It is particularly interesting to note what happened in Gujranwala, which had been picked as a bombing site just after the massacre at Jallianwala Bagh. Was it to firmly quell any open defiance over the recruitment drive?
Recruitment in Gujranwala had shot up once Colonel O’Brien took charge. From a contribution of 3,888 (or one in every 150 of the male population) it increased, in August 1918, to 11,795. This was hailed as a triumph by O’Dwyer at a durbar at Gujranwala. He said it ‘gives a ratio of one in every 44 of the total male population and one in every 14 of military age. Thus within a year you have raised 8,500 men. This is a triumphant instance of successful organisation, mainly due to the untiring activities of your admirable District War League, under the inspiring and energetic guidance of your Deputy Commissioner, Colonel O’Brien, and his assistants, backed up by the Divisional Recruiting Officer, Major Barnes, and his recruiting staff.’
The INC Report records another instance of forced recruitment. Sardar Khan, from Gujranwala district, described how everyone was summoned to the village daira one morning. A man had gone around the previous night, beating a drum and making the announcement. He also described how, as it was Baisakhi and harvest time, only a small number showed up, worried that they would be recruited. The tahsildar then levied a fine on around 60 people, which amounted to ₹1,600.
However, the matter did not end there. They were asked to come to Gujranwala, which was 18 miles away. ‘When the people went there on the fixed date, they were made to stand in a row and seven young men were picked out. . . The other people were abused and beaten and told to bring more recruits.’15
These coercive methods led to desperate families purchasing recruits, or forcing those from a lower strata to go in place of their own children, as happened in Multan. In Ambala, the Commissioner reported: ‘In order to make up the quota, the people resorted to the not unnatural expedient of subscribing large sums to be given to young men to enlist, 500 or 1000 rupees being the price of a recruit.’16
Not just forcible recruitment, but war loans were levied too, and money was collected for the Imperial War Fund. The war loan was particularly attractive to the title hunter, as Sardar Sant Singh Vakil of Lyallpur put it. ‘Title hunters exacted the war loan from the masses in order to win honour for themselves. . . No exception was made. Even an adjudged bankrupt had to pay it.’
Due to this combination of forcible recruitment—war loans and the Imperial War Fund—large parts of rural Punjab were at the mercy of touts and agents. People were also forced to pay into an Aeroplane Fund. Ironically, the aircraft they helped purchase were used to bomb Gujranwala.
Not much of this was known in England and till the incident at Jallianwala Bagh became public knowledge, it is possible that even the Secretary of State was oblivious to the true state of affairs in Punjab. It was only after 9 June 1919, when martial law ended and censorship was lifted, that information began to pour out of Punjab. Prior to that, there was even a ban on lawyers entering Punjab and offering help to the undertrials. Many of these cases therefore received scant attention, and even prominent people like Dr Kitchlew were treated poorly while in jail and during the so-called trial stage.
He was to state in his evidence that he had been kept in solitary confinement, in dreadful conditions, for a month and a half, before he was shifted to a larger jail room in the Central Jail at Lahore. But he had little opportunity to instruct his counsel as the English Superintendent insisted on being present. He said: ‘The trial was a huge farce. The attitude of the presiding Judge was obviously hostile to the accused persons. Prosecution witnesses who deposed in our favour were bullied by the court. Our counsel were often told that they were allowed to appear for the defence only as a matter of courtesy, otherwise they had no right to be there. They were treated not only with scant courtesy but were not even allowed to cross examine prosecution witnesses at length. Even answers given by the prosecution witnesses were not recorded fully. The defence witnesses were maltreated by the Police as well as by the presiding Judge. In short, Mr Broadway behaved not as a judge but as a prosecutor. On the day when the judgement was delivered we were brought from the Jail to the court house, handcuffed two together. After conviction we were taken back to the Jail in the same condition.’17
Gandhi asked for a Royal Commission of Inquiry and the All India Congress Committee meeting at Allahabad had passed a resolution demanding an inquiry on 8 June. Letters and telegrams began to flow to the Government of India and to the Secretary of State, who had already begun the process of setting up an inquiry. On 11 June, Montagu asked the Government of India to ‘submit proposals for its term and composition’. Meanwhile, the poet Rabindranath Tagore shocked the Western world by surrendering his knighthood because of the ‘insults and sufferings endured by our brothers in the Punjab’.18
O’Dwyer had met Montagu in London on 30 June and 24 July, but did not share the details of the massacre at Jallianwala Bagh. He gave the impression that Dyer had fired at the crowd because he was worried about being assaulted. Chelmsford stated that it was an error in judgement on Dyer’s part and that he had the opportunity ‘of discussing the situation in the Punjab with the Bishop of Lahore, who reported. . . Indian villagers saying. . . that it was Dyer’s prompt action which saved the situation from being infinitely worse.’ It is unlikely that anyone would have said this—unless they were fearful of the consequences of disagreeing. There is little doubt that after the events in Punjab—taking into account the ruthless behaviour of O’Dwyer’s men—fear was widespread, especially amongst the more vulnerable sections of society.
This was in sharp contrast to the attitude of the British in India, who regarded Dyer as a hero. European women spoke of facing a fate worse than death had Dyer not taken ‘prompt action’. The story of the narrow escape by Sherwood, and Easdon in Amritsar, received wide circulation. Slowly, some parts of the British and English press in India began to follow that line. The word spread that Dyer had saved the Empire.
However, the Congress had, through Pandit Malaviya, a former member of the Imperial Legislative Council, and others, begun relief work in Punjab; they were also gathering information about all that had happened in the past three months. Sankaran Nair, who had just resigned from the Viceroy’s Executive Council, was sent to England in July, to try to promote the idea of an official inquiry.
The official Committee of Inquiry that was eventually set up was presided over by Lord Hunter, and it recorded evidence at Delhi, Lahore and Bombay. However, in Punjab, there was an impasse because the jailed Punjab leaders were not given permission to appear before the Committee. Also, some of the evidence was recorded in camera, such as much of that of O’Dwyer, due to security reasons. It would be many decades before this was released into the public domain.
The All India Congress Committee, meanwhile, set up their own Sub-Committee under Pandit Malaviya, with Pandit Motilal Nehru and Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi as members.
Acting quickly, the Government of India sought to protect those whose actions would be questioned by the Hunter Committee and an Indemnity Bill came up for discussion on 19 September 1919. Reacting to the discussions, O’Dwyer said, ‘Pandit Malaviya and others, who for months had been carrying on a virulent campaign against the Punjab Government and the officials who had crushed the rebellion, came forward with the wildest allegations against my misdeeds and Dyer’s action at Amritsar.’19 Needless to say, the Indemnity Bill was passed.
Meanwhile, Dyer continued to serve in the army. There was no question of reprisals. Some red flags, however, began to be raised. While speaking about the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, Dyer had begun to change his narrative, saying he had wanted to issue a ‘moral lesson’. His initial report, received on 14 April by General Beynon, revealed no such introspection, only a matter-of-fact documentation of events.
I entered Jallianwala Bagh by a very narrow lane which necessitated my leaving my armoured cars behind.
On entering I saw a dense c
rowd estimated at about 5000, a man on a raised platform addressing the audience and making gesticulations with his hands.
I realised my force was small and to hesitate might induce attack. I immediately opened fire and dispersed the crowd.
I estimate that between 200 and 300 of the crowd were killed. My party fired 1,650 rounds.
This information was passed on to London and, on 18 April 1919, the India Office had issued the following, almost terse, statement: ‘At Amritsar April 13th the mob defied the proclamation forbidding public meetings. Firing ensued and 200 casualties occurred.’ That was all that was known of the Jallianwala Bagh incident for a long time.
Nearly five months after the event, on 25 August 1919, Dyer wrote a detailed report of what happened on 13 April. Martial law had been lifted in Punjab and stories about the massacre were circulating in India and abroad.
Dyer exaggerated every step (those who have read his rather unbelievable autobiographical record in The Raiders of the Sarhad would be familiar with the strategy) to show that he had no choice but to fire.20 He established the ‘fact’ that in Amritsar the crowd defied him and forced his hand. He gave the example of insolence shown by the mobs who, when his columns marched through the city, raised slogans of Hindu–Muslim unity. He pointed out that instead of firing at the crowd he had issued a proclamation banning meetings and warning that they would be fired upon. Yet the crowd had gathered at Jallianwala Bagh.
He added:
The responsibility was very great. If I fired I must fire with good effect, a small amount of firing would be a criminal act of folly. I had the choice of carrying out very distasteful or horrible duty or of neglecting to do my duty, of suppressing disorder or of becoming responsible for all future bloodshed.
We cannot be very brave unless we be possessed of a greater fear. I had considered the matter from every point of view, my duty and my military instincts told me to fire. My conscience was also clear on that point. What faced me was, what on the morrow would be the Danda Fauj.
I fired and continued to fire until the crowd dispersed and I consider this the least amount of firing which would produce the necessary moral and widespread effect it was my duty to produce, if I was to justify my action. If more troops had been at hand the casualties would have been greater in proportion. It was no longer a question of merely dispersing the crowd; but one producing a sufficient moral effect, from a military point of view, not only those who were present but more specifically throughout the Punjab. There could be no question of undue severity.
He claimed, ‘Many inhabitants have thanked me and recognised that I had committed a just and merciful act.’ He said that he had been thanked by thousands and that Honorary Magistrates, leading citizens and Municipal Councillors had expressed their admiration for ‘his firm action and told him he had saved Amritsar and indeed, all of Punjab, from plunder and bloodshed’.
Never one to shy away from self-praise, he added that ‘acts of violence, plunder and bloodshed would immediately have been perpetrated on a much larger scale through India’ had he not fired. In this bombast was true self-belief that by killing and wounding hundreds of people, he had prevented further bloodshed. There was also the confidence that he had sent out a ‘moral’ message.
However, his report (in August 1919) was the first confirmation that he had fired without warning and continued to fire for ten minutes, and it was the first time that the Government of India learnt about the actual circumstances.21
Despite all precautions, when he gave his evidence to the Hunter Committee, the reaction was one of shock. When he was questioned in Lahore on 19 November, 1919, even O’Dwyer found him ‘indefensible’. Overall, the Committee listened to evidence for twenty-nine days in Lahore, three days in Bombay and eight days in Delhi.
Later, some would question why Dyer had not been provided with counsel. He was even warned by Beynon to be careful of the ‘clever’ Indian lawyers on the committee—Pandit Jagat Narayan, Sir Chimanlal Harilal Setalvad, and Sardar Sahibzada Sultan Ahmed Khan.
Sir George Barrow wrote in The Life of General Sir Charles Carmichael Monro, Bart: ‘It would be interesting to know who it was denied Dyer the assistance of counsel. It was certainly not the Government of India, nor the Commander in Chief, not the Hunter Committee. On the contrary, counsel was pressed on Dyer by the government; and his friends, knowing his tendency to excitability, begged him to accept the assistance offered to him. Dyer obstinately refused saying he would and conduct his own case. Neither was he cross examined without warning. He had many days in which to prepare his evidence. . .’22
But his answers pleased no one.
The Pioneer reported that ‘he was jeered by a gallery of students at the back of the improvised court and Lord Hunter signally failed to keep order or protect the witness against overzealous cross examination. . . that was fatal with a man of Dyer’s temperament. He lost his temper.’
The interrogation by one of the ‘clever’ Indian lawyers, Setalvad, didn’t go very well for Dyer.
Q: You took two armoured cars with you?
A: Yes.
Q: Those cars had machine guns?
A: Yes.
. . .
Q: Supposing the passage was sufficient to allow the armoured cars to go in, would you have opened fire with the machine guns?
A: I think probably yes.
Q: In that case the casualties would have been very much higher?
A: Yes.
Q: And you did not open fire with the machine guns simply by the accident of the armoured cars not being able to get in?
A: I have answered you. I have said that if they had been there the probability is that I would have opened fire with them.
Q: With the machine guns straight?
A: With the machine guns.
. . .
Q: Did it occur to you that by adopting this method of ‘frightfulness’—excuse the term—you were really doing a great disservice to the British Raj by driving discontent deep?
A: No, it only struck me that at the time it was my duty to do this and that it was a horrible duty. I did not like the idea of doing it but I also realised that it was the only means of saving life and that any reasonable man with justice in his mind would realise that I had done the right thing: and it was a merciful through horrible act and they ought to be thankful to me for doing it.23
He added that it would be ‘doing a jolly lot of good’ and they (the people of Amritsar) would realise that they were not to be ‘wicked’.
The ‘brave’ Brigadier General went on to admit that he had shot even those who were lying down. ‘I wanted to punish the naughty boy.’ Worse, he even admitted that he would have fired even if he had not made the proclamation in the morning, in which public meetings were banned.24
His arrogance was apparent to a 33-year-old Jawaharlal Nehru, as he was to write in his autobiography:
Towards the end of that year (1919) I travelled from Amritsar to Delhi by the night train. The compartment I entered was almost full and the berths, except the upper one, were occupied by sleeping passengers. I took the vacant upper berth. In the morning I discovered that all my fellow passengers were military officers. They conversed with each other in loud voices which I could not help overhearing. One of them was holding forth in an aggressive and triumphant tone and soon I discovered that he was Dyer, the hero of Jallianwala Bagh and he was describing his Amritsar experiences. He pointed out how he had the whole town at his mercy and he felt like reducing the rebellious city to a heap of ashes, but he took pity on it and refrained. He was evidently coming back from Lahore after giving his evidence before the Hunter Committee of Enquiry. I was greatly shocked to hear his conversation and to observe his callous manner. He descended at Delhi station in pyjamas with bright pink stripes and a dressing gown.25
Following the revelations of the Hunter Committee, Edwin Montagu had to admit in the House of Commons that he had no idea of the ‘details’ of the massacre till he read
about it in the press.
The 200-page Hunter Committee Report that was issued on 26 May 1920 shocked many. The Committee criticised Dyer for giving the crowd insufficient time to disperse; they felt that he should not have continued to fire after the crowd at Jallianwala Bagh began to disperse and that his intent to produce a moral effect on both the crowd and the Punjab was in error and should be condemned. They also upheld that the administration of ‘fancy punishments’ was in error.
The Hunter Committee concluded that while Dyer had wanted to create a ‘wide impression’, he had, by indiscriminately killing innocent people, ‘produced such a deep impression throughout the length and breadth of the country, so prejudicial to the British Government that it would take a good deal and a long time to rub it out.’ His action could only be compared to the acts of frightfulness committed by some of the German military commanders during the war in Belgium and France.
Dyer was shown to be clearly in the wrong. The Committee said he thought ‘he had crushed the rebellion, and Sir Micahel O’ Dwyer was of the same view. There was no rebellion which required to be crushed. We feel that General Dyer by adopting an inhuman and un-British method of dealing with subjects of His Majesty the King Emperor has done great disservice to the interest of British rule in India. This aspect it was not possible for the people of the mentality of General Dyer to realise. . .’26
The battleground to determine what had happened in Punjab now shifted to the British Parliament. In India, finally, some steps were taken to ensure that punitive measures were taken against Dyer. It is important to note that he was the only one singled out, as perhaps his was the greatest folly. None of the others—O’Dwyer, Kitchin, Irving, Johnson, O’Brien, Bosworth Smith and so on—were punished.
Ironically, despite the Hunter Committee Report and widespread recriminations in the press, Dyer was promoted as head of a Division on 30 January 1920. However, the order was withdrawn on 14 February 1920. Ian Colvin, Dyer’s biographer, suspected it was due to a question asked in the Legislative Council by Babu Kamini Kumar Chanda. The question was: ‘Is it a fact that General Dyer received promotion after the firing in Jallianwala Bagh?’ The Commander-in-Chief, General Sir Charles Munro, denied it. It would have quickly become obvious to all from that point onwards that Dyer had become a liability.
Jallianwala Bagh, 1919 Page 23