Jallianwala Bagh, 1919

by Kishwar Desai

  Though the residents of Amritsar were living in their own city, many parts of it had become concentration camps, with constant supervision by armed guards who had been given the right to insult or arrest anyone who did not crawl when told to. It did not matter if the person was blind or handicapped in any way. Kahan Chand had been blind for two decades—he too was made to crawl, was insulted and kicked.17

  Another victim who lived on the same street, described how painful it was as he had to lie on his belly and push forward with his arms like a ‘grasshopper’. He said that many people left the street altogether to avoid the humiliation and agony. ‘If anybody raised his buttock in crawling he was kicked by the goras who patrolled the street. The street was patrolled by about 18 goras who came at 6 in the morning and left it at 8 in the evening for many days.’18 Eyewitnesses recollect the soldiers photographing their humiliation.

  The condition of the women inside the houses in the ‘crawling lane’ was deteriorating day by day. Apart from those who, like the wife of Megha Lal, were unwell and could not leave the house, others lived in constant fear that their husbands or sons or fathers would never come back. They could not leave their homes, and it was presumed that children were also not safe on the street. Many of the women were in purdah, so it would have been difficult for them to go out.

  There were also reports of shocking interference in the lives of these women. One of them had to confront soldiers in her own home, when the men were away. The soldiers hit the servant who answered the door with their rifles and boots. She said, ‘I am a purdah-nashin. I never appear in public, not even before the servants. I was, however, called down from my house. I went with a purdah. I was here peremptorily ordered to take off my purdah. I was frightened and removed the purdah. I was then asked who assaulted Miss Sahib (Sherwood). They threatened me that unless I named the assailant I would be given over to the soldiers. I said I did not know and could not name anyone falsely.’19

  Ganga Devi, who lived close by, said, ‘For four days we remained without food and water. My daughter, aged four, died of fright. Her constant cry was, “Oh mother the soldiers have come to kill pigeons, they will kill me!” This constant fear brought on fever. We left the house, but the fright did not leave her. She died on the eighth day.’20 The soldiers were known to shoot pigeons and roast them on the doorstep of the houses on the street. All the women living on the lane complained about the men exposing and relieving themselves openly. Many wept and said they were also terrorised by the cries of the young Indian boys being flogged.

  The irony, of course, was that while Sherwood had been attacked on that street, it was not by anyone who lived there.Yes, some of them had refused her shelter, uncertain of the repercussions, but again, it was one of the residents of the street who ultimately took her in and smuggled her to a safe place.

  Was any of the humiliation or harassment of Indian women reported? If one were to pay heed to the description by Sarojini Naidu in London on 3 June 1920 at Kingsway Hall, of the atrocities that had been inflicted on the women of Punjab, and in particular Amritsar, the situation may have looked very different to that projected by the assault on Sherwood. She spoke of the ‘blood guiltiness of those who have committed murder in my country. . . of the thrice horrible deed. . . I am going to speak to you all as a woman about the wrong committed against my sisters. Englishmen, you who pride themselves upon your chivalry, you who hold more precious than all your imperial treasures the honour and chastity of your own, will you sit still and leave unavenged the dishonour and the insult and the agony inflicted upon the veiled women of Punjab. One of the speakers has said that Lord Chelmsford refused to draw the veil from the ugly face of realities, but his minion, his martial authorities rent the veil from the faces of the women in Punjab. Not only were the men mowed down as if they were grass that is born to wither, but they tore asunder the cherished purdah, that innermost privacy of the chaste womanhood of India. . .’ For evidence, she pointed to the INC report and said that ‘women whose face had never even been touched by the curious sun, were dragged into the market place where they were stripped naked, they were flogged, they were outraged.’21

  Was there any truth to these statements of the abuse, flogging and outraging of Indian women? Balochan, a resident of Amritsar, had testified that she and her sister were stripped naked by policemen and sticks were pushed into their vaginas. However, the testimony of these witnesses was sought to be discredited by the Viceroy, in a telegram which said these women were ‘all low class prostitutes belonging to wandering tribes. . . settled in Amritsar for prostitution.’ It was also indicated that the men accused of molesting them were Indian. Naidu’s own credibility (as she belonged to the Congress) was in doubt.

  But she was not the only one.

  When Annie Besant, a British woman with nationalist sympathies who became the President of the Indian National Congress in 1917, alleged that British soldiers had defecated in the only well in the Kucha Kaurianwala and left women and children without water, Secretary of State Edwin Montagu was assured by Viceroy Chelmsford that the allegations were ‘entirely false and unfounded’.

  ‘It is impossible to believe,’ Chelmsford wrote, employing language with which we are now familiar ‘that any British soldier purposely defiled wells.’22

  The ‘crawling order’ was in place from 19 to 24 April, during which it created incredible hardship for the people who lived in the ‘crawling lane’. It is unlikely that O’Dwyer, Kitchin and Irving did not know about it. From the records it appears that daily ‘pow wows’, as O’Dwyer called them, were held at Government House, Lahore, where ‘military officers reported on the day’s events and then discussed what could be done.’23 According to Thompson, ‘there was a great deal more done orally than in normal times.’24 Thus there are almost no records of what was approved and what was suggested afresh. Viceroy Chelmsford had begun to have some doubts about what was going on. It was as late as 30 April that he learnt about the ‘crawling order’ and told O’Dwyer, ‘Now I have no wish to make your task harder, but I would ask, does not this particular form of punishment offend against the canons of wise punishment.’ These were mild words and O’Dwyer’s reply was that he had already cancelled the order as soon as he heard of it.

  O’Dwyer was also to shift the blame to the military authorities, saying that while he had approved of the martial law orders in Lahore, he could not take responsibility for those about which he knew nothing.25 For the record, between 15 April and 6 June, 64 martial law orders were passed in Lahore itself, almost one a day, creating untold difficulties for the residents.

  But it was in Amritsar that the situation was becoming catastrophic. The city’s streets were full of blood and garbage, and in places like the ‘crawling lane’, people starved for days.

  Even the short distance of 36 miles between Amritsar and Lahore, which was easily covered, even twice or thrice a day, became an ever widening chasm. This would lead to serious consequences as it was claimed that much of the information about the circumstances on the ground was not communicated to the Viceroy, or to the Secretary of State, through whom it may have reached the Parliament or the Prime Minister. For a long time, the humiliation and unjustifiable barbarity being practiced in Amritsar and elsewhere would not be known outside those areas. But, in retrospect, this appears to be simply a fig leaf. In all likelihood, everyone knew, especially O’Dwyer, but chose to be wilfully ignorant.

  O’Dwyer claimed that when he had checked with Dyer about this ghastly punishment of the ‘crawling order’, the latter had said that he had brought it in to ‘restrain’ his soldiers who were upset at the assault on ‘English ladies’.26

  O’Dwyer then ‘told Dyer that it was an irregular and improper order, and asked him what led him to issue it. As far as I remember, he referred to his position at the time, that he had a certain number of British troops, he had the greatest difficulty in restraining them because they had seen English ladies being savagely assaulted,
they had known their fellow countrymen had been killed and he thought they might break out of control; he therefore ordered this punishment to make an impression on their minds.’27

  This was gross hyperbole, but Dyer must have known that if he spoke of how wretched the British felt over the assault on their tribe, he would have a ready audience. It was incorrect to say that ‘English ladies’ had been savagely assaulted—only one had been. But it was his so-called stoic defence of ‘womanhood’ that ultimately won him a huge audience of lady admirers in the UK.

  While the order at Gali Kaurianwala continued to cause havoc, the police and the army began arresting innocent people, in Amritsar and elsewhere over trivial matters; hundreds were incriminated through false testimony. Most of those arrested were unaware of what they had been arrested for.

  Contrary to appearances, there was a clear agenda behind these arrests. Many of those put behind bars had been identified as having either attended or organised the anti-Rowlatt Act meetings. There were others, arrested sometimes in groups, who were accused of rioting and looting in various places. Some were arrested to provide false testimony against them. Still others were arrested without being either charged or tried. It was a free-for-all. In particular, people were intimidated to ‘frame’ Kitchlew and Satya Pal. The effort to nab people in connection with the riots of 10 April was relentless, although this allegation was, of course, denied by the administration.

  Doctors were more often than not asked to provide lists of the wounded, so they could be questioned or placed under arrest. Dr Kidar Nath Bhandari, a Senior Assistant Surgeon who lived at Hall Gate, testified that ‘On 20th April, at about 4 pm, Sewak Ram, Sub-Inspector of Police came to my house and asked for a list of the wounded I had treated on 10th April.’28

  As Helen Fein says in Imperial Crime and Punishment, while it could not be proved that people were forced to invent testimony, ‘they were likely to be beaten or held for long periods. During the reign of martial law, over 600 persons were detained or arrested without being charged or tried. Of the 573 for whom data is available on length of detention, we find that 91 (or 15.9 per cent) were imprisoned from four weeks to seventy-nine days, 134 (23.4 per cent) were jailed for fourteen to twenty-eight days, 108 (18.8 per cent) were jailed for seven to thirteen days and 240 (41.9 per cent) were jailed for less than one week.’29 But as these arrests were arbitrary, many went unrecorded. They created enormous stress, particularly for women who may have already lost a husband or a son or a father. Neither the arrested persons nor their family members could be sure they would come back soon, or return at all. The jails remained full, often overflowing, leading many of the officers commanding various districts to prefer to flog than to incarcerate those unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.

  Martial law tribunals were set up; there were also summary courts set up under the martial law order of 1919. Eight hundred fifty-two people were tried under the tribunals, out of whom 108 were sentenced to death, 265 sentenced to transportation for life, 104 to imprisonment exceeding three years and 356 to forfeiture of property. Even worse were the summary courts, where around 1,437 people were tried. These were, of course, the official figures, but within days, the law and order machinery had fallen apart as the army took complete charge. Even in September 1919, 1,229 people were still in jail.

  The conditions in jail were terrible. People were often chained up without food or water, with no access to any facilities. They were forced to soil themselves where they were. They underwent other punishments as well as torture. Some of them had sticks pushed up their anus, and others were whipped or tied around trees and, in some cases, hung from them. One person even had his hand put under the leg of a charpoy, while the policemen sat on the charpoy, till he confessed. Their possessions were taken away from them, and some were evicted from their own homes. These assaults followed no rules, and guilt or evidence of alleged guilt seemed to be irrelevant. Anyone could be tortured into admitting the guilt of another.

  That the allegedly fair British system could break down so swiftly, with not a single voice (within the larger administration in Amritsar or Punjab) raised against it, points to the fact that this was part of an ongoing strategy. It was acceptable behaviour because racist atrocities in Punjab had become acceptable under O’Dwyer. Those who helped him maintain law and order and suppress the nascent freedom movement were rewarded generously. Thus encouraged by the British, even the local police and others in positions of some authority became collaborators in suppressing all forms of uprising or protest in Punjab. Fraudulent evidence was a common way to trap someone, especially under martial law.

  All of this may have been common practice all over the country but within a small area like the walled city of Amritsar, the impact would have been enormous. No one was safe from being hauled to the Kotwali.

  One such person was Hans Raj, who had organised the satyagraha meeting at the Jallianwala Bagh on 13 April. He was taken from the Gobindgarh Fort to the Kotwali at Town Hall and kept overnight on 22 and 23 April. His statement was recorded and he turned approver. But interestingly, before he was produced before the Magistrate, Seymour, he was extensively questioned by Lala Jowahar Lal, Inspector of Police, CID, Punjab, who said that he jotted down some notes of his statement and then destroyed them because they were ‘incomplete’. He conveniently forgot what Hans Raj had told him, during cross-examination by the Hunter Committee. Officials cross-examined by the Committee often ‘forgot’, even though testimonies such as that of Hans Raj were used extensively to implicate many in the infamous ‘Amritsar Conspiracy Case’.

  He said during his cross-examination: ‘He (Hans Raj) was brought from the fort at about 11 o’clock and about 3 o’clock he was ready to make a statement. I . . .then applied for a Magistrate. He was then put into the lock up and a Magistrate came and recorded his statement.’30

  Lala Jowahar Lal, along with Sardar Bahadur Sardar Sukha Singh, Deputy Superintendent of Police, CID, Punjab, had been sent specially from Lahore to investigate the situation. Unfortunately, during his cross-examination, he barely appeared to remember anything.

  But it was Hans Raj’s evidence that led to some young boys being whipped in the ‘crawling lane’ for having attacked Marcella Sherwood. It is extremely doubtful that Hans Raj was an eyewitness to the event or knew much about it, for he would have been busy that morning and would have accompanied Kitchlew and Satya Pal to the District Commissioner’s residence, from where they were arrested.

  Ironically, even those who had tried to help the administration calm the crowds on 10 April were forced to give false evidence. One among them was Dr Maqbool Mahmood, a lawyer who was picked up and instructed to say that ‘I could and would identify the murderers of Robinson and Rowland (who had been killed on the 10th). I informed the police that I had already sent a written statement to them and that I had stated that I could not recognise anybody. This statement was then brought to me and I was then asked to tear it off with my own hands and to submit a fresh statement giving the names of those whom they had found out as culprits. I refused to comply with the demand and some threats were flung at me. However, I was subsequently allowed to leave.’31 But the threats continued—including one to cancel his lawyer’s licence.32

  Another person who had helped a European woman escape was Nelly Benjamin. She had successfully hidden Isabel Mary Easdon, the lady doctor at the IC Municipal Female Hospital at Chowk Farid, who had also been targeted by the protestors on 10 April. An agitated group had gone looking for Easdon after she was apparently overheard saying that the Indians who were shot at had got what they deserved. But now Nelly Benjamin was also rounded up. Instead of appreciating her quick action in saving Easdon’s life, Benjamin, too, was threatened with jail when she refused to falsely implicate a witness.

  She said, ‘. . . when the enquiry was going on. I was taken to the Kotwali on two occasions; I was asked to say that I had seen Mohammad Amin in the crowd. As I said that was not the truth. Mr Plo
mer threatened to send me to jail. I told them whatever I knew but I refused to give false evidence. They also tempted me with a reward from the Government, if I supported the story of Mrs Easdon regarding the presence of Mohammad Amin. I refused again.’33

  Mohammad Amin was a pleader. He said he was a personal friend of the Easdons and was being implicated by the police in this case. However, Mrs Easdon said she had seen him at the head of a mob on 10 April, and that his son had come looking for her. She also accused Dr Kidar Nath Bhandari, whose clinic was in front of her hospital, of refusing to help her—even though it was her chaprasi who communicated this to her. She had herself seen that Dr Nath was fairly busy treating the victims of the firing. Later, after Dr Nath’s arrest, the chaprasi was to change his statement.

  According to the INC report, ‘On the 20th of April, he, (Amin) with his son and brother was arrested and taken to the Kotwali.’ He said, ‘I was taken by a constable to the door of the Havalat. A small room as it was, it contained not less than 30 unfortunate men. It was a horrible sight to see them stretching out their arms out of the iron bars and praying for a drink of water. . .’ Amin was made to spend time inside jail and also witnessed fellow prisoners being coerced to implicate others. He found it frightening, for ‘they were kept handcuffed in their cells in pairs and thus led even to the latrines. They begged for the removal of the handcuffs, whilst they were actually in the latrines but it was no use. They were compelled to walk round and round in the hot sun—they were given no food for 36 hours and made to sleep on the bare floor. . .’ Later, they were taken to Lahore to stand trial, 52 men chained together. Amin and his brother were finally released on 27 May, after five weeks of hell—and his son Mohammad Akram was sentenced to death, in connection with the attempt to assault Mrs Easdon. The sentence was subsequently commuted to 5 years of rigorous imprisonment.34