City of peace in shadow of war
By K. S.
Bajwa
AMRITSAR, the city that Guru Ram
Dass founded, is the symbol of peace and our resolve to
defend its sanctity. It proclaims the theme of universal
brotherhood and welcomes all into its warm embrace.
Paradoxically, this city of eternal light and peace,
lives in the shadow of violence and war. The Indo-Pak
border is but a stones throw away. An unending line
of insignificant concrete pillars separates the land and
the people on either side that look no different from
each other. But the division is formidable; as deep as
the roots of distrust we nurture and as wide as the
spillage of streams of blood of innocent soldiers and
civilians on both sides.
Yet, we are constantly
reaching across this barrier of our own making, in old
friendships with living nostalgia and in warmth. A letter
from an old man in Pasrur, not too far away from the
border in Pakistan, anxiously inquired about people and
their progeny who remain fresh in his memory.
A host of sons and their
sons bearing arms and some even cementing the division
with their blood had failed to cast any shadows of
bitterness. The years had not dimmed the sweep of his
friendship. Even those, who have grown up as strangers on
both sides, readily acknowledge the universality of their
roots when they meet individually.
Old soldiers too
remember shared comradeships before they were torn
asunder. After they have stopped shooting at each other
in their faithfulness to their uniforms, these golden men
of honour get together and celebrate anniversaries which
bear a living testimony to their never forgotten
togetherness. This lends substance to hopes of a lasting
peace. The leaders on both sides reiterate their desire
for it, but do they really mean it? They welcome the
buses of peace and then unleash Kargils of death and
destruction. But the city of the Golden Temple that
builds bridges of understanding between man and his God,
lives on in the path of the long shadows.
Amritsar is no stranger
to the tramp of the soldier. Destruction and desecration
might have laid low what men built as the edifice of
faith nurtured by the theme of martyrdom. The
commonwealth drew strength and the Temple rose again in
greater splendour. An ODwyer, drunk and blinded by
imperial power, lacked the deep insight to understand the
dynamics of martyrdom, which was the abiding spirit of
Amritsar.
The bloodshed of
Jallianwala Bagh injected a new purpose into the struggle
for freedom and spelt the doom for the British in India.
And when the time came for them to quit, a Mountbatten
could not remain immune to the need to safeguard this
eternal symbol of peace and tranquility. He too came
under its spell and made sure that Tehsils of
Gurdaspur and Batala with a Muslim majority were given
into the fold of India so that this city of the nectar of
life could not be easily threatened.
The Pakistanis too did
not reckon with the spirits of the countless martyrs that
stand guard on the approaches to this shrine of
inspiration. In 1965, their armoured Juggernaut met its
doom in the sugarcane fields of Asal Utter.
The city and free
Indias soldiers had a fascinating love affair
going, which started with the birth pangs of the two
neighbours in 1947. Overnight, the city had been
catapulted from the heartland of Punjab to an outpost of
a confused giant. It became a clearing house for the
tales of horror that trickled over the newly acquired
identity of the border. The flames of hatred and revenge
that were fed, imprinted memories of terror on those
bound for Amritsar and in the opposite direction to
Lahore. The overworked band of soldiers strove valiantly
to safeguard the fresh division of citizens.
By 1971, an inviolable
emotional sanctity had come to be attached to every inch
of Indian territory. Amritsar had become a priceless
symbol of Indias determination to defend our hard
won freedom. The city and its people too had grown in
their resolve and courage to stand firm. Our defences had
been carried forward right up to the borders and
strengthened with a continuous belt of defence works. In
the bargain, military commanders had been left with
little room for manoeuvre. But on the plus side our
decision-makers had learnt that an effective defence
would invariably involve carrying the fight into the
enemy territory. So we struck into the Shakargarh salient
when Pakistan started the war.
Apart from skirmishes
ahead of our main defences and along some of the
Pakistani enclaves east of the Ravi, Amritsar did not
face any actual ground threat. The air-attacks tested its
resolve. Citizens themselves no less than soldiers in the
frontline, took the air defence gunners, so near at hand
and visible symbol of the soldiers in their hour of need,
to their hearts.
The Guru ki Nagri brigade
which I had taken over in March 72, had very
proudly and valiantly stood guard in a state of
confrontation on the approaches to the city. During this
period, I and my men were enveloped with the warmth of
the people of this great city and loaded with affection.
As opportunity to serve here in uniform had emotional as
well as a spiritual significance for me. From my very
childhood and throughout the years of my growing up, I
had come to this holiest of the shrines of my faith to
renew its message of human universality and draw strength
from its rich spiritual heritage.
At the time of the
annexation of Punjab by the British in 1849, my direct
ancestor, Kumedan Jiwan Singh at the head of his
battalion the "Sherdils", was the military
governor of the Govindgarh Fort. He was treacherously
slain by two drunken British soldiers, when he was trying
to pacify them. The "Sherdils" became the 19th
Punjabis in the British Indian Army and then the 1/14th
Punjab (now 5 Punjab, Pak Army). At the time of
Partition, two companies of this battalion, joined 9
Punjab (Indian Army). Both the Govindgarh Fort and 9
Punjab were a part of my command. A great-great-grand son
had humbly and proudly reaffirmed illustrious military
traditions.
I went back to Amritsar
again in June 1999. The long shadows of war loomed
ominously once again over the horizon. Sri Krishan Khanna
and his charming wife, constant and warm-hearted friends
of the soldiers in Amritsar, were concerned if once again
there would be a war at their doorstep. The leaders on
both sides say that they seek peace and friendship. But
who can say what they really mean? They welcome the bus
of friendship and peace while they had already plotted
the treachery of Kargil. We paid for their perfidy and
our complacency with the blood of countless valiant sons
of this soil. There is anger and we are repelled. But in
the midst of it when we look towards this hallowed symbol
of peace, the message is unmistakable.
Be prepared to guard
your land and its heritage but do not go away from the
search for peace. It is evident that Amritsar is even
more priceless a city of peace but of indomitable
spirit when war clouds gather. The people know it. The
soldiers are aware of it and well prepared. The city may
hear the thunder, but will never feel the tramp of the
alien boot.
This feature was published on
August 15 1999
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