The March massacre in Pothohar
Born and brought up in Nowshera Cantonment in Peshawar, I was 14 at the time of Partition. An important cantonment of British India, it had the Royal Air Force Centre and the Sikh Regimental Centre. The city was home to a small civilian population and was surrounded by Pakhtun villages. We were taught Urdu and Persian in school and my father conversed with his patients in fluent Pashto. Nowshera was famous for the great battle in 1823 that resulted in a decisive victory for Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s army against the Afghans, with the annexation of Peshawar valley beyond Khyber.
Both my parents belonged to Choha Khalsa in Kahuta tehsil of Rawalpindi district in Pothohar, a plateau in north-eastern Pakistan comprising the districts of Rawalpindi, Attock and Jhelum. Sikh villages and towns were scattered in this region. Muslims formed 80 per cent of the population. The Sikhs were well-off, respected and trusted.
In Pothohar, the genocide started in March of 1947, much before the calamitous events of August-September. The pogrom continued non-stop till there were no Sikhs and Hindus left in the area. They were either killed or pushed into temporary refugee camps.
The attack at Thoha Khalsa was particularly heart-wrenching. Two eyewitnesses — Prithpal Singh, who was 11 at the time and now resides in Chandigarh, and Raj Bahadur Singh, based in Kurukshetra and 16 at the time — still vividly recall the horrific events 75 years ago.
On March 6, a murderous mob carrying arms, daggers, spears and guns surrounded the village, shouting slogans and giving an ultimatum to the residents to convert to Islam or surrender. The villagers gathered in Gulab Singh’s haveli. For three days, they put up a heroic resistance. On March 9, Raj Bahadur’s father, Raj Singh, rounded up 26 women of his family (10-40 years of age) and beheaded them. He then confronted the crowd and was brutally killed. A mob of marauders started approaching the surviving women who had gathered around a well. The women — young and old, married and unmarried, with children — decided on the final act. Basant Kaur recited Japji Sahib and jumped into the well. All the 93 women followed and drowned. However, three boys on the top survived. One of them was Prithpal Singh. Nearly 200 Sikh men, too, died in the massacre.
Similar atrocities were witnessed at Choha Khalsa. Not a single person survived. However, Sher Zaman, a teacher in the village school, narrated the happenings. On March 7, thousands of invaders started plundering, burning and looting in the periphery of the village. The villagers gathered in the gurdwara. On March 12 and 13, the mob attacked the shrine. One Dalip Singh picked up his gun and started killing the women in his family. He then attacked the mob, killed a few and himself got killed. At least 150 Sikhs died.
I lost Arjan Singh (my Mamaji), Ghamanda Singh (Tayaji), uncle Atma Singh, my brother’s father-in-law Nand Singh and many others. The official death toll was 2,263, though SGPC reports suggested the number to be three times higher. We at Nowshera came to know of the massacre only after a few days. As part of the division of military assets, the Sikh Regimental Centre was to move out to India. On August 15, it moved from Nowshera in two trains. My father had a good rapport with the officers and they accommodated our family in a compartment. We reached Ambala Cantonment safely.
— The writer served as principal of Government Medical College, Patiala
