

[DhadiMania]

well heres the story (i have changed bits, i need the sangat to help me improve this, remember, as sikhs we understand what happened here. but this is to be given to an english examiner. so sangato, please think like an english examiner on reading this. i have read it so many times, but cant pinpoint what ele i can do, other than add hukamnamas and stuff)....

note: beant singh didnt fight in the army

there is no paper known as the mumbai sun

no buddhi screamed "i got him, i got him" (i got that from udham singh,

i was thinking of making gandhi give her gold she was wearing to beant and satwant singh, only to realise they were beant singhs mothers precious jewels who was killed at darbar sahib, however i have not written that as yet, should i? (meaning she was presented stolden jewels by the army)

tell me anything else i should write in here.

bhol chukke muaff

Justice is Sweet

By Sandeep Kandola 11AN.

Crowds have gathered, they have come from far and wide, all eyes are upon me. I can hear them talking in hush hushed tones. I look around and see thousands of faces. I can see some faces staring at me with venomous hatred. Others look at me with intense pity, some are silently crying whilst others look with respect.

I do not care about anything; I am going to my lord the creator. The guards push me up the stairs, I stumble but I am strong. I pick myself up and hold my head up high. I see the noose dangling in front of me, the executioner is inviting me to put my head through and release me. I am not afraid. The drum beats sound louder and louder faster and faster. As I step towards the tempting noose the drum beats

halt and the guardsman asks...

"Any last request?"

"This dog doesn’t deserve one" I hear someone shout, which grabs my ears attention in the midst of a thousand voices.

"You can not deprive him of his last rites,” cries another with a strong arrow piercing voice pulling my ears attention to the other side of the crowd, trying to pin point who said this. There is silence all around…

"I wish for a few moments to meditate" I humbly request, meditate upon the name of the lord. I feel no remorse, sorrow or regret for what I have done. I look to my right and see the man who helped me -- Indira Gandhi, will he be next? His Face is expressionless. I look at him knowingly. What we have done we did together for the Sikh community. We couldn’t let this injustice carry on any longer.

All the sounds are whirring and spinning in my head, I feel slightly dazed. Wonderful Lord, Wonderful Lord I chant to myself. I must be strong, because I am strong. Looking back it has all been done for a good cause, it had to be done.

It was the sixth of June 1984. Crowds flocking to Amritsar were expecting bright fireworks, the sound of Religious hymns being chanted and the Golden Temple lit up on a joyous occasion of the martyrdom of the fifth Sikh Guru, Guru Arjun Dev, the site of people meditating at the edge of the sacred pool. The sight and noise of fireworks screaming into the air with the flash being reflected into the pool. The site of a thousand pilgrims marveling at the display of fireworks truly made this occasion special. All of a sudden the marching of thousands of soldiers could be heard which made a louder sound than the hymns being sung, it was the Indian army. But what were they doing at the holy shrine armed with tanks? All of a sudden without any warning the army fired at all the innocent people. It was a day of slaughter. The Flash-Bang could be heard continuously around the holy shrine instead of the hymns being sung, for once the hymns were silenced. It was not the Fire-works that would light up

the skies of Amritsar, it would be the continuous shelling from the artillery gunfire pounding the skies. It was not the beautiful sound of the Tabla or the Harmonium or the sound of people singing to the hymns that would echo all over the Golden Temple complex. It was the gunfire that replaced the sound of the Tabla. It was the sound of vehicles and soldiers marching that replaced the sound of the Harmonium and it was the screaming of pilgrims that pierced the air as flesh turned to atoms that replaced the sound of people singing to the religious hymns that would create a peaceful atmoshphere beyond the stars in this never ending night. The sixth of June would indeed be remembered as a day of terror, a day of fear, a day of tragedy, a day of carnage. A day when Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister of India ordered the attack on the Golden Temple. A day when thousands of innocent pilgrims who came to the Golden Temple to do nothing other than pay homage to this precious shrine died. A day when the army attempted to destroy the Golden Temple but failed. Word spread like wildfire. The news shocked me. I was dumbstruck, I felt enraged yet filled with intense sorrow. There I was standing there all alone, no-one was there to comfort me. Tell me the reason why? Something we cannot deny, Justice for the suffering had to be done. Tell me the reason behind this, for this was not meant to be. Who could answer these questions, who could claim responsibility of this Crime? I decided to find out these answers.

My name, Beant Singh, my occupation, a Soldier in the Elite Snipers Infantry Regiment who just took a break. All this gossip was flying around. I guess I caught it. Yet, so much being said, could this be true? Another friend and me decided to go along to see if this was true. I arrived there, I expected a Majestic sight. I expected to see the clean marble floors I expected to walk on, A Temple floating like a Lotus in the middle of a Sacred Pool, casting a golden reflection on the pool it stands in. I thought I would s

ee people bowing their heads on the marble floor as they entered this sacred shrine, while others would sit at the edge of the pool, listening to the hymns wafting across the water. All these visions I expected to see, were all dreams that were shattered as I arrived there. The Golden Temple at the top was black as soot. The beautiful marble floors I expected to walk upon had tracks like as though snakes had just slithered through it though it was where the Tanks took position. The White marble was in fact swathed in dried blood. While the crystal clear waters of the sacred pool was covered in raging red colour of blood, this was where the innocent pilgrims tried to escape the gunfire and tried to jump into the pool as a way to escape all the carnage. All this made me weep like I never weeped before. My friend Satwant Singh and me stood at the Akal Takhat, the highest authority of Sikhs. We stood there and made a vow, that we would both avenge these killings. We came out like new people, more determined to do what we wanted to do.

We quit the army in disgust. From Amritsar, we took the small train to Delhi. Though the Train stank, we were glad we were closer to getting our target, though we were tired from moving place to place to reach our target, we were motivated by the thought that we could shoot her soon. There we saw her House of Residence, it stood out like the Gold stuck in Manure. A poverty-stricken area she lived in yet it was hard to believe such a beautiful home could be made here. We decided to sign up as Mrs. Gandhi’s new bodyguards. Nothing was said. We went up to office. Asked for Mrs. Gandhi, yet she was not there. The officer stared at me, twiddling his moustache and said in a husky voice "Just sign and you will guard her the next day."

And so the day arrived, it was the ninth of November. Mrs. Gandhi had just finished doing her make-up. She looked a lot different to how she looked on the television. Her big eyes clouded with tears as she looked around. Her white hair on one side

seemed to be invading the side with black hair rapidly. It seemed, as she was growing old in front of my eyes. Was this the frail looking women that demanded the attack on Sikhs? Was this “innocent looking old lady” really the women whose name and face struck fear in the hearts of many? Was this really Indira Gandhi, whose name generated anti Gandhi slogans such as “Indira Kuthi Maro Jhuthi” (meaning Indira the dog beat her up with a shoe)? Was this woman who seemed to breakdown in front of me the women which nearly every Sikh worldwide demanded for her to be brought to justice?

"Shall we go now gentlemen?" She said in an Old Grandmothers voice.

We began to escort her, we had prepared for this day for along time. Satwant Singh and me were communicating through expressions. "Mrs. Gandhi?" She looked at Satwant as he pointed his gun at her. Her eyes full of shock and dismay. "Help!" she just about managed to gasp. We pounced on her like two lions taking its prey at a vulnerable time. There was no-one around, I had waited for this moment I grabbed her by the throat and put my hands around her neck and squeezed her throat so hard I could see her face turning blue, her eyes and mouth were opening wider and wider. Then I threw the evil witch against the wall and pulled out my gun and at the same time so did Satwant. And then… BANG! I shot Indira Gandhi. As we fired the shots at Indira Gandhi, she shrieked in agony and fell slowly onto the floor, her white sari was now covered in blood .The deed was now done. Satwant and myself looked at each other, we had done it, and we both felt so proud.

We casually began to walk away from the scene when an old lady shrieked “Murders! Murders! You evil dogs!” We both tried to calm her down by saying that what we did, we had to do for the Sikh cause. She was frantically gripping my shirt. Two policemen arrived on the scene straight away arrested me and Satwant, while the women was crying frantically “I got them! I got them!”

As I w

alked away from the scene, I turned my head away from the burning sun, as I turned around I saw the frail old lady crying at the site of Indira Gandhi’s body drenched in blood. She bowed down and applied the blood of Indira Gandhi to her dark forehead with her thumb. It was moments later when the Ambulance took the remains of Indira Gandhi’s corpse.

We were handcuffed with cold steel that was so tight, it was cutting away mine and Satwants skin. The pain was unbearable, but I remember I am strong. Pain is an old companion for me. The thought of people thinking we gave blood for those who were tortured by Indira Gandhi was most rewarding.

"Two Singhs have Killed Mother India" each newspaper headlines bellowed across the front page. From the Times of India to The Mumbai Sun "Beant Singh, a red turbaned Sikh with a long beard with brown eyes, and Satwant Singh, an orange turbaned Sikh with a small beard claimed responsibility for this dastardly act.”

Now I am standing here, looking at the crowd. Fools, I think to myself. "Do not pity me, what I have done, I have done for the sake of justice. If anyone dare try and claim the lives of innocent civilians, we shall avenge them.”

"-- him!” shout the Guards. As the guards push me towards the noose before I put my head in the noose, I kiss the rope that will lead me to God, and I kiss the rope like an old companion, for I have traveled with death all my life. I hear Satwant chanting Hymns. I pray to the Lord as the black bag it put over my head, I don’t ever have to see the evils of this world because now my face has been covered with the black bag, I don’t have to see anymore suffering that Indira Gandhi plagued on the Sikh community. As the guards put the black bag over my head I can feel the darkness momentarily and smell the dust from the bag. How may heads have been put through it? My eyes are closed, I can see a bright light in the distance I begin to meditate. I feel a sense of feeling of well-being overcome me. The deed has been done. I am

at last going to meet God, nothing can hurt me now Wonderful Lord, Wonderful Lord I chant. I feel something put round my neck but I am in a state of happiness. Drumbeats start banging, the flap beneath me is opened. All of a sudden I can hear a gasp from the crowd in the distance. I hang, as lie there dying I feel lifted in the air and tightness oh such tightness around my neck, Wonderful Lord, Wonderful Lord I begin to chant to myself in my mind. I can no longer breathe. I finally feel my body go limp and whilst meditating on the lords name my spirit springs out from the top of my head towards the bright light like a fountain.

I have served my purpose in life. I have sought justice on the woman who dared attack our holy shrine and removed her evil influence from the world. I can hear people booing me. But I can only hear the sweet melody of the Sitar. My head feels light and my body feels like it is floating towards the sky. I can hear the melody of the Sitar growing louder and louder and see a beautiful white light in the sky. I look down and see Satwant Singh coming to join me; together our souls float towards the white light. We can see angels, coming to take us to meet God. We shall finally meet him at last. As we are floating towards the bright light I stop and stare at the life I left behind me. I see the ghost of Indira Gandhi looking haggard beneath us. We hear her screams but carry on towards the path of bright light and finally merge with God. My oh my how Justice is sweet.