Jallianwala Bagh, 1919

  Clearly, the odds were heavily stacked against anyone who was being investigated or arrested as he would not be represented by a lawyer. B.G. Horniman, the editor of Bombay Chronicle, who was closely associated with the Satyagraha Movement and had been externed to England because of his writings, lucidly articulated the concerns of the time. (It was Horniman who smuggled out photographs of the massacre and was one of the first to publish reports on Jallianwala Bagh in the Daily Herald in England.7) He wrote, ‘The position of a person attempting to defend himself against vague allegations supported by an untested police dossier before a secret inquiry of this character would be obviously hopeless.’ The act was to be put into operation with the ‘formal declaration of the prevalence of anarchical or revolutionary movements’. The worry, of course, was that any political movement could be considered ‘anarchical and revolutionary’.8

  Despite the fact that not a single Indian on the Imperial Legislative Council voted for the bill on 6 February (barring Sankaran Nair, who was on the Viceroy’s Executive Council), it was passed on 18 March. There were three major resignations from the Council: Pandit Malaviya, Mazurul Haque and Mohammad Ali Jinnah. These were important names, and the movement against the ‘Black Act’ picked up in tempo and awareness.

  Even though some British historians have tried to downplay the resentment towards the Rowlatt Acts as unreasonable, just as the British administration did at the time, Gandhi stepped up the argument in a letter to the press. This was at the start of his Satyagraha Movement. He said, presciently, that the decision to launch the satyagraha was ‘probably the most momentous in the history of India. I give my assurance that it has not been hastily taken. Personally I have passed many a sleepless night over it. I have endeavoured duly to appreciate the government’s position.’ He went on to add that while there might be a slight danger from ‘secret violence’ in a few parts of the country as stated in the bill, he was more concerned about ‘arming the Government with powers, out of all proportion to the situation. . .’

  In his powerful letter, which was to ignite the rebellion against the Act, Gandhi added, ‘. . . I consider the Bills to be an unmistakable symptom of a deep rooted disease in the Governing Body. It needs therefore to be drastically treated. . . If the Covenanters know the use of this remedy, I fear no ill from it. I have no business to doubt their ability. They must ascertain whether the disease is sufficiently great to justify the strong remedy, and whether all milder ones have been tried. They have convinced themselves that the disease is serious enough and that milder measures have utterly failed. The rest lies in the lap of the gods.’9

  The agitation against the Rowlatt Acts united people across India and they began to look to Gandhi for leadership. While nowhere in the country did the Satyagraha Movement, even when it turned violent, provoke the large-scale repercussions it did in Punjab, one must remember that racism was widespread.

  As Helen Fein notes in her book, Imperial Crime and Punishment, Indians could be killed by Europeans with impunity—so long as the murderer was white:

  Lord Curzon was vexed during his viceroyalty (1899-1905) by the failure of juries to punish Europeans who maliciously wounded or killed natives either out of personal pique (sometimes randomly vented) or desire to retaliate for some previous crime of an Indian:

  I grieve to say that, since I came to India, I have not found a single man among ‘the better class’ to whose feelings you think that we might safely appeal, who either shares my views, or could be relied upon to back them, at the cost of clamour or unpopularity. They all admit privately that the occurrence of these incidents is regrettable. . . (but) contend that the blame rests with the Natives (which certainly in my experience, have not found to be the case) and as for the judicial scandals—well they shrug their shoulders and smile.10

  Fein quotes Philp Woodruff who, writing from the ‘perspective of a civil servant’, noted the changes that had begun to take place, and the awkward relationships that resulted. Woodruff attributed the growing racial hostility ‘to the emergence of an educated class of Indians from whom deference would not be automatically expected.’ A young artillery officer put the popular feeling in a nutshell. He said, ‘I know nothing of politics, but I do know that if a nigger cheeks us, we must lick him. . .’11

  Such sentiments were becoming increasingly problematic in India, with educated Indians looking for more powerful positions and even speaking of equality. Lord Minto, for instance, recommended Sir Satyendra Prasanna Sinha (later Lord Sinha) to be elevated to the Viceroy’s Executive Council, somewhat biased by the ‘comparatively’ white colour of his skin:

  Sinha stands high in public estimation as well as in his profession—and he and his family are socially in touch with European society. . . In making a great change like this I think we should consider the line of least resistance as well as the ability of an individual. Moreover—please do not think me terribly narrow! but Sinha is comparatively white, while Mookerjee is as black as my hat! and opposition in the official world would not be regardless of mere shades of colour!12

  Skin colour was essentially what differentiated the ruling class from the masses. While this racism was a difficult reality for Indians to accept in civilian life, it was easier to live with within the armed forces and the police. The uniforms, the regimental banners and badges, and the advantages that came with these were attractive. The narrative was clearly in favour of the British and many Indians were thus seduced. When native soldiers were used to kill fellow Indians, they accepted their orders from the white sahibs unquestioningly, as their first loyalty lay with the sahib, and then the king, from whom flowed all kinds of benefits and titles.

  However, if ever a native civilian appeared to ‘cheek’ an army or police officer, there would be grave consequences for the offender, no matter how minor the ‘insult’. The various officers commanding the disturbed areas in Punjab usually reacted with extreme measures because they were not used to any form of retaliation or disrespect.

  When Montagu tried to point out his concerns, particularly regarding the ‘crawling order’ in Amritsar to Viceroy Chelmsford, he did not get the response he was looking for. Montagu wrote to Chelmsford:

  Dyer’s judgment and temper have in my opinion proved so unreliable that I am of the opinion that he cannot be fit to retain command. I consider in fact it very undesirable that he should continue in the Army of India. Unless the military authority has something to urge on his behalf beyond his previous excellent record of which I am not aware, I think you should relieve him of command and send him to England.13

  Despite being the author of the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms, and driven perhaps by the fact that these actions had taken place on his watch, Chelmsford took a very different stand. He responded:

  I was extremely sorry to get your telegram with regard to Dyer, not that I think it was unnatural in the circumstances. . . I have heard that Dyer administered Martial Law in Amritsar very reasonably and in no sense tyrannously. In these circumstances you will understand why it is that both the Commander–in–Chief and I feel very strongly that an error of judgment, transitory in its consequences, should not bring down upon him a penalty which would be out of all proportion to the offence and which must be balanced against the very notable services which he rendered at an extremely critical time. I should add further that Dyer took part in the recent operations at Thal and again distinguished himself as a military leader of great push and determination.14

  Meanwhile, in Punjab, with this kind of protection, false evidence continued to be concocted against those who were arrested under martial law. Naturally, when anyone could be arrested on trumped-up charges, corruption also became widespread. Authorities dismissed allegations of army brutality, police corruption and false accusations.15

  Ironically, Major S.R. Shirley, the Area Officer and Provost Marshal for Amritsar District, blamed the inhabitants of Amritsar for all the miseries heaped upon them. His disposition was very similar to that of Dyer
, Johnson and Beynon. According to Shirley, if the authorities had behaved badly, the Indians deserved it. ‘After all,’ he explained, many Punjabis proved reluctant to provide information that could help arrest ‘conspirators and rioters’. Therefore, ‘if doubtful methods were used to obtain evidence or if prosecution by the police took place, the inhabitants of Amritsar themselves are more to blame than anyone else.’ With this sort of attitude, it was no surprise that Indians ‘became sullen and resentful as arrests and investigations proceeded’.16

  The British Missionary C.F. Andrews, who had visited Amritsar in early May 1919, noted:

  I have seen with my own eyes just such a sudden rush of panic. I have also seen the police, at every corner, dominating the city. I have seen the long lines of cavalry patrolling the streets. I have understood from the lips of many witnesses, the terror which these forces have inspired.17

  When Kapil Deva Malaviya visited Amritsar on 18 July 1919, he found that there was still ongoing surveillance on anyone arriving in the city; he was trailed by two constables wherever he went. There were armed guards at the station and though martial law had been abolished, ‘for all practical purposes the so called precautionary or punitive measures that are in vogue, serve as an unmistakable reminder of the “reign of terror” that was introduced on the 15th of April last’.18

  Amritsar, Kasur, Gujranwala and Lyallpur were under martial law until 9 June 1919, and Lahore till 11 June. In Gujarat, military rule was abolished after one month and railway lands were released on 25 August 1919. However, the area had become peaceful much before that, or rather had been terrorised into an uneasy calm. This was partly due to the fact that thousands of people had been arrested, many of whom were innocent, while quite a few were trapped through false testimony.

  In the words of Kapil Deva Malaviya:

  The Government professes ignorance of the actual number of persons arrested and detained in custody in connection with the Punjab disturbances. It is generally believed that the total figures must be appalling and 5,000 is not an overestimate.

  The number of persons actually tried by Martial Law Commissions was 852. The number of those tried by the Summary Courts established under Martial Law was 1437. Out of those tried by the Martial Law Commissions 581 were convicted.

  Altogether 18 persons were executed, 26 transported for life and 1,229 confined in jails.19

  The number of Europeans who died was seven in all: five in Amritsar and two in Kasur. The number of Indians who died was over 1,000 and many more simply vanished.

  The war on Punjab had been ‘won’ according to O’Dwyer, but there was no war to begin with. There was only a brutally suppressed satyagraha and a forced attempt to disrupt the political unity between Hindus and Muslims, which ultimately succeeded. People found it impossible to continue the agitation; Gandhi himself conceded he could not continue with it.

  In the week preceding the events in Punjab, the first city to witness anti-Rowlatt Act protests was the capital, Delhi. Gandhi had proposed that Satyagraha Societies or Sabhas be set up in various places so that people could take oaths against the Rowlatt Acts. After that they would go onto the streets, observe a fast, and ensure a peaceful shutdown of all work, as the instrument of hartal was key to the Satyagraha Movement. Once he arrived in Delhi on 7 March, a local branch of the society was organized and several people took the oath.

  Gandhi then decided that a countrywide hartal would be organised in order to impress upon the British the seriousness of their intent. Delhi was already politically sensitised and the previous winter meetings of the All India Congress and the Muslim League had been held there. In February 1919, the meetings of the Legislative Council had led to discussion and unrest as rumours had begun to spread about the Rowlatt Acts. Some information was certainly incorrect, for instance, that police could arrest any ‘three or four men conversing together, that nobody would be allowed to own more than a certain amount of land, and that nobody would be allowed to marry without leave from the Government’.20 It all added to the growing resentment against the Acts.

  Other factors could have also contributed to the rise of discontent in specific places. For instance, in Delhi, it was felt that the Deputy Commissioner was ‘unsympathetic’ towards political activities, that there was a general dislike of the police, and that the prices of commodities continued to be high despite the armistice, following the World War.

  Unlike in the Punjab, however, there are no detailed eyewitness accounts from this difficult period. In any case the disorders were over within a few days. It could be argued that because the authorities did not react with the same severity as in Punjab, the disorders lasted for a shorter period in Delhi and everywhere else in the country.

  The first clash in Delhi between the satyagrahis and the British authorities occurred on 30 March while a hartal was being observed. It was a day of abstinence and ‘general mourning to protest against the Government’s plan in passing Rowlatt Act No 2’.21 It was apparently very successful as both Hindus and Muslims shut their businesses for the day. In the morning, as part of the satyagraha, and in order to bring the city to a halt, people riding in tongas and cars were also asked to alight and walk.

  At the railway station, where the crowd went next, they tried to persuade the vendor at the third-class refreshment room to abstain from work. A scuffle ensued, as the vendor, who was old and deaf, resisted, saying he was under contract with the Railways. Matthews, the Deputy Station Superintendent, had his coat torn off, and the vendor was hurt as well.

  Two men were arrested but later let off, as the crowd continued to protest outside. While they stopped traffic and carried on with the demonstration, Currie, the acting Additional District Magistrate, and Jeffreys, Additional Superintendent of Police, arrived at the station at around 1 p.m. A military force was also summoned. The civil authorities contacted General Drake Brockman, and a picket of thirty men and a Sergeant under Lieutenant Shelford were deployed at the railway station. It is important to note that they were armed with rifles, bayonets and twenty rounds of ammunition each. A train on which some fifteen to twenty British soldiers were travelling was stopped at the station. Around 250 Manipuri soldiers had arrived from Mesopotamia; even though they did not understand either Urdu or English and could not be of much help, they were detained in Delhi to provide reinforcements. Shelford divided his force into two parties after requesting the British soldiers on the train to join them. They were given arms from the ammunition store at the railway station.

  Obviously, the British were preparing for a confrontation.

  The senior officials tried to break up the crowd of satyagrahis, but the numbers were growing. According to the Hunter Committee Report, they kept asking for the release of the arrested men. The British countered by saying that the men had already been released. By about 1.45 p.m., the Senior Superintendent of Police also arrived, with a small force of mounted police.

  Possibly enraged at the increasing number of police and military personnel, and the fact that the arrested men were, allegedly, not released, the crowd—whose leaders and members remained nameless throughout—started throwing stones and bricks at the police and the soldiers. Marshall told Currie to give instructions to open fire and finally the ADM agreed. In the firing, ‘two or three men’ were killed. The crowd continued to retaliate and Barron, the Chief Commissioner, ‘found the place littered with bricks and stones’. Some of the policemen were wounded by ‘missiles’ flung by the protestors. The bodies of the protestors who had been killed were taken to the station. The exact number of the dead remained unknown.

  The crowd then moved on from Queens Gardens to Town Hall and Chandni Chowk. At Town Hall, there was another confrontation, as they pelted the police force of about seventeen constables, headed by Jeffreys, with stones. Jeffreys himself was hit, whereupon he instructed his troops to fire and one more protestor was killed. Had it been a British soldier, we would have known the name and the circumstances of his death, but there was
minimal detail or interest in an Indian.22

  The crowd continued to advance. Fifteen soldiers under Sergeant Kemslety arrived and the troops fired into the air. This did not settle the crowd, but it ‘charged’ the British party, and in the volley of firing from the soldiers, the death toll apparently rose to eight, though the number of wounded would have been much higher. The next day, only around a dozen protestors showed up for treatment at the hospital. As at Jallianwala Bagh and other places in Punjab, hospitals were to be avoided because doctors were being questioned and there was a real fear that the patients—and doctors—could be arrested.

  On 30 March, Munshi Ram, also known as Swami Shraddhanand, President of the Reception Committee of the Indian National Congress (1919), addressed a large crowd at People’s Park in Delhi, but the meeting was dispersed peacefully after Superintendent Orde of the CID persuaded Shraddhanand to call it off. Things began to quieten down after that. Even though large funeral processions were taken out on 31 March, no further clashes took place.

  All was peaceful until Sunday, 6 April, when there was another hartal, part of an all-India shutdown. There was a total strike in Delhi and, importantly, open evidence of Hindu–Muslim unity. ‘A meeting was held at the Fatehpuri mosque where, contrary to Mohammedan custom, Hindus were allowed to speak.’23

  This would have raised concerns among the authorities, who would have been keen to end the hartal and the emerging unity in the communities. Possibly under government pressure, on 7, 8 and 9 April a few shops were reopened. However, with the news spreading that Gandhi would be travelling through Delhi on 9 April, there was growing excitement. The authorities, on their part, feared another gathering. Ultimately, as we know, orders were issued at the behest of O’Dwyer, preventing Gandhi from entering Punjab. The Chief Commissioner of Delhi also received an order to stop Gandhi from entering the capital; he was to be confined to the Bombay Presidency. As news of this and of the trouble in Amritsar and Lahore spread through Delhi, shops remained closed on 10 April.