Jallianwala Bagh, 1919

by Kishwar Desai

  10. INC Report, Volume II (Lahore, 1920), pp. 69–70.

  11. Parliamentary Report, p. 116.

  12. Evidence, Amritsar, p. 218.

  13. Parliamentary Report, pp. 116–17.

  14. Parliamentary Report, pp. 116–17.

  15. V.N. Datta, New Light On the Punjab Disturbances in 1919 (Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1975), p. 377.

  16. Datta, New Light, p. 379.

  17. Datta, New Light, pp. 379–80.

  18. Nigel Collett, The Butcher of Amritsar: Brigadier General Reginald Dyer (Hambledon & London, 2005), p. 265.

  19. Parliamentary Report, pp. 111–14; Datta, New Light, p. 78.

  20. Parliamentary Report, p. 31.

  21. Parliamentary Report, p. 29.

  22. Parliamentary Report, p. 29.

  23. Parliamentary Report, p. 29.

  24. Evidence, Amritsar, p. 203.

  25. Evidence, Amritsar, p. 131.

  26. Details from applications for compensation from persons wounded in the Disturbances of 1919, Punjab Archives.

  4

  The Fancy Punishments

  The Amritsar business cleared the air, and if there was to be a holocaust anywhere, and one regrets that there should be, it was best at Amritsar. . .

  I motored down to Amritsar yesterday and spent some hours there, went through the city with the General Officer Commanding, Commissioner of Division and the troops. All were salaaming most profusely and are thoroughly frightened. . .

  I think our prompt action in dominating Lahore and Amritsar by an overwhelming military force. . . paralysed the movement before it had time to spread.

  —Lieutenant Governor O’Dwyer to Viceroy Chelmsford, 21 April 1919

  The British Army was now in charge of Amritsar and from their behaviour, it seemed they still wanted revenge. Dyer had proven, through the slaughter of innocents, that he could do as he liked, and the authorities would support him. As restrictions were imposed, more and more rights were snatched away on a daily basis. If orders were not obeyed, Dyer would kill the rebels: this, too, had been proven. And, at this peculiar time, he had the authority to do so.

  Kitchin, the Commissioner of Amritsar district, came back to the city on 14 April. He made it clear who was in charge. He did not visit Jallianwala Bagh, or meet any of the bereaved. He attended a joint meeting of officials and civilians at the Kotwali at Town Hall, which was less than a six-minute stroll from Jallianwala Bagh and yet decided not to visit any of the affected areas. There was no empathy or sympathy, or even regret, for the fact that people were still hunting for their loved ones and burning or burying their dead. Instead, he literally handed over all responsibility, saying, ‘The General will give orders today.’1

  Even in the context of the bloodbath which had taken place the previous day, he still spoke as though the defenceless crowd attending the meeting had provoked the army into firing. He provided no help for the dying, the wounded or the families of the bereaved. Instead, he berated the assembled civilians:

  Do you people want peace or war? We are prepared in every way. The Government is all powerful. Sarkar has conquered Germany and is capable of doing everything. The General will give orders today. The city is in his possession. I can do nothing. You will have to obey orders.2

  After this pronouncement in which he gave up all responsibility, Kitchin left.

  The civil and military authorities had been working in tandem till then. Military assistance was being provided to civil authorities and martial law (though already proclaimed by Dyer) had not yet been formally declared. However, civilian rules and regulations were rapidly being disregarded. The British administration wanted control at any cost.

  According to the Hunter Committee Report to the Parliament, on 12 April, the British position ‘was hardening into de facto martial law. . . The Commissioner had left on the night of 11th and General Dyer arrived somewhat later on that night. On the 13th formal martial law was expected, and the telegram sanctioning it was despatched at midnight. The trouble had been spreading and Amritsar was known not to be the only area involved. The proclamation of the 13th imposed permit for travel and a curfew at 8 pm; it prohibited gatherings or processions.’3

  The odds were being stacked against the people of Amritsar. They had been grievously wounded and killed. Yet, they had not retaliated in any way. Martial law would now be formally announced, making them more vulnerable to the whims of Dyer and his men.

  On the evening of 14 April, the attempt to terrorise the residents of Amritsar continued with the arrival of Dyer at the Kotwali. He made his anger evident—speaking in Urdu all through. It was a technique he had used often and successfully when stationed at the North West Frontier: browbeating the enemy. He made it clear that despite his murderous assault on 13 April, the people of Amritsar were the guilty party and if they attempted any retaliation, there would be more deaths. He too did not go to Jallianwala Bagh, nor did he offer any help. Like Kitchin, his voice and demeanour were meant to humiliate and frighten the civilians. He also wanted them to betray those who had murdered the five Europeans or participated in the destruction of the buildings on 10 April. He said he would ‘shoot the badmashes’. He wasted no words on the hundreds of innocent people he had killed the previous day.

  ‘You people know well that I am a sepoy and soldier. Do you want war or peace? If you wish for war the Government is prepared for it, and if you want peace, then obey my orders and open up all your shops; else, I will shoot. For me the battlefield of France or Amritsar is the same. I am a military man and I will go straight.’4 He wanted the shops, which had been closed because of the anti-Rowlatt Act hartal, to be opened—or they would be opened forcefully, with rifles.

  ‘You people talk against the Government, and persons educated in Germany and Bengal talk sedition. Obey orders, I do not wish to have anything else. I have served in the Military for over 30 years. I understand the Indian Sepoy and the Sikh people very well. You will have to observe peace. . . you must warn me of the badmashes. I will shoot them.’ The reference was to Kitchlew, who had studied in Germany. This was now being used to portray him as anti-British. The frequent references to the World War by the British speakers also made it apparent that they considered the anti-Rowlatt Act demonstrations as a declaration of war against the state. The presence of the army in large numbers and the imposition of martial law was thus being justified.

  Irving spoke next and reiterated the sentiments of the General: ‘You have committed a bad act in killing the English. . . revenge will be taken upon you and your children.’

  Nothing could be clearer.

  Under daily curfew, with ordinary life completely disrupted, with even electricity and water supply cut off, and constant harassment, Amritsar became a dark place. The shops were forcibly opened, and a set of punishments was imposed, some by Dyer and others by his cohorts, with the intention of debasing the population.

  That this could backfire spectacularly never occurred to the soldiers who were imposing their will on a defenceless and largely innocent population: many of whom had no knowledge of exactly what had happened, and how the five Europeans had been killed. It must be remembered that by now, most of those who had attended the meeting were either dead or wounded. Those who were being savaged were in all likelihood those who had chosen a peaceful existence rather than resistance. But Dyer had tasted blood and realised that the more he humiliated the Indians, the more his stock rose with the British—he was not going to stop. And there was no one to stop him. Thirty-six miles away in Lahore, similar punishments were being meted out randomly.

  The number of British Indian subjects who were stripped, jailed, whipped, made to crawl, salaam, starved, etc. grew disproportionately larger. For six weeks or more, as long as martial law was imposed, the people of Punjab became slaves who had to accept every whim of their masters.

  After martial law was imposed, among the incredibly humiliating orders were the following:

  Th
e Crawling Order (Amritsar)

  The Salaaming Order (Amritsar, Gujranwala)

  The Saluting Order (Wazirabad)

  The Descending Order (Lahore)

  All males made to sweep and do sanitary work (Malawakal, Sheikhupura)

  Lawyers made menials (Constable order in Amritsar)

  Indemnities exacted for damages and taxes levied for support of troops (Akalgarh, Gujranwala, Hafizabad, Manianwala, Sheikhupura)

  Vehicles commandeered (Lahore)

  Crops or shop inventories confiscated (Nawan Pind, Sheikupura, Wazirabad)5

  The list went on and on.

  Then there were also individual punishment orders which included flogging, forcing prisoners to rub their noses in dirt, forced marches, abuse, bombing threats. The ‘rituals of abasement’, as Helen Fein called them, were again long and varied—depending on the diabolical imagination of the man in charge. People were placed in cages (as in Kasur), or even evicted overnight from their homes for no reason. The martial law orders were meant to reinforce the low status of the natives.6

  Many of the orders were petty and mean—such as those that forced men of higher status to clean drains. Others were meant to directly quell the ongoing hartal.

  A notice under Martial Law Rule No. 2, issued by F.W. Berberry, the Officer Commanding in Gujranwala, stated that those shopkeepers who refused to sell articles at a reasonable price or shut their shops when someone from the army or police required something, ‘would be arrested and liable to be punished by flogging’.7

  Gujranwala had seen quite a few outbreaks of violence, and so the orders here were quite similar to those passed in Lahore and Amritsar. For instance, Martial Law No. 7, the Saluting Order, passed by L.W.Y. Campbell, also Officer Commanding, Gujranwala states:

  We have come to know that Gujranwala District inhabitants do not usually show respect to the gazetted commissioners, European Civil and Military officers of His Imperial Majesty, through which the prestige and honour of the Government is not maintained. Therefore, we order that the inhabitants of Gujranwala district should show proper respect to these respectable officers whenever they have occasion to meet them, in the same way as big and rich people in India are respected.

  Whenever any one is on horseback or is driving any kind of wheeled conveyance, he must get down. One who has opened or got an umbrella in his hand should close or lower it down and all these people should salute with their right hand respectfully.8

  Naturally, saluting was not enough, and there were ways in which a proper salute had to be given. Instances abound of people being taken into custody in order to be ‘taught’ how to salute properly.

  Honorary Magistrate Mian Feroze Din said: ‘People used to be whipped for not standing up while salaaming the General and Mr Plomer. Those who did not salaam were at times arrested. I saw a few cases of such whipping and of such arrests myself. The people were so terrified that many had to keep standing practically the whole day to prevent any mistake on their part and to avoid any such punishment. I say “practically” because they had to stand up every time they heard the sound of a motor car. I myself did so.’9

  There was also an order that made it a crime for more than two Indians to walk abreast. ‘Whereas it is expedient to prevent violence or intimidation, if more than two natives come and do not give way to a European, that is likely to lead to a breach of peace,’ is how Lieutenant Colonel Johnson, who invented this particular order, explained it.

  First Amritsar and now Punjab was converted overnight into a jail in which the army was free to act in the most sadistic way possible—all they needed to do was to promulgate an order. This led to the most infamous rule of the lot—the ‘crawling order’.

  The ‘crawling order’ was created by Dyer himself and it was applied to the lane where Marcella Sherwood (also referred to as Marcia Sherwood in some accounts), a missionary, had been attacked at the beginning of the troubles in Punjab. The assault on Sherwood took place on 10 April. Around 1 p.m., Sherwood, who was the Superintendent of the Amritsar Mission School, had been cycling through the city, when she was caught up in the violence which had been unleashed, following the shooting of the protestors on the railway bridge. She was able to wheel her bicycle around and temporarily escape from a group of protestors, when she found herself lost in the narrow streets. Unfortunately she encountered a group of around eight men who mercilessly attacked her, hitting her with lathis. She was pushed to the ground, and there were cries to kill her as she was English. She tried to get back onto her feet a few times, but she was hit on the head and left on the road, presumed dead. She tried to seek help at some houses on the street, but the doors remained closed to her. Finally, she was taken in and helped by the parents of a student in her school, who also managed to take her to safety.10

  Sherwood was taken to Fort Gobindgarh where Dyer visited her with his wife, following the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. She lay wrapped in bandages, still recovering from the trauma. The sight of her made Dyer decide to impose a ‘frightful’ punishment. Unfortunately, he chose to apply the punishment to all those who passed through Gali Kaurianwala (Kucha Kuricchan, also spelt as Kutcha Kurichan). The street where the incident had taken place was around 150 yards long. Anyone who passed through it was forced to crawl; Dyer said that the site of the assault was to be seen as ‘holy ground’.

  He explained: ‘I felt women have been beaten. We look at women as sacred. I searched my brain for a suitable punishment for these awful cases. I did not know how to meet it. There was a little bit of accident in that. Now when I visited the pickets, I went down and ordered a triangle to be erected. I felt the street ought to be looked upon as sacred; therefore, I posted pickets at both ends and told them: “No Indians are to be allowed to pass along here.” I then also said “If they have to pass they must go on all fours.” It never entered my brain that any sensible man, any sane man, would under the circumstances voluntarily go through that street.’

  Perhaps it did not occur to him that people actually lived on that street and that families needed to go out for work, for food, for other requirements. Surely, if Dyer himself were sane, he would have known that?

  The pickets were placed on either side of the street from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. Dyer apparently thought that if the people on the street needed anything, ‘they could leave at all other times’ that is, between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. He said, ‘It could not be helped if they had to suffer a slight amount of inconvenience.’ In another part of his testimony, he said that they could have used the rooftops of their homes to exit the street.

  Ultimately, more than fifty people were subjected to this barbaric and completely arbitrary crawling order; most of them were respected and respectable men who lived on the street with their families and had no choice. The women of Gali Kaurianwala became prisoners overnight as they could not step out in the presence of the jeering soldiers posted on the street, who, according to eyewitness reports, were all British.

  In retrospect, it seems that the Brigadier General could have been a psychopath because he also decided that he wanted to flog a number of young men in the same lane where Sherwood had been assaulted. It did not occur to him that it made little sense to flog those who had not beaten the unfortunate woman on 10 April. Even when he was told that Gali Kaurianwala was not frequented by those who had beaten Sherwood, he replied: ‘I had erected a platform there in the middle of the street and thought when I got these men who had beaten her I would lash them down, I meant to lash them.’11

  Eventually those unconnected with the incident were tied to the flogging post and whipped.

  For instance, in one case, six boys were tied to the flogging post in the lane one by one and given thirty lashes regardless of the fact that they were not involved in the incident. One of them, Sundar Singh, ‘became senseless, after the fourth stripe, but after some water was poured into his mouth by a soldier, he regained consciousness. Flogging was then resumed. He lost his consciousness for the second time, but th
e flogging never ceased till he was given 30 stripes. He was taken off the flogging post bleeding and quite unconscious.’ After the whipping the boys were handcuffed and dragged to the fort as they could not walk.12

  The crawling order also led to the humiliation of many well-known citizens of the city. Labh Chand, who lived on the street, said: ‘At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, Ishar Das, Panna Lal, Mela Ram and I wanted to go home but were refused permission by the police. We ask permission again, but it was given on condition that we would pass the street by crawling. So all of us had to pass (through) the street by crawling on our bellies. We could not go to our houses by any other road.’13

  Lala Megha Mal, a cloth merchant who lived in an alley off the ‘crawling lane’, had a sick wife who needed treatment, but for seven days no doctor would attend to her as they refused to crawl through the lane. As there was no water in the house, he had to go out late at night and get water for her, even though two contradictory curfew orders were in force. One which permitted him to go out after 10 p.m. to get what he wanted and another which refused him permission, as there was a blanket ban on people going out at night.14

  Dyer was allowed to issue such contradictory and illogical orders because they only impacted the Indian population of Amritsar. The more cruel the lesson, the longer they would remember it. Europeans, of course, were exempt from all punishments.

  There was no interference at all from the civil administration.

  Megha Mal remembered, ‘On the very first day soldiers were posted in Kutcha Kurichan; I was stopped by the soldiers when I was returning home at about 5 pm and I was ordered to creep on my belly. I however ran away and kept away till the soldiers had left at 9 pm.’15

  The discomfort and humiliation aside, denigrating remarks and physical abuse were also meted out by the British soldiers posted there. ‘When I was crawling they kicked me with their boots and also gave me blows with the butt ends of their rifles. That day I did not go back home to take my food,’ said Lala Rallya Ram, opium contractor, who also lived close by. ‘For full eight days, not a single sweeper appeared, so the refuse of the house was never removed, nor were the latrines cleaned. The water carrier, too was throughout absent. . . we could neither get vegetables or other eatables.’16