Today, India stands as a fractured landscape, increasingly claimed by religious bigots. Even the highest offices of our democratic-secular polity, bound by oath to the Constitution, now align openly with Hindu nationalism. The RSS-BJP framework seeks to redefine India not as a diverse democracy, but as a "Fatherland and Holyland" for Hindus alone—specifically those who fit a narrow, Brahmanical definition of identity. In this vision, the inclusive history of our struggle is an obstacle to be erased.
One hundred and seven years ago, the scenario was profoundly different. Faced with the brutality of British imperialism, Indians presented a heroic, united front. This is not mere hearsay; it is documented in the British archives that became the National Archives of Inda. In 1994, for the 75th anniversary of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, a rare exhibition titled 'Archives and Jallianwala Bagh: A Saga of Independence' briefly brought these secrets to light.
The documents were both harrowing and awe-inspiring. They revealed the "civilized" British indulging in unprecedented barbarism, but more importantly, they showcased the collective revolt of Indians across all faiths and castes. Tragically, this treasure of visual and written narratives was returned to the dark rooms of the National Archives, never to be seen again—not even during the centenary. The current managers of our history seem determined to keep the next generation from knowing the true depth of our united resistance.
The Anatomy of Colonial Barbarism
The 1994 exhibition recorded the sheer depravity of British rule in Punjab between 1914 and 1919. Photographs showed Punjabis—especially Sikhs—flogged on wooden frames or forced to crawl on their bellies in public. To crush the Indian spirit, the British forced locals to salute every Englishman, banned bicycles, and forcibly pulled the moustaches and beards of patriots.
The records also told the story of Rattan Devi, who spent the night of April 13-14, 1919, in the blood-soaked Bagh, using a bamboo stick to ward off dogs from her husband’s corpse. There was the story of Abdul Karim and Ramchander, teenage friends from Lahore who traveled together to protest the Rowlatt Act and fell together as martyrs.
Perhaps most startling was the revelation that the British used the Royal Air Force to bombard Punjab. A top-secret document from April 14, 1919, detailed Pilot Captain Carbery dropping bombs and firing machine guns into villages near Gujranwala, clearing the streets with aerial fire.
Global Protest and Internal Silence
The massacre sparked immediate resistance from India’s greatest minds. The exhibition displayed Rabindranath Tagore’s handwritten letter renouncing his Knighthood, stating that "badges of honors make our shame glaring." Equally powerful was the original resignation letter of M.A. Jinnah from the Imperial Legislative Assembly, where he declared that any government passing such laws "forfeits its claim to be called a civilized government."
Resistance literature—poetry, prose, and plays in Hindi, Urdu, Gurmukhi, and Gujarati—flowed despite strict bans. Lyrics of the time celebrated this unity:
"If a memorial is built for the martyrs in Bagh-e-Jallian, lovers of the motherland will go there to shed tears... We may be ruined, but let the nation flourish."
The Betrayal of the Martyrs
While the British-appointed Hunter Commission eventually admitted to 381 deaths (a gross underestimate), independent India has remained strangely indifferent to the families of these martyrs. While political prisoners from the 1970s receive pensions, the descendants of the Jallianwala victims have been largely discarded, left to plead for recognition from the very empire that killed their ancestors.
This indifference extends to the legacy of Udham Singh. Under the alias Mohammad Singh Azad, Singh spent 21 years tracking down Michael O’Dyer, the architect of the massacre. His chosen name—incorporating Muslim, Sikh, and secular identities—was a deliberate statement: India could only be liberated through unity. It is a chilling reflection of our times that if Udham Singh returned today with that same name, he would likely face lynching rather than a hero's welcome.
The Lesson We Refuse to Learn
The martyr list of Jallianwala Bagh is a testament to the multi-religious character of our freedom: 222 Hindus, 96 Sikhs, and 63 Muslims. They were lawyers and intellectuals alongside weavers, iron-smiths, and cobblers. They died for an inclusive India.
It is a profound irony that today’s rulers condemn the Rowlatt Act while presiding over a regime of far more draconian laws like UAPA and AFSPA. By keeping the records of our joint struggle hidden in the shadows of the National Archives, the state protects its sectarian agenda. If we truly wish to honor the 107th anniversary of Jallianwala Bagh, we must demand the release of these narratives. Only by remembering how we stood together can we survive the forces trying to tear us apart.
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