Unheard Cries: Atrocities In Patiala, 1947

[Jonny101]

Innocent people died and suffered on both sides of the border. This is the other side's story.

http://www.dailytimes.com.pk/opinion/08-Jan-2014/unheard-cries-atrocities-in-patiala-1947

Unheard cries: atrocities in Patiala, 1947

“Scores of women and children began jumping into the well, expecting impending rape and conversions. My aunt and her daughter also jumped into the well, which was by then filled with corpses”

Haroon Mustafa Janjua

• January 08, 2014

Patiala, the powerful princely state in eastern Punjab, ruled by Maharaja Yadavindra Singh, witnessed intense communal and gender violence against Muslims. On September 3, 1947, Sikhs decorated a special train with Pakistan flags and picked up thousands of Muslims under the pretext that they would be sent safely to Pakistan. To their utter shock, armed military Sikhs attacked the train at Fatehgarh station and killed many.

The most brutal incidents of violence took place in the village of Baras, Patran tehsil. Violence broke out in August against Muslims seeking shelter for survival. Many residents were attacked in August 1947 including targeting the women who jumped into wells to save their honour. Professor Niaz Erfan, interviewed on April 9, 2013, narrates this account. A resident of Ambala District, he happened to be in Patiala during partition. Even after recording his story, many clarifications were sought to settle the confusions that prevail in verbal accounts.
The story:
“I was born in 1933 in village Sill, Tehsil Kharar, Ambala. Our village had three wards wherein the Muslims Rajputs constituted the majority. Most of the non-Muslims belonged to the lower castes — sweepers, cotton fluffers and barbers. The lone Sikh family was headed by Sardar Gurbakash Singh whose son Jaspal was my friend. My family was respected by all. My father Naseerudin Khan and uncle Khairudin were in the Patiala State Army. After my primary education, we shifted to the state of Patiala. It took me a month to learn the Gurmukhi script, required for further studies. It was around mid-July that the law and order situation started deteriorating. Communal riots broke out while my family was in Patiala, while my uncles were still in our Ambala village. We were fortunate that Major Babu Singh from my father’s unit had become the S P of Patiala Cantonment and took us to his house where we spent the next one month. Because we were staying at the police superintendent’s house, other Muslims assumed that Baras village would be safe; a sizeable Muslim population decided to settle there. A deadly mistake, as it turned out. I recall that the Sikh community observed around August that a sizeable Muslim fraternity was based in Baras and must have planned to attack them because, in the meanwhile, they crammed the Patiala army with Sikhs. One evening, they opened fire on our people and the mayhem started.
In a desperate bid to save his life, my cousin Muhammad Aleem sustained injuries but succeeded in escaping and hiding in the nearby fields. He stood there helplessly watching the brutal massacre of our family. My grandfather, Muhammad Baksh, took direct bullets and died on the spot. My cousin heard the volley of bullets and cries of men and women who pleaded for mercy in vain. Soon, thereafter, my granduncle and his father were also gunned down with his sons, Muhammad Rafiq and Muhammad Jamil. My uncle Khairudin Khan and my father’s cousin Abdul Aziz were also killed brutally as Aleem watched from his hiding place. In the meantime, scores of women and children began jumping into the well, expecting impending rape and conversions. My aunt, Rafiq-un-Nisa, and her daughter Firdous also jumped into the well, which was by then filled with corpses. My other aunt, Wahab-un-Nisa, escaped because she fell on the heap of corpses and was rescued later along with two other women. She later migrated to Pakistan and died last year in Gujranwala.
During our stay with the superintendent of the police we heard screams from across the city of Patiala. The havoc and mayhem unleashed night after night simply went on and on. We had little sleep or peace in the house. Finally, when we ventured out, the city stood cleansed by the cantonment forces. When we were brought to Patiala cantonment and the Kotwali railway station, I saw hundreds of corpses lined up against the walls. The whole station resounded with the cries of injured women. It dawned upon me that the raiders must have attacked the station just before our arrival. I considered it divine intervention that we were saved by arriving late at the station. The corpses, which lined the station, were loaded onto the train and sent off to west Punjab.
By this time, the Muslim force was also equipped and my father was a part of it. We proceeded to Bahadurgarh Fort, which was five kilometres from Patiala. We were in the fort on Eidul Azha. There was no sanitation system there and I remember being in a group, which dug out makeshift toilets. I had received a message that my Hindu and Sikh classmates were looking for me outside the fort. Despite protests from our people inside and disregarding the danger I stepped out and indeed found them waiting for me. Classmates embraced me and offered me fruits, a sign that all humanity was not dead.
We stayed at the refugee camp of Bahadurgarh until December. At long last, when the train arrived at the Kohli station, we were eager to leave. There was no space inside the compartments so the boys and men huddled onto the roof in neat rows clutching the ropes. We spent two days and nights in this condition, braving the cold winter. We were thirsty but could not find water anywhere. Even the wells were rumoured to be poisoned by Sikhs. We also heard of other trains being stopped and people murdered mercilessly. Major Ayub Khan, who later became president of Pakistan, was ably leading the guard of our train to avoid such attacks.
On the banks of the Beas, hundreds of bodies lay along the tracks and vultures hovered around them. Amidst seething rage and helpless tears, we reached Amritsar station. There we learned that the train, which had left just before ours, was attacked by Sikh mobs and people were slaughtered. Upon reaching the Attari station, we saw torn pages of the Holy Quran strewn across the roads to vex us. When we finally reached the Wagah border and saw the flag of Pakistan, we wept with mixed emotions: gratitude to have survived and grief for the loved ones lost. We were immensely relieved to be in Pakistan. In October 1948, I went back to Jullundur with the help of Sufi Abdul Hameed to get back my cousin Aleem who had sustained injuries during his escape from Baras.”
Individual narratives make connections, which are ignored by official history. Partition can be seen as a bloodied story of the damned and dispossessed, of grief and devastation, tormented cries and broken hearts. Apart from historical context, the remembered experiences of survivors constitute a valuable supplement to history. The saga of memories continues through films, novels, history and everyday stories. These survivors are all old and with them their stories will be lost forever. That will be a forgotten footnote to history. It is my endeavour to ensure that these testimonies will fill in some blanks in the sad chronicles of the events of 1947.

[Mehtab Singh]

Sardarji

MY NAME IS SHAIKH Burhanuddin.

When violence and murder became the order of the day in Delhi and the blood of Muslims flowed in the streets, I cursed my fate for having a Sikh for a neighbour. Far from expecting him to come to my rescue in times of trouble, as a good neighbour should, I could not tell when he would thrust his kirpan into my belly. The truth is that till then I used to find the Sikhs somewhat laughable. But I also disliked them and was somewhat scared of them.

My hatred for the Sikhs began on the day when I first set my eyes on one. I could not have been more than six years old when I saw a Sikh sitting out in the sun combing his long hair. Look as I yelled with revulsion, a woman with a long beard!" As I got older this dislike developed into hatred for the entire race.

It was a custom amongst old women of our household to heap all afflictions on our enemies. Thus for example if a child got pneumonia or broke its leg, they would say a long time ago a Sikh, (or an Englishman), got pneumonia: or a long time ago a Sikh, (or an Englishman), broke his leg". When I was older I discovered that this referred to the year 1857 when the Sikh princes helped the feranghee� foreigner�to defeat the Hindus and Muslims in the war of independence. I do not wish to propound a historical thesis but to explain the obsession, the suspicion and hatred which I bore towards the English and the Sikhs. I was more frightened of the English than of the Sikhs.

When I was ten years old, I happened to be travelling from Delhi to Aligarh. I used to travel third class, or at the most in the intermediate class. That day I said to myself, Let me for once travel second class and see what it feels like" I bought my ticket and I found an empty second class Compartment I jumped on the well-sprung seats; I went into the bathroom and leapt up to see my face in the mirror; I switched on all the fans. I played with the light switches. There were only a couple of minutes for the train to leave when four red-faced tommies burst into the compartment, mouthing obscenities: everything was either a bloody or a damn. I had one look at them and my desire to travel second class vanished.

I picked up my suitcase and ran out. I only stopped for breath when I got into a third class compartment crammed With natives, But as luck would have it it was full of Sikhs-their beards hanging down to their navels and dressed in nothing more than their underpants. I could not escape from them. but I kept my distance.

Although I feared the white man more than the Sikhs, I felt that he was more civilized. he wore the same kind of clothes as I. I also wanted to be able to say a damn", 'bloody fool -the way he did. And like him I wanted to belong to be a ruling class. The Englishman ate his food with forks and knives I also wanted to learn to eat with forks and knives so that natives would look upon me as advanced and as civilised as the whiteman.

My Sikh-phobia was of different kind. I had contempt for the Sikh. I was amazed at the stupidity of men who imitated women and grew their hair long. I must confess I did not like my hair cut too short; despite my father's instructions to the contrary, I did not allow the barber to clip off more than a little when I went to him on Fridays. I grew a mop of hair so that when I played hockey or football it would blow about in the breeze like those of English sportsmen. My father often asked me "Why do you let your hair grow like a woman's?" My father had primitive ideas and I took no notice of his views. If he had had his way he would have had all heads razored bald, and stuck artificial beards on people's chins. That reminds me that the second reason for hating the Sikhs was their beards which made them look like savages.

There are beards and beards. There was my father's beard, neatly, trimmed in the French style, or my uncle's which went into a sharp point under his chin. But what could you do with a beard to which no scissors was ever applied and which was allowed to grow like a wild bush fed with a compost of oil, curd and goodness knows what And, after it had grown a few feet, combed like hair on a woman's head: My grandfather also had a very long beard which he combed, but then my grandfather was my grandfather and a Sikh is just a Sikh.

After I had passed my matriculation examination I was sent to the Muslim University at Aligarh. We boys who came from Delhi, or the United Provinces, looked down upon boys from the Punjab; they were crude rustics who did not know how to converse, how to behave at table, or to deport themselves in polite company. All they could do was drink large tumblers of buttermilk. Delicacies such as vermicelli with essence of kewra sprinkled on it, or the aroma of Lipton's tea was alien to them. Their language was unsophisticated to the extreme, whenever they spoke to each other it seemed as if they were quarreling. It was full of Aussi, tussi, saadey, twhaaday",�Heaven forbid" I kept my distance from the Punjabis.

But the warden of our hostel, (God forgive him), gave me a Punjabi as a room mate. When I realised that there was no escape, I decided to make the best of a bad bargain and be civil to the chap. After a few days we became quite friendly. This man was called Ghulam Rasul and he was from Rawalpindi. He was full of amusing anecdotes and was a good companion.

You might well ask how Mr. Ghulam Rasul gate-crashed into a story about the Sikhs. The fact of the matter is that Ghulam Rasul's anecdotes were usually about the Sikhs. It is through these anecdotes that I got to know the racial characteristics, the habits and customs of this strange community. According to Ghulam Rasul the chief characteristics of the Sikhs were the following:

All Sikhs were stupid and idiotic. At noon-time they lost their senses altogether. There were many instances to prove this. For example, one day at 12 o'clock noon, a Sikh was cycling along Hall Bazaar in Amritsar when a constable, also a Sikh, stopped him and demanded, Where is your light?" The cyclist replied nervously, ~Jemadar sahib, I lit it when I left my home; it must have gone out just now". The constable threatened to run him in. A passer-by, yet another Sikh with a long white beard, intervened brothers, there is no point in quarrelling over little things. If the light has gone out it can be lit again".

Ghulam Rasul knew hundreds of anecdotes of this kind. When he told them in his Punjabi accent his audience was left helpless with laughter. One really enjoyed them best in Punjabi because the strange and incomprehensible behaviour of the uncouth Sikh was best told in his rustic lingo.

The Sikhs were not only stupid but incredibly filthy as well- Ghulam Rasul, who had known hundreds of them, told us how they never shaved their heads. And whereas we Muslims washed our hair thoroughly at least every Friday, the Sikhs who made a public exhibition of bathing in their under-pants poured all kinds of filth, like curd into their hair. I rub limejuice and glycerine in my scalp. Although the glycerine is white and thick like curd, it is an altogether different thing�made by a well-known firm of perfumers of Europe. My glycerine came in a lovely bottle whereas the Sikh's curd came from the shop of a dirty sweetmeat seller.

I would not have concerned myself with the manner of living of these people except that they were so haughty and ill-bred as to consider themselves as good warriors as the Muslims- It is known over the world that one Muslim can get the better of ten Hindus or Sikhs. But these Sikhs would not accept the superiority of the Muslim and would strut about like bantam cocks twirling their moustaches and stroking their beards. Ghulam Rasul used to say that one day we Muslims would teach the Sikhs a lesson that they would never forget.

Years went by.

I left college. I ceased to be a student and became a clerk; then a head clerk. I left Aligarh and came to live in New Delhi. I was allotted government quarters. I got married. I had children.

The quarters next to mine were occupied by a Sikh who had been displaced from Rawalpindi. Despite the passage of years, I remembered what Ghulam Rasul had told me. As Ghulam Rasul had prophesied, the Sikhs had been taught a bitter lesson in humility at least, in the district of Rawalpindi. The Muslims had virtually wiped them out. The Sikhs boasted that they were great heroes; they flaunted their long kirpans. But they could not withstand the brave Muslims. The Sikhs' beards were forcibly shaved. They were circumcised. They were converted to Islam. The Hindu press, as was its custom, vilified the Muslims. It reported that the Muslims had murdered Sikh woman and children. This was wholly contrary to Islamic tradition. No Muslim warrior was ever known to raise his hand against a woman or a child. The pictures of the corpses of women and children published in Hindu newspapers were obviously faked I wouldn't have put it beyond the Sikh to murder their own women and children in order to vilify the Muslims.

The Muslims were also accused of abducting Hindu and Sikh women. The truth of the matter is that such was the impact of the heroism of Muslims on the minds of Hindu and Sikh girls that they fell in love with young Muslims and insisted on going with them. These noble-minded young men had no option but to give them shelter and thus bring them to the true path of Islam. The bubble of Sikh bravery was burst. It did not matter how their leaders threatened the Muslims with their kirpans, the sight of the Sikhs who had fled from Rawalpindi filled my heart with pride in the greatness of Islam.

The Sikh who was my neighbor was about sixty years old. His beard had gone completely grew Although he had barely escaped from the jaws of death, he was always laughing, displaying his teeth in the most vulgar fashion. It was evident that he was quite stupid. In the beginning he tried to draw me into his net by professions of friendship. Whenever I passed him he insisted on talking to me. I do not remember what kind of Sikh festival it was, when he sent me some sweet butter. My wife promptly gave it away to the sweepress. I did my best to have as little to do with him as I could. I snubbed him whenever I could. I knew that if I spoke a few words to him, he would be hard to shake off. Civil talk would encourage him to become familiar. It was known to me that Sikhs drew their sustenance from foul language. Why should I soil my lips by associating with such people.

One Sunday afternoon I was telling my wife of some anecdotes about the stupidity of the Sikhs. To prove my point, exactly at 12 o'clock, I sent my servant across to my Sikh neighbor to ask him the time. He sent back the reply, two minutes after 12". I remarked to my wife "You see, they are scared of even mentioning 12 o'clock" we both had a hearty laugh. After this, many a time when I wanted to make an <banned word filter activated> of my Sikh neighbor, I would ask him "Well, Sardarji has it struck twelve?" The shameless creature would grin, baring all his teeth and answer, "Sir, for us it is always striking twelve". He would roar with laughter as if it were a great joke.

I was concerned about the safety of my children. One could never trust a Sikh. And this man had fled from Rawalpindi. He was sure to have a grudge against Muslims and to be on the look-out for an opportunity to avenge himself. I had told my wife never to allow the children to go near the Sikh quarters. But children are children. After a few days I saw my children playing with the Sikh's little girl, Mohini, and his other grand-children. This child, who was barely ten years old, was really as beautiful as her name indicated; she was fair and beautifully formed. These wretches have beautiful women. I recall Ghulam Rasul telling me that if all the Sikh men were to leave their women behind and clear out of the Punjab, there would be no need for Muslims to go to paradise in search of houris.

The truth about the Sikhs was soon evident. After the thrashing in Rawalpindi, they fled like cowards to East Punjab. Here they found the Muslims weak and unprepared So they began to kill them. Hundreds of thousands of Muslims were martyred; the blood of the faithful ran in streams- Thousands of women were stripped naked and made to parade through the streets. When Sikhs, fleeing from Western Punjab, came in large numbers to Delhi it was evident that there would be trouble in the capital. I could not leave for Pakistan immediately. Consequently I sent away my wife and children by air, with my elder brother, and entrusted my own fate to God. I could not sent much luggage by air. I booked an entire railway wagon to take my furniture and belongings. But on the day I was to load the wagon I got information that trains bound for Pakistan were being attacked by Sikh bands. Consequently my luggage stayed in my quarters in Delhi.

On the With of August, India celebrated its independence. What interest could I have in the independence of India! I spent the day Iying in bed reading Dazum and the Pakistan Times. Both the papers had strong word to say about the manner in which India had gained its freedom and proved conclusively how the Hindus and the British had conspired to destroy the Muslims. It was only our leader, the great Mohammed Ali Jinnah, who was able to thwart their evil designs and win Pakistan for the Muslims. The English had knuckled under because of Hindu and Sikh pressure and handed over Amritsar to India Amritsar, as the world knows, is a purely Muslim city. Its famous Golden Mosque or am I mixing it up with the Golden Temple!�yes of course, the Golden Mosque is in Delhi. And in Delhi besides the Golden Mosque there are the Jamma Masjid, the Red Fort, the mausolea of Nizamuddin and Emperor Humayun, the tomb and school of Safdar Jang�just everything worthwhile bears imprints of Islamic rule. Even so this Delhi (which should really be called after its Muslim builder Shahjahan as Shahiahanabad) was to suffer the indignity of having the flag of Hindu imperialism unfurled on its ramparts.

My heart seemed rent asunder. I could have shed tears of blood. My cup of sorrow was full to the brim when I realised that Delhi, which was once the footstool of the Muslim Empire, the centre of Islamic culture and civilisation, had been snatched out of our hands. Instead we were to have the desert wastes of Western Punjab, Sindh and Baluchistan inhabited by an uncouth and uncultured people. We were to go to a land where people do not know how to talk in civilised Urdu; where men wear baggy salwars like their women folk, where they eat thick bread four pounds in weight instead of the delicate wafers we eat at home!

I steeled myself. I would have to make this sacrifice for my great leader, Jinnah, and for my new country, Pakistan. Nevertheless the thought of having to leave Delhi was most depressing.

When I emerged from my room in the evening, my Sikh neighbour bared his fangs and asked "brother, did you not go out to see the celebrations"? I felt like setting fire to his beard.

One morning the news spread of a general massacre in old Delhi. Muslim homes were burnt in Karol Bagh. Muslim shops in Chandini Chowk were looted. This then was a sample of Hindu rule! I said to myself 'New Delhi is really an English city; Lord Mountbatten lives here as well as the commander-in chief At least in New Delhi no hand will be raised against Muslims'. With this self assurance I started towards my office. I had to settle the business of my provident fund; I had delayed going to Pakistan in order to do so. I had only got as far as Gole Market when I ran into a Hindu colleague in the office. He said "What on earth are you up to? Go back at once and do not come out of your house- The rioters are killing Muslims in Connaught circus".

I hurried back home

I had barely got to my quarters when I ran into my Sikh neighbour. He began to reassure me. "Sheikh Sahib, do not wrorry! As long as I am alive no one will raise a hand against you". I said to myself: 'How much fraud is hidden behind this man s bread! He is obviously pleased that the Muslims are being massacred, but expresses sympathy to win my confidence; or is he trying to taunt me?' I was the only Muslim living in the block, perhaps I was the only one on the road.

I did not want these people's kindness or sympathy. I went inside my quarter and said to myself, 'If I have to die, I will kill at least ten or twenty men before they get me'. I went to my room where beneath my bed I kept my double-barrelled gun. I had also collected quite a hoard of cartridges. I searched the house, but could not find the gun.

"What is hazoor looking for?" asked my faithful servant, Mohammed.

What happened to my gun?"

He did not answer. But I could tell from the way he looked that he had either hidden it or stolen it.

"Why don't you answer?" I asked him angrily.

Then he came out with the truth. He had stolen my gun and given it to some of his friends who were collecting arms to defend the Muslims in Daryaganj.

"We have hundreds of guns, several machine guns, ten revolvers and a cannon. We will slaughter these infidels; we will roast them alive."

"No doubt with my gun you will roast the infidels in Daryaganj, but who will defend me here? I am the only Mussulman amongst these savages. If I am murdered, who will answer for it?"

I persuaded him to steal his way to Daryaganj to bring back my gun and couple of hundred cartridges. When he left I was convinced that I would never see him again. I was all alone. On the mantlepiece was a family photograph My wife and children stared silently at me. My eyes filled with the tears at the thought that I would never see them again I was comforted with the thought that they were safe in Pakistan. Why had I been tempted by my paltry provident fund and not gone with them? I heard the crowd yelling

Sat! Sri AkaL.."

Har Har Mahadev".

The yelling came closer and closer. They were rioters She bearers of my death warrant I was like a wounded deer running hither and. thither, with the hunters' hounds in full pursuit. There was no escape. The door was made of very thin wood and glass panes. The rioters would smash their way in.

Sat! Sri Akal..."

Har Har Mahadev..."

They were coming closer and closer- death was coming closer and closer. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. My Sikh neighbour walked in "Sheikhji, come into my quarters at once". Without a second thought I ran into the Sikh's verandah and hid behind the columns. A shot hit the wall above my head. A truck drew up and about a dozen young men climbed down. Their leader had a list in his hand�Quarter No. "Sheikh Burhanuddin". He read my name and ordered his gang to go ahead. They invaded my quarter and under my very eyes proceeded to destroy my home. My furniture, boxes, pictures, books, druggets and carpets, even the dirty linen was carried into the truck. Robbers! Thugs! Cut-throats!

As for the Sikh, who had pretended to sympathize with me, he was no less a robber than they! He was pleading with the rioters "Gentlemen, stop! We have prior claim over our neighbor's property. We must get our share of the loot". We beckoned to his sons and daughters. All of them gathered to pick up whatever they could lay their hands on. One took my trousers; another a suitcase.

They even grabbed the family photograph. They took the loot to their quarters.

You bloody Sikh! If God grants me life I will settle my score with you. At this moment I cannot even protest. The rioters are armed and only a few yards away form me. If they get to know of my presence....

"Please come in".

My eyes fell on the unsheathed kirpan in the hands of the Sikh. He was inviting me to come in. The bearded monster looked more frightful after he had soiled his hands with my property. There was the glittering blade of his kirpan inviting me to my doom. There was no time to argue. the only choice was between the guns of the rioters and the sabre of the Sikh. I decided, rather the kirpan of the old man than ten armed gangsters. I went into the room hesitantly, silently.

"Not here, come in further", I went into the inner room like a goat following a butcher. The glint of the blade of the kirpan was almost blinding.

"there you are, take your things", said the Sikh.

He and his children put all the stuff they had pretended to loot, in front of me. His old woman said "Son, I am sorry we were not able to save more".

I was dumb-founded.

The gangsters had dragged out my steel almirah and were trying to smash it open. "it would be simpler if we could find the keys", said someone.

The keys can only be found in Pakistan. That cowardly son of a filthy Muslim has decamped", replied another.

Little Mohini answered back: "Sheikhji is not a coward. He had not run off to Pakistan".

"Then Where is he blackening his face?"

"why should he be blackening his face? He is in...." Mohini realised her mistake and stopped in her sentence. Blood mounted in her father's face. He locked me in the inside room, gave his kirpan to his son and went out to face the mob.

I do not know what exactly took place outside. I heard the sound of blows; then Mohini crying; then the Sikh yelling full-blooded abuse in Punjabi. And then a shot and the Sikh's cry of pain hai.

I heard a truck engine starting up; and then there was a petrified silence.

When I was taken out of my prison my Sikh neighbour was Iying on a charpoy. Beside him lay a torn and blood- stained shirt. His new shirt also was oozing with blood. His son had gone to telephone for the doctor.

"Sardarji, what have you done?" I do not know how these words came out of my lips. The world of hate in which I had lived all these years, lay in ruins about me.

"Sardarji, why did you do this?" I asked him again.

"Son, I had a debt to pay".

What kind of a debt?"

"In Rawalpindi there was a Muslim like you who sacrificed his life to save mine and the honour of my family".

What was his name, Sardarji?"

"Ghulam Rasul".

Fate had played a cruel trick on me. The clock on the wall started to strike...1...2...3...4...5...The Sikh turned towards the clock and smiled. He reminded me of my grandfather with his twelve-inch beard. How closely the two resembled each other!

...6...7...8...9...We counted in silence.

He smiled again. His white beard and long white hair were like a halo, effulgent with a divine light...10...11...12... The clock stopped striking.

I could almost hear him say "For us Sikhs, it is always 12 o'clock!" But the bearded lips, still smiling, were silent. And I knew he was already in some distant world, where the striking of clocks counted for nothing, where violence and mockery were powerless to hurt him.

http://www.sikh-history.com/literature/stories/sardarji.html

[Mehtab Singh]

Rawalpindi Riots - 1
We all know that the riots of 1947 were the worse that the Sikhs faced in the last century. Sikhs in 1947 lost all their property, money and many lost their lives. They chose to live in India and did not change their religion to secure their property, money or lives. After leaving everything in Pakistan Punjab, the came to East Punjab i.e. Indian side of Punjab and built everything from scratch. Then another massacre came in the 1980s when tens of thousands of Sikhs died for Sikhi.

In the next few days, I am going to write on selected incidents that occurred in Rawalpindi area of Pakistan, in March 1947. This area was worse affected by the riots of partition in 1947. The Sikhs were massacred by the Muslims of that area. The striking thing that I want to write under this thread is not that Sikhs got massacred but how bravely the Sikhs fought back aggression and how much they sacrificed to keep Sikhi. Some of the stories are very emotional and very hard to read. I am not sure if I can narrate these stories as well as they were narrated by the people who actually saw all this with their own eyes. I will try.


AREA OF POTHOHAAR I.E. RAWALPINDI AREA OF PAKISTAN

This area was the centre of Sikhi in those days. Bhai Sahib Randhir Singh jee writes that before he went to jail, this area was full of bibiyaan with dastaar and many families had adopted the strict Khalsa rehit. It was in this area where Sant Baba Attar Singh jee Mastuanawaale, did rigorous bhagti for many years. This is the land where great Sikh Siri Thakur Nihaal Singh, reputed to be a brahmgiyaani gursikh, did great preaching of Gurmat. This is where Baba Khem Singh Bedi did heavy parchaar of Gurmat and inspired many to take amrit of Guru Sahib.

Sikhi parchaar was so heavy in this area that even the Brahmin Hindus adopted Sikhi and became tyaar bar tyaar Singhs. This area was very prosperous and Bhai Sahib Randhir Singh jee writes in one of his books that due to increase in maaiya, may Sikh families had become weak in Sikhi and had become more indulged in worldly pleasures. Who knows, maybe this is why this area was hit most severely by the riots of 1947


MASSACRE OF THEHA KHALSA AREA OF RAWALPINDI – MARCH 1947

This small town of Theha Khalsa was one of the main towns of Pothohaar (Rawalpindi area). Sikhs and Hindus living in this town were very well off. In total about 500 families lived in this small town. There were some Muslim families living there too but there was no communal problem at all.

In the fateful month of March 1947, riots started in other parts of Pothohaar. Actually it is wrong to call it riots because the Sikhs were not attacking anyone, just defending themselves. The Sikhs of Theha Khalsa town assembled at the local Gurdwara Sahib to discuss what to do. Sant Gulaab Singh was the undisputed leader of this village and he was from a very well-to-do family. His ancestral home was very big. During the discussions, he suggested that all the Sikhs of that village assemble at his house and stay there till the danger of riots is over. He said that it would be easy to defend if all the Sikhs stayed at one spot.

He further said that at this crucial time only Guru Sahib can help them.

SIKHS MOVE TO THE HAVELI OF SANT GULAAB SINGH

All the Sikhs after hearing the emotional lecture of Sant Gulaab Singh agreed to move to his house. They brought all their money, jewellery and gold etc, along with them and assembled at his house. In total about 1200 Sikhs and some Hindus assembled at his house. They fortified the haveli by making bunkers and replacing regular doors with heavy doors. They covered the walls of the haveli with shields of iron.

First of all they secured a large room and brought all Saroops of Dhan Siri Guru Granth Sahib jee over there. Over 36 saroops were brought to that room. Big tanks of water were filled and large quantity of fire-wood and grains was stocked up. The Sikhs were in great danger, so they all started doing paath day and night. They asked Guru Sahib for strength to save their faith.


MUSLIMS ATTACK THE HAVELI FILLED WITH SIKHS

On March 8, 1947 while the sangat was doing Siri Rehraas Sahib paath, many thousand Muslims came and surrounded the building. They were shouting “ALLAH HOO AKBAR”, “MUSLIM LEAGUE ZINDABAD”, “KAFRON KO MAAR DO” i.e kill the infidels. There must have been at least 6000 Muslims and all had weapons. Many had guns. Some were on horse backs and they were shouting anti Sikh slogans. They were uttering obscenities against Master Tara Singh and other Sikh leaders.

The sangat kept doing simran of Vaheguru Vaheguru. The Muslim crowd assembled in the school building. It is not clear what was decided in that meeting but when they came out of the meeting they started burning the shops and houses owned by the Sikhs. Then they attacked the haveli where all the Sikhs were present. The Sikhs had some guns and they kept the crowd away.

On one side of the haveli, they attacked with great vigour. Sardar Partap Singh, a very brave young man, took along with him about 8-9 singhs and attacked the attacking Muslims. They attacked with so much force that the Muslims were pushed back. One of the bullets hit Sardar Partap Singh on his leg.

The next day again the Muslims came back but this time they did not wait for the night. They came back around 10am. The Muslims again attacked but could not get in the haveli. Then the Muslims sent a representative to talk to the Sikhs holed up in the haveli. Sant Gulab Singh refused to accept their conditions that the Sikhs should disarm themselves.

This way the fight went on for 2 more days. Finally on the last day, the Muslims came with bombs and said that they would bomb the haveli if the Sikhs did not get out of there. The Muslims promised by swearing on the Koran that they were only interested in the gold and money and not in killing anyone. The Sikhs had no choice but to get out. They did ardaas and moved out, leaving all belongings behind.

After the Sikhs came out, they got surrounded by the large crowd of Muslims. The Sikhs arrived at the sarovar of the local Gurdwara Sahib. The pathaans armed with latest weapons surrounded the Sikhs sitting around the sarovar. The Sikhs were chanting “Satnam Siri Vaheguru”. By then about 10,000 Muslims came where the Sikhs were. Along with them, they had a dozens of barbers lined up to cut the hair of Sikhs. Children were crying for food and milk. Old and young were helpless to do anything. The whole scene was a scene from hell.

SHAHEEDI SAAKA

Sant Ghulab Singh jee writes as follows:

********translation begins*********

“by this time Sardarni Lajavanti Kaur asked me if she could go to the well by my hut. I took her to the well and everyone washed their faces and drank fresh water. There were 90 bibiyaan (Sikh females). Many were unwed young girls. My granddaughters, grandsons, nieces, and other related women were there amongst them”.

“Soon a person came and asked me to go to the Gurdwara Sahib where the aggressors (jarvaane) were troubling the sangat. He said that the sangat was calling me. I said Sat Sree Akaal to bibiyaan and started walking towards the Gurdwara Sahib”.

“The well was about 200 feet from the Gurdwara Sahib. When I reached there, a Muslim leader came up to me and asked me, “So what have you decided?” I found out that the singhs had been given half an hour to accept Islam or else they get ready to die. The Singhs present there said to the Muslims that they would do what Sant jee (this daas i.e. I) tell them to do”.

“Dhan Pita Kalgidhar! I laughed after hearing this from the Muslim leader. I said, “Your cruel and tryant emperors like Aurangzeb and Farukhsiyaar too could not do anything to the Sikhs. What can you do, when they could not do anything. Do what you want to do. We will never give up Sikhi and will never become Muslims”.

“When I came to the Gurdwara Sahib, some pathaans and thugs from Punachh and Mairabaad sensing that the bibiyaan were alone at the well, reached there and surrounded the well. They addressed the bibiyaan, “Now we are going to take away your daughters and sister and will marry them after converting them to Islam.” At that time Sardarni Laajavantee Kaur could not resist Bir Rass anymore and said, “Scoundrels! Who can touch the daughters of Guru Kalgidhar. From the time we took amrit, we accepted death as reality and don’t fear it.”

“The Muslims thugs got angry hearing such answer from Sardarni Lajavanti Kaur. They moved forward towards her. Sardarni jee was holding her 5 year old granddaughter and a grandson. She loudly said the jaikaara, “Bole So Nihaal!! Sat Srree Akaal!!”. Saying this she jumped in the well, in order to avoid getting her granddaughter and herself raped by the Muslims. Within seconds all Sikh women jumped in the well. All 90 jumped in. A person came running to me and told me the whole incident. After hearing this incident, all Sikhs present there said, “Dhan Gursikhee!! Dhan Guru Kalgidhar! I dashed towards the well”.

“At that time what to talk about the pathaans but all aggressors were shaken from within. They were saying that who can kill such people who can sacrifice their lives to save their honour.”

“When I reached the well, my granddaughter, Harbhajan Kaur, my daughter-in-law Kartar Kaur and one sister-in-law Sardarni Ram Rakhee were crying as the well was full and they did not drown. By then 87 lives had been taken. They were taken out of the well. I was baffled. I uttered, “Dhan Gurdev, these daughters of yours have passed your test. Please show me the way too. At that time I had clear darshan of Dhan Guru Nanak Dev jee and Hazoor said, “You still have to see more of this bloodshed. You have to do some more sewa of sangataan”.

“After this bloody massacre, the Muslims got scared and started running away but some scoundrels were left. All Sadh Sangat came to my house and stayed there for the night. Muslims tried to find a lone Sikh to convert but could not convert anyone”.

“I climbed a tall tree and saw a scene from hell. 87 lives had been sacrificed. The towns of Dera Khalsa, Kallar, Thamali, and Beval were burning. At that time I sang out baani to get peace of mind”

“At amritvela, I got darshan of Guru Kalgidhar jee and he said that our test was over.”

The above was written by Sant Ghulaab Singh and I have made a humble effort to translate the quoted paragraphs above. In any case, the military arrived soon and everyone was taken to the camps. The shaheedi of Sardarni Lajavanti Kaur and other Sikh women, saved the remaining Sikhs.

I will write more in the days to come. The massacres of Vahaali are unbearable.

Daas,
Kulbir Singh

http://www.gurmatbibek.com/contents.php?id=18







Rawalpindi Riots - 2
Eye Witness Account by Sardar Nirvair Singh, s/o Sardar Mehar Singh, village Vasaali, Thaana Kallar Sayyada, Tehsil Kahoota, District Rawalpindi.

Following is an eye witness account of great event of 1947, by Sardar Nirvair Singh. It is a must read. Please read and thank Vaheguru for giving us such secure lives. If we cannot do Naam abhyaas and bhagti even in such easy living, then we are the most ungrateful in the world.



**********Translation Begins*************

On 6th March, 1947 at 12pm a Muslim came and informed us that our village Vahaali was in danger tonight. He asked us to leave immediately. Within seconds this news spread across the village. The Muslims had already attacked the neighbouring villages of Hindus and Sikhs.

All Hindus and Sikhs gathered at the house of Mr. Bal Mukand who was the Superintendent of Police. After the meeting all roads leading to our village were blocked by throwing trees on the roads. Three levels of defence were formed around our village. At each morcha, 20 young-trained Sikhs were asked to defend. Each Morcha had at least one Sikh who understood Pashtu language (language of Pathaans), so that they may understand what Muslims were saying.

At night about 3-4 thousand armed Muslims came from the side of the small hill. They raised slogans against the Sikhs and in favour of Pakistan. Around 9pm they attacked us. Singhs performed Ardaas and raised “SAT SREE AKAAL” slogans. Singhs gave me (Nirvair Singh) the hukam to fire and I fired 20 rounds. Muslims retreated and took their dead along with them.

After one hour they attacked again and this time they attacked the house of Sardar Dyaal Singh Marwaha. One stone hit Sardar Gurmukh Singh and he was seriously injured. From our side we fired from 3 defence posts (Morchay) and the Muslims again retreated and took their dead along.

They came back and attacked the Haveli (big house) of Sardar Hardit Singh. They tried to set it on fire. Sardar Hardit Singh warned them to stop but they did not. At that point Subedar Gopal Singh fired and they retreated and they again took their dead along.

From there they attacked the house of Bakshi Balwant Singh. They tried to set his house on fire. Bakshi jee along with some young Sikh men (gabhroo) attacked the Muslims with Kirpaans and Spears. The Muslims fled and then did not come back but surrounded the village.

The next day all Sikhs gathered at the Gurdwara Sahib and did Karaah Parshaad for 250 rupees. An ardaas was performed before Satguru to protect the honour (sharam and dharam) of Khalsa. Mr. Bal Mukand along with Sardar Sunder Singh Kandhari went to see the morchay (defence posts). This way the Sikhs repelled their attacks for three days.



ONE ON ONE CHALLENGE BY MUSLIMS

On March 9th, a very prominent and known warrior of Muslims – Sharif came with many armed companions and challenged Subedar Gopal Singh jee, “If you are a Sikh of your Guru, then come down and fight me”. Subedar Gopal Singh jee did not stop or hesitate and immediately went out in the open and accepted his challenge. Many Sikhs stopped him but he stayed adamant saying that a “Sikh of Guru” had been challenged.

The fight started but soon Sharif and his group fled. Many died and Sharif himself was seriously injured. Now the Muslims went far from the village and waited for more supply. They went to other towns like Pir Diwan Shah and Subedar Lal Khan etc to recruit more Muslims to fight us.


BRAHMINS LEAVE VAHAALI

By March 13, all villages of Hindus and Sikhs had been destroyed but the Sikhs of Vahaali had not been even been scratched by the Muslims. On March 12, Subedar Lal Khan the head of the Muslims started talks with Mr. Bal Mukand the Police Superintendent. He took all Brahmins along with him and had talks with Subedar Lal Khan. On their way there, an angry Brahmin Dhan Raj, fired on the Muslim crowd who had said some derogatory things to the Hindus. The Muslims got hold of Dhan Raj alive and cut him into small pieces right there. They did not say anything to other Brahmins. That night Bal Mukand and other Brahmins left for safe places.


TALKS BETWEEN SIKHS AND MUSLIMS

That night at 8pm the Muslim negotiators Subedar Lal Khan, Subedar Allahdaad Khan, Ghulam Khan etc. came to the Sikhs of Vahaali for talks. They arrived at Sardar Hardit Singh jee house and they all were served tea. Muslims leaders brought Koran Sharifs (Muslim holy books) along and swore on it that they would not harm any Sikh and would let them leave in peace just as the Brahmins were allowed to leave.

The innocent and simple minded sangat believed what the Muslims leaders were saying but Sardar Nanak Singh and Sardar Gopal Singh vehemently opposed saying, “Don’t believe their pledges and swearing even if they do so thousand times”. Majority of sangat believed what Muslims were telling them. The Muslims laid down following conditions for peace:

1) The Sikhs who had killed Muslims in fight are to be handed over to the Muslims.
2) They asked for 12,000 rupees.
3) They asked for all weapons including guns.

The first condition was hard to accept because the Sikhs who killed attacking Muslims were daas (Nirvair Singh) and Subedar Gopal Singh and they were the most prominent Sikhs. The Sangat after much deliberation agreed to hand us over to them. We too agreed and bowed our heads to the decision of sangat. We thought that if by sacrificing our life, the lives of sangat can be saved, then it is not a bad decision.

We handed over our guns to sangat. Otherwise too we were going to run out of bullets very shortly. The money was handed over to the Khans who took the money the same night and left.


BROKEN PROMISES

That night after the Khans left, some more Muslims came around 12am and told us, “We are not going to let you off the hook so easily. Until you read Kalma and become Muslims, we will not let you leave alive. So hurry up and accept Islam, become Muslims. Don’t delay. If you delay, you all will die”.

Sangat heard all this in horror and replied that they will let the Muslims know by 4am next morning.


GREAT TRAGEDY AT THE GURDWARA SAHIB

The next morning all Sikhs gathered at the Gurdwara Sahib and a huge cremation ground was prepared there. About 10,000 kilograms of wood was piled up there and many drums of Deshi Ghee were poured over it. All bibiyaan did ishnaan and wore new clothes. They started doing paath and were now getting ready to jump in burning fire alive.

After ardaas and distributing Karaah Parshaad, Sikh women started jumping in the burning fire. No Sikh bibi was seen crying. Bibiyaan lost the sense of moh up to such extent that bibiyaan did not even bid farewell to their families. No bibi gave pyaar to their children. They had only one aim and that was to protect their bodies from getting raped by the Muslim tyrants. These women knew that they were not fighters and they would get gang raped as Hindu and Sikh women in some villages got raped and were then sent to brothels. These women had no choice but to die. (They must have wished that they knew how to fight).

Sardar Harbans Singh Gandhi and Sardar Labh Singh themselves killed their women and children to save them rape and torture in the hands of Muslims. Whichever bibi asked to be killed was killed at their behest.

In the meantime Sardar Chand Suniyaara brought 12 bombs that he had himself made at home. When the attacker came to attack the Gurdwara Sahib, these bombs were thrown at them. Many Muslims were killed as a result of this bombing.


HAND TO HAND COMBAT

The young Sikhs men and women, who were skilled in martial arts, attacked the Muslims with swords, spears and other weapons. The attackers were many whereas the Sikhs were only few. In this hand to hand combat the Sikhs got martyred, killing countless Muslims. Sikhs were fighting for their honour whereas the Muslims were looters. The Muslims were not able to fight with the vigour that Sikhs had.


GREAT SHAHEEDI OF SARDAR DHERA SINGH

Weapons of some singhs broke while they were fighting and they were captured alive. Muslims killed these Singhs after many tortures.

Sardar Dhera Singh was captured alive and he was asked to utter the Kalma and become Muslim.

They said, “Utter Kalma just once and we will spare you”.

Sardar Dhera Singh in response cried out, “SATNAAM SREE VAHEGURU”.

They hit him with an axe and severely injured him and then again asked him to say Kalma.

Sardar Dhera Singh at the top of his voice said, “SATNAAM SREE VAHEGURU”.

They kept hitting him with axe but Sardar Dhera Singh did not stop saying “Satnaam Sree Vaheguru”. He got shaheed this way, enduring countless axe attacks.


SHAHEEDI OF SARDAR DIWAN PAL SINGH AND SARDAR BHAGAT SINGH

Sardar Diwan Pal Singh was captured alive. They asked him to say Kalma. He in turn said “SATNAAM SREE VAHEGURU”. They took out his eye using a spear and poured salt in his eye. He still continued saying Vaheguru Vaheguru but did not yield to their demand of becoming a Muslim. He got shaheed enduring countless tortures.

Sardar Bhagat Singh was fighting with great valour and was causing great damage to them. His body was repeatedly hit with spears and swords but he just would not fall. He kept fighting. In the end, the angry attackers shot him to death.

Teacher, Bibi Raj Kaur got shaheed fighting with great valour and so did Bibi Hira Deyee jee.

Bapoo Trilok Singh was killed very mercilessly.

Bakshi Balwant Singh who was a very devout Sikh, was killed by sangmaar. Sang maar is killing a person hitting with stones. He just stood there and kept doing Vaheguru Vaheguru. Not once did he cry or even moan at the severe pain he was feeling. He got stoned to death but did not give up his faith.


GREAT SHAHEEDI OF SARDAR JEET SINGH JEE

Sardar Jeet Singh jee used to say out very loud jaikaara at the Gurdwara Sahib. The Muslims caught him alive. They asked him to utter the Kalma and become a Muslim. In response to their demand Sardar Jeet Singh jee cried out a very loud jaikaara, “BOLLLLEEEEEEE SOOOOOO NIHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!!! SAAAAAAT SREEEEEEEEEEEEEE AKAAAAAAAAAL!!!!

Every time they asked him to say Kalma, Sardar jee responded with a jaikaara. The agitated attackers got mad and filled his body with spear wounds. Sardar jee kept saying jaikaaras. The furious Muslims cut his tongue and then took out both his eyes but he still stayed defiant. They basically cut him into small pieces. Sardar jee stayed in chardi kala to the end.

Labh Singh who was very old was killed mercilessly.

Sardar Diyaal Singh was cut to pieces by the attackers.

The granthi, Giani Darshan Singh was taken on one side and they did him halaal as they do to the animals.

Sardar Niranjan Singh and this writer (Nirvair Singh) fought them for long time and in the end were surrounded at a place. Sardar Naranjan Singh was killed there and I was severely injured.

SHAHEEDI OF A PREGNANT WOMAN AND AN EIGHT YEAR OLD GIRL

Bibi Partap Kaur who was pregnant at the time of the attack was not allowed by sangat to burn alive in the Gurdwara Sahib. She was caught alive by the Muslims and was asked to accept Islam and become a Muslim. She refused. They tortured her but she did not budge. In the end, her stomach was cut apart and her unborn child was put on a spear and killed. She too was killed soon after.

Eight-year-old Sikh girl, Inder Kaur who was one of the daughters of Sardar Chatrath Singh fought the Muslims with a sword. Then she was captured alive. She was asked to become a Muslim. She refused and was tortured to death. (Her shaheedi brings back to life the shahidi of Sahibzada Zorovar Singh and Sahibzada Fateh Singh). She stayed a Sikh and died a Sikh.

The old bibi Parmeshari was killed mercilessly. Santokh Singh was killed by his own servant Iqbal Khan, who was a Muslim.

Any remaining and surviving old women and children were put in a room and burned alive.

In this massacre total 380 Sikhs got shaheed and one Brahmin Dhan Raj got shaheed.

In the mean time military arrived and we were taken to hospitals and relief camps.

*********End of translation*************

This was a lose translation of this great massacre of Sikhs in 1947. For a long time I wanted to find out about the massacres of Rawalpindi. This is just one example. There are such stories in many villages of Rawalpindi.

Guru Sahib kirpa karan. May he give Khalsa strength to fight such tyrannies.

Daas,
Kulbir Singh

http://www.gurmatbibek.com/contents.php?id=5856

[Mehtab Singh]

http://www.sikhsangat.com/index.php?/topic/72858-bhai-sahib-bhai-randhir-singh-ji-pardhaan-shaheedi-dal-ludhiana-dist-1947/

Bhai Sahib Bhai Randhir Singh Ji - Pardhaan Shaheedi Dal, Ludhiana Dist., 1947

[dashmesh1984]

Wow

[Guest]

This was brutal.

[Singh559]

Sardarji

MY NAME IS SHAIKH Burhanuddin.

When violence and murder became the order of the day in Delhi and the blood of Muslims flowed in the streets, I cursed my fate for having a Sikh for a neighbour. Far from expecting him to come to my rescue in times of trouble, as a good neighbour should, I could not tell when he would thrust his kirpan into my belly. The truth is that till then I used to find the Sikhs somewhat laughable. But I also disliked them and was somewhat scared of them.

My hatred for the Sikhs began on the day when I first set my eyes on one. I could not have been more than six years old when I saw a Sikh sitting out in the sun combing his long hair. Look as I yelled with revulsion, a woman with a long beard!" As I got older this dislike developed into hatred for the entire race.

It was a custom amongst old women of our household to heap all afflictions on our enemies. Thus for example if a child got pneumonia or broke its leg, they would say a long time ago a Sikh, (or an Englishman), got pneumonia: or a long time ago a Sikh, (or an Englishman), broke his leg". When I was older I discovered that this referred to the year 1857 when the Sikh princes helped the feranghee� foreigner�to defeat the Hindus and Muslims in the war of independence. I do not wish to propound a historical thesis but to explain the obsession, the suspicion and hatred which I bore towards the English and the Sikhs. I was more frightened of the English than of the Sikhs.

When I was ten years old, I happened to be travelling from Delhi to Aligarh. I used to travel third class, or at the most in the intermediate class. That day I said to myself, Let me for once travel second class and see what it feels like" I bought my ticket and I found an empty second class Compartment I jumped on the well-sprung seats; I went into the bathroom and leapt up to see my face in the mirror; I switched on all the fans. I played with the light switches. There were only a couple of minutes for the train to leave when four red-faced tommies burst into the compartment, mouthing obscenities: everything was either a bloody or a damn. I had one look at them and my desire to travel second class vanished.

I picked up my suitcase and ran out. I only stopped for breath when I got into a third class compartment crammed With natives, But as luck would have it it was full of Sikhs-their beards hanging down to their navels and dressed in nothing more than their underpants. I could not escape from them. but I kept my distance.

Although I feared the white man more than the Sikhs, I felt that he was more civilized. he wore the same kind of clothes as I. I also wanted to be able to say a damn", 'bloody fool -the way he did. And like him I wanted to belong to be a ruling class. The Englishman ate his food with forks and knives I also wanted to learn to eat with forks and knives so that natives would look upon me as advanced and as civilised as the whiteman.

My Sikh-phobia was of different kind. I had contempt for the Sikh. I was amazed at the stupidity of men who imitated women and grew their hair long. I must confess I did not like my hair cut too short; despite my father's instructions to the contrary, I did not allow the barber to clip off more than a little when I went to him on Fridays. I grew a mop of hair so that when I played hockey or football it would blow about in the breeze like those of English sportsmen. My father often asked me "Why do you let your hair grow like a woman's?" My father had primitive ideas and I took no notice of his views. If he had had his way he would have had all heads razored bald, and stuck artificial beards on people's chins. That reminds me that the second reason for hating the Sikhs was their beards which made them look like savages.

There are beards and beards. There was my father's beard, neatly, trimmed in the French style, or my uncle's which went into a sharp point under his chin. But what could you do with a beard to which no scissors was ever applied and which was allowed to grow like a wild bush fed with a compost of oil, curd and goodness knows what And, after it had grown a few feet, combed like hair on a woman's head: My grandfather also had a very long beard which he combed, but then my grandfather was my grandfather and a Sikh is just a Sikh.

After I had passed my matriculation examination I was sent to the Muslim University at Aligarh. We boys who came from Delhi, or the United Provinces, looked down upon boys from the Punjab; they were crude rustics who did not know how to converse, how to behave at table, or to deport themselves in polite company. All they could do was drink large tumblers of buttermilk. Delicacies such as vermicelli with essence of kewra sprinkled on it, or the aroma of Lipton's tea was alien to them. Their language was unsophisticated to the extreme, whenever they spoke to each other it seemed as if they were quarreling. It was full of Aussi, tussi, saadey, twhaaday",�Heaven forbid" I kept my distance from the Punjabis.

But the warden of our hostel, (God forgive him), gave me a Punjabi as a room mate. When I realised that there was no escape, I decided to make the best of a bad bargain and be civil to the chap. After a few days we became quite friendly. This man was called Ghulam Rasul and he was from Rawalpindi. He was full of amusing anecdotes and was a good companion.

You might well ask how Mr. Ghulam Rasul gate-crashed into a story about the Sikhs. The fact of the matter is that Ghulam Rasul's anecdotes were usually about the Sikhs. It is through these anecdotes that I got to know the racial characteristics, the habits and customs of this strange community. According to Ghulam Rasul the chief characteristics of the Sikhs were the following:

All Sikhs were stupid and idiotic. At noon-time they lost their senses altogether. There were many instances to prove this. For example, one day at 12 o'clock noon, a Sikh was cycling along Hall Bazaar in Amritsar when a constable, also a Sikh, stopped him and demanded, Where is your light?" The cyclist replied nervously, ~Jemadar sahib, I lit it when I left my home; it must have gone out just now". The constable threatened to run him in. A passer-by, yet another Sikh with a long white beard, intervened brothers, there is no point in quarrelling over little things. If the light has gone out it can be lit again".

Ghulam Rasul knew hundreds of anecdotes of this kind. When he told them in his Punjabi accent his audience was left helpless with laughter. One really enjoyed them best in Punjabi because the strange and incomprehensible behaviour of the uncouth Sikh was best told in his rustic lingo.

The Sikhs were not only stupid but incredibly filthy as well- Ghulam Rasul, who had known hundreds of them, told us how they never shaved their heads. And whereas we Muslims washed our hair thoroughly at least every Friday, the Sikhs who made a public exhibition of bathing in their under-pants poured all kinds of filth, like curd into their hair. I rub limejuice and glycerine in my scalp. Although the glycerine is white and thick like curd, it is an altogether different thing�made by a well-known firm of perfumers of Europe. My glycerine came in a lovely bottle whereas the Sikh's curd came from the shop of a dirty sweetmeat seller.

I would not have concerned myself with the manner of living of these people except that they were so haughty and ill-bred as to consider themselves as good warriors as the Muslims- It is known over the world that one Muslim can get the better of ten Hindus or Sikhs. But these Sikhs would not accept the superiority of the Muslim and would strut about like bantam cocks twirling their moustaches and stroking their beards. Ghulam Rasul used to say that one day we Muslims would teach the Sikhs a lesson that they would never forget.

Years went by.

I left college. I ceased to be a student and became a clerk; then a head clerk. I left Aligarh and came to live in New Delhi. I was allotted government quarters. I got married. I had children.

The quarters next to mine were occupied by a Sikh who had been displaced from Rawalpindi. Despite the passage of years, I remembered what Ghulam Rasul had told me. As Ghulam Rasul had prophesied, the Sikhs had been taught a bitter lesson in humility at least, in the district of Rawalpindi. The Muslims had virtually wiped them out. The Sikhs boasted that they were great heroes; they flaunted their long kirpans. But they could not withstand the brave Muslims. The Sikhs' beards were forcibly shaved. They were circumcised. They were converted to Islam. The Hindu press, as was its custom, vilified the Muslims. It reported that the Muslims had murdered Sikh woman and children. This was wholly contrary to Islamic tradition. No Muslim warrior was ever known to raise his hand against a woman or a child. The pictures of the corpses of women and children published in Hindu newspapers were obviously faked I wouldn't have put it beyond the Sikh to murder their own women and children in order to vilify the Muslims.

The Muslims were also accused of abducting Hindu and Sikh women. The truth of the matter is that such was the impact of the heroism of Muslims on the minds of Hindu and Sikh girls that they fell in love with young Muslims and insisted on going with them. These noble-minded young men had no option but to give them shelter and thus bring them to the true path of Islam. The bubble of Sikh bravery was burst. It did not matter how their leaders threatened the Muslims with their kirpans, the sight of the Sikhs who had fled from Rawalpindi filled my heart with pride in the greatness of Islam.

The Sikh who was my neighbor was about sixty years old. His beard had gone completely grew Although he had barely escaped from the jaws of death, he was always laughing, displaying his teeth in the most vulgar fashion. It was evident that he was quite stupid. In the beginning he tried to draw me into his net by professions of friendship. Whenever I passed him he insisted on talking to me. I do not remember what kind of Sikh festival it was, when he sent me some sweet butter. My wife promptly gave it away to the sweepress. I did my best to have as little to do with him as I could. I snubbed him whenever I could. I knew that if I spoke a few words to him, he would be hard to shake off. Civil talk would encourage him to become familiar. It was known to me that Sikhs drew their sustenance from foul language. Why should I soil my lips by associating with such people.

One Sunday afternoon I was telling my wife of some anecdotes about the stupidity of the Sikhs. To prove my point, exactly at 12 o'clock, I sent my servant across to my Sikh neighbor to ask him the time. He sent back the reply, two minutes after 12". I remarked to my wife "You see, they are scared of even mentioning 12 o'clock" we both had a hearty laugh. After this, many a time when I wanted to make an <banned word filter activated> of my Sikh neighbor, I would ask him "Well, Sardarji has it struck twelve?" The shameless creature would grin, baring all his teeth and answer, "Sir, for us it is always striking twelve". He would roar with laughter as if it were a great joke.

I was concerned about the safety of my children. One could never trust a Sikh. And this man had fled from Rawalpindi. He was sure to have a grudge against Muslims and to be on the look-out for an opportunity to avenge himself. I had told my wife never to allow the children to go near the Sikh quarters. But children are children. After a few days I saw my children playing with the Sikh's little girl, Mohini, and his other grand-children. This child, who was barely ten years old, was really as beautiful as her name indicated; she was fair and beautifully formed. These wretches have beautiful women. I recall Ghulam Rasul telling me that if all the Sikh men were to leave their women behind and clear out of the Punjab, there would be no need for Muslims to go to paradise in search of houris.

The truth about the Sikhs was soon evident. After the thrashing in Rawalpindi, they fled like cowards to East Punjab. Here they found the Muslims weak and unprepared So they began to kill them. Hundreds of thousands of Muslims were martyred; the blood of the faithful ran in streams- Thousands of women were stripped naked and made to parade through the streets. When Sikhs, fleeing from Western Punjab, came in large numbers to Delhi it was evident that there would be trouble in the capital. I could not leave for Pakistan immediately. Consequently I sent away my wife and children by air, with my elder brother, and entrusted my own fate to God. I could not sent much luggage by air. I booked an entire railway wagon to take my furniture and belongings. But on the day I was to load the wagon I got information that trains bound for Pakistan were being attacked by Sikh bands. Consequently my luggage stayed in my quarters in Delhi.

On the With of August, India celebrated its independence. What interest could I have in the independence of India! I spent the day Iying in bed reading Dazum and the Pakistan Times. Both the papers had strong word to say about the manner in which India had gained its freedom and proved conclusively how the Hindus and the British had conspired to destroy the Muslims. It was only our leader, the great Mohammed Ali Jinnah, who was able to thwart their evil designs and win Pakistan for the Muslims. The English had knuckled under because of Hindu and Sikh pressure and handed over Amritsar to India Amritsar, as the world knows, is a purely Muslim city. Its famous Golden Mosque or am I mixing it up with the Golden Temple!�yes of course, the Golden Mosque is in Delhi. And in Delhi besides the Golden Mosque there are the Jamma Masjid, the Red Fort, the mausolea of Nizamuddin and Emperor Humayun, the tomb and school of Safdar Jang�just everything worthwhile bears imprints of Islamic rule. Even so this Delhi (which should really be called after its Muslim builder Shahjahan as Shahiahanabad) was to suffer the indignity of having the flag of Hindu imperialism unfurled on its ramparts.

My heart seemed rent asunder. I could have shed tears of blood. My cup of sorrow was full to the brim when I realised that Delhi, which was once the footstool of the Muslim Empire, the centre of Islamic culture and civilisation, had been snatched out of our hands. Instead we were to have the desert wastes of Western Punjab, Sindh and Baluchistan inhabited by an uncouth and uncultured people. We were to go to a land where people do not know how to talk in civilised Urdu; where men wear baggy salwars like their women folk, where they eat thick bread four pounds in weight instead of the delicate wafers we eat at home!

I steeled myself. I would have to make this sacrifice for my great leader, Jinnah, and for my new country, Pakistan. Nevertheless the thought of having to leave Delhi was most depressing.

When I emerged from my room in the evening, my Sikh neighbour bared his fangs and asked "brother, did you not go out to see the celebrations"? I felt like setting fire to his beard.

One morning the news spread of a general massacre in old Delhi. Muslim homes were burnt in Karol Bagh. Muslim shops in Chandini Chowk were looted. This then was a sample of Hindu rule! I said to myself 'New Delhi is really an English city; Lord Mountbatten lives here as well as the commander-in chief At least in New Delhi no hand will be raised against Muslims'. With this self assurance I started towards my office. I had to settle the business of my provident fund; I had delayed going to Pakistan in order to do so. I had only got as far as Gole Market when I ran into a Hindu colleague in the office. He said "What on earth are you up to? Go back at once and do not come out of your house- The rioters are killing Muslims in Connaught circus".

I hurried back home

I had barely got to my quarters when I ran into my Sikh neighbour. He began to reassure me. "Sheikh Sahib, do not wrorry! As long as I am alive no one will raise a hand against you". I said to myself: 'How much fraud is hidden behind this man s bread! He is obviously pleased that the Muslims are being massacred, but expresses sympathy to win my confidence; or is he trying to taunt me?' I was the only Muslim living in the block, perhaps I was the only one on the road.

I did not want these people's kindness or sympathy. I went inside my quarter and said to myself, 'If I have to die, I will kill at least ten or twenty men before they get me'. I went to my room where beneath my bed I kept my double-barrelled gun. I had also collected quite a hoard of cartridges. I searched the house, but could not find the gun.

"What is hazoor looking for?" asked my faithful servant, Mohammed.

What happened to my gun?"

He did not answer. But I could tell from the way he looked that he had either hidden it or stolen it.

"Why don't you answer?" I asked him angrily.

Then he came out with the truth. He had stolen my gun and given it to some of his friends who were collecting arms to defend the Muslims in Daryaganj.

"We have hundreds of guns, several machine guns, ten revolvers and a cannon. We will slaughter these infidels; we will roast them alive."

"No doubt with my gun you will roast the infidels in Daryaganj, but who will defend me here? I am the only Mussulman amongst these savages. If I am murdered, who will answer for it?"

I persuaded him to steal his way to Daryaganj to bring back my gun and couple of hundred cartridges. When he left I was convinced that I would never see him again. I was all alone. On the mantlepiece was a family photograph My wife and children stared silently at me. My eyes filled with the tears at the thought that I would never see them again I was comforted with the thought that they were safe in Pakistan. Why had I been tempted by my paltry provident fund and not gone with them? I heard the crowd yelling

Sat! Sri AkaL.."

Har Har Mahadev".

The yelling came closer and closer. They were rioters She bearers of my death warrant I was like a wounded deer running hither and. thither, with the hunters' hounds in full pursuit. There was no escape. The door was made of very thin wood and glass panes. The rioters would smash their way in.

Sat! Sri Akal..."

Har Har Mahadev..."

They were coming closer and closer- death was coming closer and closer. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. My Sikh neighbour walked in "Sheikhji, come into my quarters at once". Without a second thought I ran into the Sikh's verandah and hid behind the columns. A shot hit the wall above my head. A truck drew up and about a dozen young men climbed down. Their leader had a list in his hand�Quarter No. "Sheikh Burhanuddin". He read my name and ordered his gang to go ahead. They invaded my quarter and under my very eyes proceeded to destroy my home. My furniture, boxes, pictures, books, druggets and carpets, even the dirty linen was carried into the truck. Robbers! Thugs! Cut-throats!

As for the Sikh, who had pretended to sympathize with me, he was no less a robber than they! He was pleading with the rioters "Gentlemen, stop! We have prior claim over our neighbor's property. We must get our share of the loot". We beckoned to his sons and daughters. All of them gathered to pick up whatever they could lay their hands on. One took my trousers; another a suitcase.

They even grabbed the family photograph. They took the loot to their quarters.

You bloody Sikh! If God grants me life I will settle my score with you. At this moment I cannot even protest. The rioters are armed and only a few yards away form me. If they get to know of my presence....

"Please come in".

My eyes fell on the unsheathed kirpan in the hands of the Sikh. He was inviting me to come in. The bearded monster looked more frightful after he had soiled his hands with my property. There was the glittering blade of his kirpan inviting me to my doom. There was no time to argue. the only choice was between the guns of the rioters and the sabre of the Sikh. I decided, rather the kirpan of the old man than ten armed gangsters. I went into the room hesitantly, silently.

"Not here, come in further", I went into the inner room like a goat following a butcher. The glint of the blade of the kirpan was almost blinding.

"there you are, take your things", said the Sikh.

He and his children put all the stuff they had pretended to loot, in front of me. His old woman said "Son, I am sorry we were not able to save more".

I was dumb-founded.

The gangsters had dragged out my steel almirah and were trying to smash it open. "it would be simpler if we could find the keys", said someone.

The keys can only be found in Pakistan. That cowardly son of a filthy Muslim has decamped", replied another.

Little Mohini answered back: "Sheikhji is not a coward. He had not run off to Pakistan".

"Then Where is he blackening his face?"

"why should he be blackening his face? He is in...." Mohini realised her mistake and stopped in her sentence. Blood mounted in her father's face. He locked me in the inside room, gave his kirpan to his son and went out to face the mob.

I do not know what exactly took place outside. I heard the sound of blows; then Mohini crying; then the Sikh yelling full-blooded abuse in Punjabi. And then a shot and the Sikh's cry of pain hai.

I heard a truck engine starting up; and then there was a petrified silence.

When I was taken out of my prison my Sikh neighbour was Iying on a charpoy. Beside him lay a torn and blood- stained shirt. His new shirt also was oozing with blood. His son had gone to telephone for the doctor.

"Sardarji, what have you done?" I do not know how these words came out of my lips. The world of hate in which I had lived all these years, lay in ruins about me.

"Sardarji, why did you do this?" I asked him again.

"Son, I had a debt to pay".

What kind of a debt?"

"In Rawalpindi there was a Muslim like you who sacrificed his life to save mine and the honour of my family".

What was his name, Sardarji?"

"Ghulam Rasul".

Fate had played a cruel trick on me. The clock on the wall started to strike...1...2...3...4...5...The Sikh turned towards the clock and smiled. He reminded me of my grandfather with his twelve-inch beard. How closely the two resembled each other!

...6...7...8...9...We counted in silence.

He smiled again. His white beard and long white hair were like a halo, effulgent with a divine light...10...11...12... The clock stopped striking.

I could almost hear him say "For us Sikhs, it is always 12 o'clock!" But the bearded lips, still smiling, were silent. And I knew he was already in some distant world, where the striking of clocks counted for nothing, where violence and mockery were powerless to hurt him.

http://www.sikh-history.com/literature/stories/sardarji.html

Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru Vaheguru

:respect:

[UKLondonSikh]

Innocent people died and suffered on both sides of the border. This is the other side's story.

“I was born in 1933 in village Sill, Tehsil Kharar, Ambala. Our village had three wards wherein the Muslims Rajputs constituted the majority. Most of the non-Muslims belonged to the lower castes — sweepers, cotton fluffers and barbers.

Whilst it is true Jonny Paji that innocent people of all faiths died in the Genocide of non-Muslims (and it's response) orchestrated and initiated by Jinnah and his Islamic Jihadi cohorts, certain facts have been excluded from the so-called upper caste Muslims narrative.

Namely, that when the McMahon line was announced the Jatt Muslims, Rajput Muslims, Awan caste Muslims, Arain/Saini/Kamboh caste Muslims and Syed Muslims in East Punjab genuinely believed that they could butcher the Sikhs out of East Punjab as well in order to unite it with demarcated Pakistan (since the Muslim population matched our own in East Punjab).

So in areas where Muslim jagirdars ruled the roost they somewhat naively thought that the Sikhs could be ethnically cleansed out of East Punjab since to them the Sikh Panth were mere sweepers etc and hence the Muslim jagirdars instigated killings against Sikhs in East Punjab in the first instance.

In fact the so-called upper caste Muslims would continually taunt the Sikhs that the 1st Sikh Bhai Mardana Ji (was a Kanjar in Muslim eyes), similarly in contrast to Ranghrete Guru Ke Bete and Dhan Dhan Ravidas Ji Maharaj the Muslims often despised Sikhs as being the aulaadh of chure-chamar as they would term Sikhs.

When the so-called upper caste Muslim Zamindars found Sikhs willing to stand up to them in East Punjab, only then did they drop their plans for annexation of East Punjab forcibly into Pakistan in 1947.

[jaheen100]

Atrocities In Patiala were caused by Hindus. They have teased all the nations of Bar e Sagheer.