Manto and the Raj - III

News of the conditions in Amritsar had reached other cities. There was a protest on a big scale in Delhi. There was a strike in Kasur on the 11th of April 1919. Mobs began to be formed, which murdered a few European people, tried to burn the Railway Station and other government buildings; and went on to destroy the wire and telephone system. The army was called in. The colonial administration flogged people and made arrests.

After Amritsar, the greatest hardship came in Lahore. There, too, the Chief Administrator of the Martial Law, General Johnston, had the agitators flogged. In the meanwhile, some 500 students and teachers were arrested in Lahore and they were marched off on foot to be incarcerated at the Shahi Qila as punishment. Political leaders Pandit Rambhaj, Hari Krishan and Duni Chand were expelled from the district.

In Lyallpur (now Faisalabad), a mob of people set fire to the Railway Station, and the godowns of the Cotton Mills. As retribution for this protest, all the students of a school in Lyallpur were taken to stand in the ground outside the office of Major Smith. The hands of most of them were tied behind their back, they were asked to pass in a line with bowed heads in front of the Major and salute the Union Jack. Compliance with this order was ensured.

Meanwhile, in Gujranwala, people witnessed a strange sight in the morning. A headless calf was tied to one side of the Railway Station whilst a dead pig was hanging on the other side. This was a tactic designed to inflame the sentiments of both Hindus and Muslims, and it was the administration’s doing. So the inflamed mob, which included both Hindus and Muslims, set fire to the Railway Station and destroyed the telecommunications system. Here, the British administration sought the services of the air force. The planes of the air force bombed Gujranwala and neighbouring villages. A military unit fired machine guns to disperse those protesting inside and outside the Railway Station.

Manto had not been out to play for the last two to three days. That is why he never found out from other children that the Baisakhi fair was coming

The reaction to circumstances in Amritsar assumed a similar form in other cities of Punjab. Martial Law had been imposed in five districts.

On the 12th of April, the Lieutenant-Governor of Punjab Michael O’Dwyer apprised the British Indian government in Simla via telephone about the conditions in Punjab. The response from Simla was along the following lines:

“Even if the army has to fire bullets to control the situation, restraint should not be practiced. An example should be set as to the consequences for rebellious activities.”

Therefore, as per a government order of the 12th of April, Governor O’Dwyer prohibited all kinds of gatherings and meetings. The authorities had information about a big gathering of Indians in Jallianwala Bagh, Amritsar.

The day was the 13th of April. Given the circumstances in the city, the business of life was suspended. People were all but besieged in their homes.

Young Saadat Hasan Manto’s father was just about to go outside by the big door while giving instructions to the former not to leave the house, when the servant came and informed them that despite the Governor’s clear declaration, a public meeting was to be held in Amritsar near  evening. This was terrifying news, which scared them. The flights of airplanes in the air, the patrols of armed police in the bazaar, the state of sadness on the faces of people, the news of bloody events – all these were premonitions of some horrible calamity. Ghulam Hasan Manto, his father, was thinking about postponing the thought of going outside when the din of airplanes rose, as if several humans were groaning in harmony with the intensity of pain. Hearing the din of the planes, Manto ran out of the room carrying his air gun and began to look towards the sky above. At that moment, an iron determination was evident on his innocent face.

But before his eyes, the plane dropped some things from above which bore a resemblance to pieces of paper. As soon as they dropped, these pieces flew in the air like moths, then came very near and began to drop in streets, houses and rooftops. A few of these papers also dropped on the upper rooftop of Manto’s home.

Manto scampered upstairs and brought back that paper.

“Abba jan...the plane folks have dropped these slips instead of cannons.”

Ghulam Hasan Manto, taking those papers began reading them – they were government advertisements. It was clearly mentioned that the government had not permitted the planned gathering; if they held a meeting of their free will, the people themselves would be responsible for the consequences. Ghulam Hasan’s complexion turned yellow. Now he could clearly visualize the picture of the impending calamity. Manto, looking at his father appearing so surprised and worried after reading the advertisement, asked in fear, “What is written on them?”

“Saadat, go away now…go play with your gun!” the father said.

“But what is written on it Abba jan?”

“It’s written that there will be a show in the evening today”, Ghulam Hasan said to his son in hopes of delaying the matter.

“There will be a show! Then I will go too.”

“What did you say?”

“Can’t I go to this show with you?”

“Fine, I will take you…now go play”, Ghulam Hasan said, afraid to extend the conversation any further.

“Play where? You don’t let me go outside. Mother and Sister do not play with me. My classmate Tufail does not come these days. Who should I play with now? We will definitely go see the show in the evening, right?”

Young Manto went inside without waiting for an answer and wandering around in the rooms, went to the sitting room of his father and began to look at the view outside after opening the window. He saw that the shops in the bazaar were closed, indeed, but people were going to and fro. But he was thinking “Why are these shops closed? Perhaps people have closed their shops in order to see the show, the advertisements for which the plane had dropped! It must be some big show.”

The firing was going on throughout – that fearsome noise that Saadat thought was the noise of firecrackers. Over in Jallianwala Bagh, death was roaring

The very thought made Saadat very restless. He could see people were coming and going. He began to wait with baited breath for the evening.

There was much hustling and bustling outside. It was the festival of Baisakhi that day. Even in those very chaotic days, people were gathering in Amritsar from near and far because every year the mela of Baisakhi was celebrated with fervour and festivity. Manto had not been out to play for the last two to three days. That is why he never found out from other children that the Baisakhi fair was coming. The family members did not mention it either – knowing that he would likely insist on watching it. They felt that the circumstances were not suitable and had their doubts about whether the mela would be held at all.

Historian Arthur Swinson has written, “That day thousands of people were gathered in Jallianwala Bagh. There was a festive scene and people were joyously celebrating the festival. Several were lying on the grass of the Bagh. Many were busy playing cards and there were also a lot of people who were busy in fun and sport alongwith their children and these latter were aged from three to twelve years.” The garden was gradually getting busier. There were police check posts on the city routes. Armed white soldiers were standing at the mouth of the bazaars but people were arriving from everywhere. There were only four narrow gates for entry into the Bagh, which were being guarded lest ‘miscreants’ enter. Roaring shouts could be heard. These groups were stopped by the administration with the help of cudgels. Jostling kept increasing at the entry gates. There were protesting cries. The armed soldiers tried to stop them but the fear and harassment had now disappeared from the people’s faces and instead blood and passion had emerged.

There was a sea of humans inside the Bagh. Dust rose from their feet and hovered over the heads. Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus alike were entering whilst invoking their divine and sacred figures. This crowd was now getting out of the control of the administration. From a raised position, a Hindu leader began addressing the people. People began to chant slogans. Then a Muslim leader addressed the people from that platform. The British officers, having failed in administrative matters, were looking angrily at that black-bearded man who was addressing the people, gesturing and screaming. A gora appeared behind him, wearing a military officer’s uniform. He threw that black-bearded speaker down by pushing him. Silence dominated for a moment and the extremely angry voice of that gora roared. No one could actually understand what he said but it was evident from his gestures and posture that he was asking the crowd to disperse and leave the Bagh. Suddenly a noise rose against him. His voice was drowned. Some crazy protester took his shoe off and threw in his direction. Then a sudden assault of shoes began from many directions. After the shoes, a barrage of balled-up turbans, shirts and vests ensued. Several people became half-naked, having undressed to fling their clothes at the police authorities.

At that time, there must have been some 20-25,000 people in the Bagh. Around all four directions of the Bagh, there were high-rising houses, and to enter there were four narrow routes.

In the meanwhile, General Reginald Dyer entered the Bagh along with his army. The armoured military cars were left outside since they could not enter through these narrow gates. All the routes to the exit – the gates through which the army entered – were closed. Weapons were being loaded. Swift winds were dissolving into a storm. Red winds brought a message of the impending bloody calamity.

The whole city was wrapped in an unknown fear. Ghulam Hasan Manto and his wife were sitting silent in the courtyard of their house. Their son was gazing at them, sitting with his sister on the charpoy.

There was a whistle-like voice in the swift wind.

Trr, trr, trr, trr…

The colour of Saadat’s father’s face became white like paper upon hearing this noise.

He could only manage to utter “Bullet”. As for Saadat’s mother, the very mention of a bullet had terrorized her. She stood up; so did her daughter. Both went into the room one after the other.

Saadat got up from the charpoy and approaching his father held his finger, saying, “Abba, get up let’s go the show has begun.”

“What show?” Maulvi Ghulam Hasan asked in a stern tone.

“The show which the slips [dropped from aircraft] were advertising in the morning. The mela has begun, you hear the noise of these crackers, right?”

“There’s still a lot of time. No need to hurry,” the father said, concealing his fear. “Now go study inside in the room with your sister.”

Saadat went towards the kitchen with a disappointed face. Not finding his mother there, he went to find his mother and sister in the other room. The firing was going on throughout – that fearsome noise that Saadat thought was the noise of firecrackers. Over in Jallianwala Bagh, death was roaring.

The crowd was now running here and there in a state of panic. No one knew about the other; everyone was running here and there to save their own lives. The running men targeted by bullets somersaulted in the air; as if they were clowns in a circus falling down during a performance. A strange death ruled. People fell, balanced, and then collided with each other but the pursuing bullets run much faster than humans. Heaps of the wounded and the dead lay at several places in the Bagh and when people headed towards the narrow exit gates, they would have to face a hail of bullets there. The poor souls would fall, injured by the bullets. Then they would try to raise their heads but in the meanwhile they would be all but buried under dozens of other wounded ones.

Thousands of people who were unable to leave the Bagh through the exit gates tried to scale the walls. At some places these walls were 7 feet high and at others 10 feet. There were many who were successful in clinging to them and were trying to outdo one another in finding a spot above; trying to climb upwards, stepping on one another. The army’s bullets did not spare them.

There was a well towards the left of the Bagh. People running there fell into it. People coming from the other direction fell on them.

Human screams could be heard from the well.

The writer is a Pakistani social scientist, book critic and an award-winning translator and dramatic reader currently based in Lahore. He is the recipient of a prestigious 2013-2014 Charles Wallace Trust Fellowship in the UK for his translation and interpretive work on Saadat Hasan Manto’s essays. He is currently the President of the Progressive Writers Association in Lahore. He can be reached at: razanaeem@hotmail.com