Bhulaer village's trauma

MY father Virsa Singh Bajwa, a doctor by profession, often narrated to us an unusual and poignant story of courage, horror, pride and the extreme lengths to which people went in order to preserve their honour. In March 1947, my father was transferred from Rawalpindi to Civil Hospital, Multan, as Chief Surgeon. The same month, communal riots broke out in Rawalpindi. Deeply disturbed by the news, he took leave to visit his native village, Bhulaer, to get a first-hand account of the situation there. The village in Chak Number 119 was situated on the Rakh branch of the canals built by the British near a small town on Sangla Hill. It was on the main railway line between Sheikhpura and Lyallpur (now Faislabad in Pakistan). These villages and canal colonies had been established by the British on religious lines. So, barring a few artisans and farm labourers (mainly Muslims and Christians), all landowners in Bhulaer were Jatt Sikhs belonging to the Bajwa caste.

Its location proved to be its biggest disadvantage as Bhulaer was the only Sikh village on the western side of the Rakh branch canal and was surrounded by Muslim-dominated villages. The rest of the Sikh villages were on the eastern side of the canal. The second disadvantage was its prosperity. The Canal Development Scheme on Chenab river contributed to the region’s wealth. The farmers of Bhulaer were all well-off. They were progressive farmers who focused on educating their children, many of whom later had respectable government jobs. These two factors made the village more susceptible to threats of communal violence.

When the partition of India was imminent, the common perception floated particularly by MA Jinnah was that there would be no exchange of population based on religious grounds. Hindus and Sikhs, on either side, would be free to choose their homeland and they would be treated fairly. Giani Kartar Singh and a few other Akali leaders visited our village and addressed a gathering one month prior to Partition. They reassured the residents that due to the village’s proximity to Nankana Sahib, they would fight for its inclusion in India.

A lack of communication made the situation worse. The only source of information was the common village radio at the gurdwara, blaring out useless, censored news. When the Boundary Commission came out with its final draft, it became clear that Bhulaer and the adjoining villages now belonged to Pakistan. This led to an escalation in violence and growing hostility against the Sikh-Hindu families. The local administration did nothing to help and in fact, openly instigated Muslim looters and marauders. The administrators even went on to block the only bridge on the Rakh branch canal which connected Bhulaer to villages on the eastern side of the canal. This led to a complete entrapment of Bhulaer.

The elders started gathering support. They reached out to the natives of the village who had moved out for jobs and work. My father was one of the few who returned to help his relatives and friends. The situation was made worse by the arrival of Muslim refugees from Amritsar and Gurdaspur, who narrated horrific accounts of communal violence.

A meeting was immediately called at the village gurdwara wherein all young men were told to buy horses and weapons (only a dozen families owned licensed firearms). Even women had instructions to carry a kirpan. The clarion call for battle came on August 25, when a train from Sheikhpura to Sangla Hill was intercepted, attacked and all Sikh and Hindu passengers on board brutally killed. Overnight, Bhulaer turned into a fortress where Sikhs from nearby villages arrived as well, preparing to fight till death.

The gruesome attack on Bhulaer occurred on August 31, 1947. At first, an unorganised band of Muslims attacked the village. They were taken aback by the preparedness of the villagers. Many attackers were killed. One of the most prominent sharpshooters on the Bhulaer side was Arjan Singh, a police constable who fled the barracks with .303 rifles and ammunition. Poems were later written to celebrate his bravery, the most popular being: ‘Mare goli Arjana/Daige dushman darjana/Wah wah tere Arjana’. Saudagar Singh made handmade crude bombs that resulted in a number of casualties. A young man from Khanowal, Sujan Singh, was an expert armourer and cartridge-maker. During the attack, he broke down the village radio batteries to extract lead to make cartridges.

The Muslims who had first attacked the village went knocking on the doors of the local police and judicial servants and cried for reinforcements. The police provided them with ammunition. The villagers were soon outnumbered, and bullets rained down. At this point, the real challenge was to safeguard the women and children. Many kind-hearted Muslim families came forward to provide refuge. The next day, September 1, the police and the army, which until then were stalled at the village threshold, moved in. This worsened the plight of the residents, especially women and young girls, as they were surrounded and had nowhere to run.

Under these circumstances, my father’s first wife, Kartar Kaur, started to compel him to shoot her and their 12-year-old daughter. My father had sustained a bullet injury on the right side of the stomach and did not expect to survive. In that moment, a most drastic decision was taken in order to protect the woman and girl child from being captured, raped and eventually killed or forced into a life of dishonour in captivity. The 15-year-old son, Balbir Singh, whose own hand was bleeding profusely from a bullet injury, watched in horror as the father shot his mother and sister. Close to 200 women of the village met with the same fate. They either committed suicide by jumping into the village well or begged their family members to end their lives. Still, many women were captured alive, killed or held captive and forced to convert to Islam.

My father survived the bullet injury as the Sikh reinforcements from neighbouring villages poured in after the raiders fled. They helped my father and other survivors to cross the canal on to the eastern end to reach village Chatha, Chak Number 45. With them was Harbans Singh Chatha, who had been sent by his family to fight for Bhulaer. The Chatha family were my father’s in-laws. The people who survived started gathering at Nankana Sahib and Sacha Sauda refugee camp site. My father, along with his son, travelled 24 miles with no medical aid. He kept his wound clean with country liquor to reach the Sacha Sauda site. This area was thickly populated by Virk Jatts, who whole-heartedly provided food and shelter to all the refugees. They were then evacuated via army trucks to the Sharifpura refugee camp at Amritsar. On his arrival, my father learnt that Master Tara Singh had made special arrangements for the survivors of Bhulaer at Sikh Missionary College. He was also instrumental in getting land allotted to the refugees in Batala.

My father had not fully recovered from his injury when he started writing ‘Shahid Saka Bhulaer’, a booklet to commemorate the sacrifice of all those who died. He also had a marble plaque installed at Harimandir Sahib. At the age of 42, my father started a new chapter of his life by marrying my mother, Harbans Kaur. He left the government job and started private practice out of his clinic situated opposite Jallianwala Bagh. He started devoting time to rehabilitating people who had migrated from Pakistan, especially with the re-allotment of land. Despite the mayhem, there was an exemplary display of camaraderie between Hindu and Muslim families during this dark hour. In my father’s village, many Muslims not only helped Sikh and Hindu families but also fought alongside them against such unholy acts of savagery. One such valiant and virtuous Muslim was Saidu Bhutta. He visited us in 1955 on a special permit and was met with a hero’s welcome. The physical wounds healed but my father could never recover from the mental and emotional trauma. He never had the heart to set foot in his native village again. He passed away in 1980.

— The writer is based in Amritsar