THIS ABOVE ALL
New historian of Sikhs
Khushwant Singh

Khushwant Singh

When I received an invitation to the launch of The Last Sunset: Rise and Fall of the Lahore Durbar by Amarinder Singh (Roli Books), I wondered who this new historian of the Sikhs was. It could not be the scion of the Patiala ruling family and ex-Chief Minister of Punjab because he usually added the honorific Captain to his name. Besides that, he was so deeply embroiled in Punjab’s messy politics that he could not have had the time to carry out a research and write a 347-page book. My doubts were set at rest the following day when Capt Amarinder Singh, accompanied by a very pretty girl — I presumed his daughter — and publisher Pramod Kapoor dropped in with a copy of the book.

My first question to him was how a descendant of the Patiala ruling family — along with all the other Phulkian states comprising Nabha, Jind and Faridkot as well as Kapurthala — had sided with the British to save itself from being swallowed up by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, who had a voracious appetite for lands he regarded as rightful possessions of the Sikh kingdom. The Captain smiled and said no more than: "You will find the answer in the book."

Maharaja Ranjit Singh formed a united Punjabi fighting force, the most powerful in India, next to that of the British

Then I asked him where did he find the source material and the time to look into it and put on paper. He replied: "I had a couple of years with not too much to do. We have a sizeable library in the palace, and I had access to the archives in Chandigarh."

After they had left, I turned over the pages of the book, chapter by chapter. It was evident he had assistants to help him put the material in order but the writing was entirely his own.

As expected of a military man, he has paid great attention to Ranjit Singh’s army — infantry, cavalry and artillery — comprising Sikhs, Muslims, Dogras and Gurkhas drilled by European officers in his employment. He succeeded in building up a united Punjabi fighting force, the most powerful in India, next to that of the British and their Indian mercenaries.

To the best of my knowledge, no other historian has dealt with this subject in as much detail. There is plenty of valuable information regarding the many battles fought with the British in the two Anglo-Sikh wars with maps explaining the strategies adopted. He has even listed the kinds of trees growing on the battlefield. He is also very particular about lineages. So we have family trees of the Shukerchakias (Ranjit Singh’s ancestors) and descendants.

There are a few notable omissions. The author has overlooked biographies of Ranjit Singh in Punjabi and two recent publications in English — one written by Patwant Singh, which is a Khalsa version of the Sikh durbar, and Navtej Sarna’s authentic biography of Ranjit Singh’s youngest son Dalip Singh, who was taken under guardianship by the British when they annexed the Sikh kingdom in 1849. He converted to Christianity, led a dissolute life of drink and debauchery, and died a miserable death in Paris.

Captain Amarinder Singh has also deigned to refer to any of my work on the subject — neither my two volumes on Sikh religious history, nor my biography of Ranjit Singh. Both are published in America, England and India by top publishers. Nor my version of the Anglo-Sikh wars in English and Punjabi. I am not mentioned in his select bibliography, nor even the index. I had developed an inflated ego in the belief that no work on the Sikhs could ignore me. He has succeeded in deflating it.

I had not heard the name till Jyotsna Varma — who is now posted in Manila with Asian Bank — asked me if I had read anything by him. When I told her I had not heard the name, she said: "You have missed something; he is great reading. I will send you one of his books." That very evening a collection of short stories entitled Blind Willows: Sleeping Warrior (Vintage International) was dropped in my apartment.

There was a time when I tried to read every book of Japanese fiction translated into English. I was on a three-month teaching assignment in Tokyo. I confess I was not unduly impressed by any of the novels or stories I read. They were like the Japanese tea ceremony, in which you have to sit on the floor while a tea master goes through a rigmarole of brewing tea with complicated gestures, and hands you a cup of the tasteless liquid.

Murakami was a revelation. Once started, I could not put him down. The amazing thing about his stories is that they really have no message or point to prove but, nevertheless, I went on from one story to the next. One is about a fellow who makes it a point to visit a zoo whenever there is a storm. So what, I asked myself. Another story was about a couple which decided to see a new-born kangaroo before it grows up and sits in its mother’s pouch. A month later the couple visits the zoo. The baby kangaroo is hopping about with the grown-ups. It obliges the visitors by getting into the mother’s pouch.
So what?

A third story is about a young man and woman of the same age in the same class at school and college. They are deeply in love, and do whatever other lovers do except having sex. The girl insists that she will not only give her virginity to her husband — who must be a few years older than her — but promises to have sex with her boyfriend after she is married.

She gets married and has a couple of children. He also gets married and has a family. After many years he drops in to see his school-college sweetheart. True to her promise, she offers to sleep with him. He tries but fails. On his way back home, he visits a brothel to get rid of his pent-up sexual frustration. In the end it is the reader who is left frustrated.

The stories give graphic descriptions of people and places, about smoking and drinking, and some profound observations on realities of life. Then you are left hanging in the air like a gas balloon tied to a piece of furniture. However, I am determined to read all I can find of Haruki Murakami.

Banta shouted: Tumne mujhey kutta kaha? Banto did not reply. Banta shouted again: Tumney mujhe kutta kaha? Banto kept quiet. Banta shouted for the third time: Tumney mujhe kutta kaha? Banto shouted back: Nahi kaha, par ab to bhokna band karo (I did not say but now stop barking)

(Contributed by JP Singh Kaka, Bhopal)