A travelogue from the heart of darkness of Punjab. A deluded activist recounting the privations suffered that firmed his opinion on the “smug-faced leftists with kindling eye”.

PART I

THE SUN WAS BARELY OVER the yardarm, but my shopkeeper friends from Guru Bazaar had already bantered away for nearly an hour. The billowing clay oven, from the rundown corner shop across the street, spitted out Ambarsari kulche at a frantic pace, as the passers-by stopped for a quick brunch. Vendors and wayfarers from the nearby villages scouted for early trades, while the market was still waking up to the clanking of steel utensils, being rearranged on the pavements of two prominent stores.

My jaunts and jamborees in the city of Tarn Taran generally began by afternoon, but on an unusually crisp morning of December, we had gathered early at the behest of “Pardhaan” Balbir Singh. Though the slight readjustment of schedules had left everyone anxious and even imparted them with a certain sense of purpose, that group of shopkeepers couldn’t let go the customary tea, stretching the chitchat for so long—as if serious trysting would have taken away all the fun.

Pardhaan glanced at the watch and rose to fetch his bicycle.

“Pukhraj ‘Sian’! Ajj tainu kujj kamm de bandeya naal milauna ai, naale o kitaab vi davauni aa!”

(We are meeting some important people today, Pukhraj “Sian”, and I have to get that book for you!)

Careening over the pedals, he addressed me affectionately in a melodic tenor exuding rural rusticity and religiosity. As every muscle on his face contorted to deliver that perfect ‘Duchenne smile’, I couldn’t help but think how Pardhaan ji had always reminded me of the popular folk singer, Pammi Bai. I was quite fond of the old man—a local milk distributor, the elected head of a small city gurdwara and, most importantly, a liberated Sikh who had time-and-again chaperoned me on the social suavities of Punjab’s countryside.

We had just finished listening to one of Pardhaan’s war stories. The orchestrations of that gritty son-of-a-gun had led to the dismissal of a crooked Station House Officer posted in the city, after he tried implicating Pardhaan in a concocted drug bust. That an uneducated milkman had the nerve and the doggedness to take on the most powerful police official of the district—when the appointment of every SHO under the Akali regime was being administered directly by the chief minister’s office, with the reporting structure altered so deviously that they were accountable only to the constituency in-charge and the not the Senior Superintendent—sounded like a feat unimaginable. The climax to the showdown being the coup de grâce delivered at the court premises, as the policeman begged for mercy:

“Hun tun  praa-praa kari jaana, odon taan saare tabbar nu maaran diyan gallan karda si? Mere bazurg pyo nu vi andar karaata? Main vi Jatt aa, meri vi anakh aa!”

(Calling me a brother now? Earlier, you had threatened to wipe out the whole family. You even locked up my ailing father. I am a Jatt too and my pride has been hurt.)

So mortified was the SHO upon realizing the fallout of the case that he opted for premature retirement.

TARN TARAN LAY in the notorious Border Areas. History was witness to the small sparks of unrest lighted there that burnt the whole of Punjab to cinders, from the Khalistani militancy to the recent drug pandemic. The most backward district of the state, as per the updated human development indices, the town reeked of decadence so debilitating, its people afflicted with ignorance so ignominious, that the words “tragedies” and “tombstones” perfectly alliterated its abbreviation, T.T.

Junior policemen paid anything from five to twenty lacs for a transfer to the place, with a guaranteed “break-even” in less than a year, to act as henchmen, extortionists and drug traffickers. Like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, they brazenly marauded the city, its villages and the people—spinning the cogwheel of corruption, succoring the food chain of the pestilential “police-politician nexus”.

The last time I visited the local civil hospital around three years ago to interview the resident doctor heading the drug therapy center—where a pilot project funded by the World Health Organization, first-of-its-kind in India, was experimenting with a better de-addiction technique called the Opioid Substitution Therapy—most of the patients encountered were low-ranking cops. That was how the bottom feeders were being coopted into the trade, succumbing to the proximity from the substance. There was occasional hue-and-cry, as the regional media published unattributed figures, categorizing every third young man and woman from the district as an addict, but nothing ever came out of it.

So, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when a young jeweler from the bazaar—whose sister was marrying the son of a local businessman, close to the two-time Akali MLA, Harmeet Singh Sandhu—retorted defensively, as I taunted him on Sandhu’s fortunes being made in the drug trade:

“Nai, hun o kamm chadd ditte ne onna ne.”

(No, he [Sandhu] has left that business.)

And that was why, in those putrid environs of parochialism, respect for someone like Pardhaan came naturally, as I witnessed the scourge affecting my own family. My grandfather, an unrelenting patriarch, got involved in a messy property dispute last year. Trying to rekindle his libido, also the talk of the town for long, Bhapaji, as everyone called him, accommodated a few female tenants with a questionable past at one of the properties. Pretty soon, they staked claim to the place and slandered Bhapaji with allegations that grossly overestimated his “potential” for the age. Expending all the options, even hired goons, who, as we came to know later, had previous “relations” with the licentious tenants, Bhapaji finally yielded to family pressure and approached the police. That decision, the small-town folks would have valuated instantly, doubled the price of the wager. Right under the nose of the SSP, despite the written orders signed by him—the SHO, the junior officials and the goons openly negotiated the compromise. Being the people from the bazaar, it brought Bhapaji and the family much infamy. And just like that, on one of those evenings, he downed a little too much moonshine than his body could take. I still wasn’t sure what killed him, cirrhosis or corruption.

Figure 1 — From left: Pardhaan Balbir Singh, Captain Pyara Singh and Master Kashmir Singh on a tour of the library.

ON THAT FORTUITOUS DECEMBER MORNING, Pardhaan took me to a place whose every square inch was consigned to posterity. Walking past the narrow lane of the souk leading to Darbar Sahib Tarn Taran—around which the whole town actually sprouted—we reached a wide entrance, marked by a gate, located right in the midst of those shop clusters. Surprised at myself for not noticing the landmark during the gazillion times I must have walked past the avenue since childhood, it was like a wormhole that materialized from another dimension. And time did indeed freeze, as we meandered through the small alleyway, towards the spacious complex inside.

Paved around a big Peepal tree, were a series of rooms, a double-storeyed building and some other quarters appearing to be warehouses. I got introduced to the four gentlemen soaking up the winter sun. The two octogenarians, Captain Pyara Singh and Master Kashmir Singh, were the officiators managing the place, owned by Bhai Mohan Singh Vaid Memorial Charitable Trust. They were entertaining Sub-Divisional Officers from Tarn Taran Improvement Trust (white elephants in Punjab’s political parlance), who came to see the newly renovated library.

Sitting on the cemented platform surrounding that massive tree trunk, I heeded to the chaiwallah’s request and grabbed a cup, though it wasn’t meant for me, as Pardhaan looked away in a desperate bid to control his sugar levels. Trying to bridge the age-gap and iron out the incongruities from the interaction that was about to happen, Pardhaan shared my love for the town and the desire to highlight its social issues. Warming up to a few homilies, the two gracefully aged seniors burst into occasional gales of laughter—not laughter actually, but childlike giggles—as their ruddy cheeks and flowing white beards glistened under the sunlight. While they sprinted towards the complex in-between, to bring down chairs or a pile of books through the stairs, their fine fettle left me amazed.

Capt. Pyara Singh took us on a tour of the library. His gravelly voice, describing the content housed over different shelves, never betrayed for a moment the fact that he had probably read most of it, making the exposition all the more interesting. The Trust had painstakingly acquired the worthy collection of the rarest books on Sikh history, philosophy and literature over the years. We finally reached an almirah solely stuffed with the works of Bhai Mohan Singh Vaid, in whose honor the organization was established.

And that was when I decided to make a delicately plotted interjection.

Figure 2 — Master Kashmir Singh holding the portrait of Bhai Mohan Singh Vaid.

BORN IN 1881 at Tarn Taran, Mohan Singh was perhaps the only Sikh polymath of our times. Hailing from a family of Ayurveda practitioners, he received little formal education, but was a natural autodidact. The reformist wave that swept Sikhism during the early part of the twentieth century left an indelible mark on the youngster, so much so that he completely devoted himself to the upliftment of the masses. Even as a teenager, he founded many social service initiatives, the talk about his activism and brilliance soon reached the ears of Chief Khalsa Diwan, the central body coordinating all the Singh Sabhas. And thus, Mohan Singh was anointed as the foot soldier of Panth, whose phenomenal contributions to the political, social and intellectual landscape of Punjab are still to be accounted for.

From setting up a number of reformist associations, the editorships of popular publications like Khalsa, charting the progressive course of the Sikh ideology under various government committees, retaining the post of Municipal Commissioner of Tarn Taran from 1910 till his death in 1936 to getting incarcerated in jail for two years as a member of Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee, Mohan Singh truly epitomized the entrepreneurial aspirations of Punjabis—his vision emblematic of Qaum idyll.

He wrote more than 200 books on mind-bogglingly diverse topics like politics, economics, sociology, healthcare, philosophy, ethics, theology and mysticism, not to mention fiction and plays. But perhaps the most seminal of his contributions was codifying the modern Punjabi prose by inventing a simple, lightweight version of the language that complied more with the vernacular than its morphological complexity; and by producing the first-ever translation of Granth Sahib in Devanagri, thus engaging the non-Punjabi readership and migrants. So, just like Martin Luther became the progenitor of the modern German nationhood by translating New Testament, the ‘kraftvolles Punjabi’ heralded by Mohan Singh might be the least explored historical precedents that fomented the clamoring for a distinct Sikh identity.

Even till recently, the only childhood anecdote reminiscent of his legacy was how my mother used to forcibly apply the kohl manufactured by Bhai Mohan Singh Vaid & Sons, producing a horrible burning sensation in the eyes. Mohan Singh’s Ayurdvedic practice was sustained by his two sons inculcated with the same missionary zeal, their medicinal cures carried throughout the world by the diaspora. A substantial portion of the proceeds from the business went to charity. Up until a few years ago, his descendants could be seen sitting in the dingy shop near Darbar Sahib—my nose tingled with the aroma of herbs, potions and incense emanating from there—diligently tending to the poor patients treated free of cost. Most members of that illustrious clan had already relocated across India and abroad; the remaining ones also sold their assets, as revenues dwindled, and parted from the city.

(Professor Nirvikar Singh—holding the Sarbjit Singh Aurora Chair of Sikh & Punjabi Studies at University of California, Santa Cruz—happened to be Mohan Singh’s grandson. His papers had provided me with the much needed insight on economic federalism.)

DELIBERATELY INTERRUPTING Capt. Pyara Singh’s tour, I twiddled with the mobile phone to produce a list of people whose forgotten lives should have gotten consecrated at one of the corners of the precinct.

Darbar Sahib Tarn Taran was among the firsts to be “liberated” from the clutches of the corrupt clergy, during the Gurdwara Reform Movement, whose transgressions had violated every statute of the Sikh rehat maryada (the code of conduct). Lala Ruchi Ram Sahni’s eyewitness account, published in 1922, provided the lurid details of their debaucheries. The priests were often found to be drinking in the sanctum sanctorum, eating quail meat while the Granth Sahib lay in front of them. They misbehaved with the women devotees, as one bystander described “how a Hindu girl had been kissed within the Holy of Holies”.

Mohan Singh, Municipal Commissioner at the time, organized a faction of peaceful reformists to negotiate with the clerics. Refusing to budge, the priests assembled an army of goons lodging crude bombs at the unarmed agitators, butchering them with swords during one of the meetings. As Sahni recalled, “It was the first bloodshed in the cause of Gurdwara Reform, and fitly in the temple of Guru Arjan who was the first martyr in the Sikh history”. A provisional committee of fifteen men, valiantly spearheading the struggle, was formed under the auspices of Mohan Singh to take charge of the Gurdwara affairs.

Capt. Pyara Singh got overwhelmed with nostalgia, as I recalled their names:

“Sardar Balwant Singh Subedar of village Kulla?”

“Ah, yes! He… he and Hukam Singh—and Hazara Singh—offered the highest sacrifice. The duo was martyred, but Balwant Singh went to jail as well.”

“Are any relatives of his still living here?”

“Oh no, they have all gone.”

I moved to the next entry:

“Sardar Dharam Singh of Usma?”

“Yes, yes! He passed away many years ago.”

“Sardar Mehtab Singh, Headmaster of Khalsa High School?”

“He’s been long dead, too. I remember him well—yes—very much so. His son is the editor of Nawan Zamana…”

The Sub-Divisional Officers accompanying us gaped in silence, as two disparate men, eons apart, weaved an emotional bond from a thread of shared legacy; relived a tale of selflessness, thought to be buried forever in the interstices of memory and history.

Now that I had established a rapport with the elders, we sat down for another cup of tea that was well-deserved, as I gradually leaned towards the actual agenda.

Pardhaan enquired about the availability of Santan de Kautak, a multi-volume compendium dispassionately describing the feats and foibles of many living Sikh babas. A quick search through the catalogue revealed that it had already been issued. He then subtly shared my experiences of witnessing caste-based discrimination in the gurdwaras around nearby villages.

“Sikhi ‘ch Bahmannvaad aa gaya ai.”

(Brahminism has crept into the Sikh religion.)

Capt. Pyara Singh appeared to have shrunk into himself, as he whispered that line, looking a bit cagey. Even the most liberal-minded of Sikhs lived in abject denial or tried to externalize the source of the disease, knowing very well that their own religion failed to notice, leave alone address, its underlying symptoms.

Pardhaan was not in a mood to bury the hatchet.

 “Ae munde ne pata lagaya ai ki Dhotian de gurdware wich Majbi Singhan naal vitkara kitta jaanda ae.”

(The young lad has found out that a gurdwara of village Dhotian discriminates against the Mazhabi Sikhs.)

“Aaho. Sur Singh ’ch wi… Amrit shakaun vele. Ki naa rakheya ohna ne? Chauthey Paurey Wale?”

(Yes. Even in Sur Singh, while distributing Amrit [during the Khalsa baptism ceremony]. What name have they given to the people? Chauthey Paurey Wale?)

In my wide-ranging discussions with filmmaker Ajay Bhardwaj—often hailed as the “Ritwik Ghatak of Punjab”—over the steaming bowls of delectable chicken-spinach soup, at his apartment in Delhi (I called it the “home of the inquilab”), one thing which got firmly etched in my mind was to always trust the contemporary lore more than the intellectual discourse.

I learnt to hunt counter-narratives existing on the very margins of our society, ready to be pushed into the oblivion by a monoculture constricted by geopolitics, a populace fed with mass-produced histories and an intelligentsia servile to the hegemonic constructs of class. Conversations, mere conversations—the chatter at the choupal, the grumbling in the gurdwaras, the whispers in the wheat fields—miraculously preserved and sanctified the stories of faceless, nameless men and women. With the message upending the medium, transcending the barriers of space and time—oozing through the crevices of collective consciousness, emerged the truth that was carried subliminally, piggybacking on the subjectivity of our mythos; becoming the ever-present origin, spawning a million minor mutinies here and there.

And so, as Capt. Pyara Singh uttered the term, Chauthey Paurey Wale—with its literal meaning being, People from the Fourth Step—hinting at some ritualistic perversity kept secret, I had the strange inkling of stumbling upon a conversation of monumental importance and historicity, whose origins ought to be pursued further.

Little did I know that the darkness trailing on the edges of that revelation was about to engulf my own life as well…

PART II

THE NEXT VISIT TO TARN TARAN in January was limited by familial responsibilities. My sister was getting married the next month. Tasked with a few arrangements, it provided me with an excellent excuse to travel often. One afternoon, while my parents were busy shopping the numerous knick-knacks that make for a wedding ceremony, I borrowed a bike from the bazaar and headed straight to village Sur Singh, some thirty kilometers on the Bhikhiwind-Khemkaran stretch.

That fertile tract of Majha—the region comprising Amritsar, Gurdaspur and Tarn Taran—was steeped in history. The earlier excursion off-the-beaten-track, which took me there some years ago, was to locate the fabled Patton Nagar, a town named after the most ferocious tank battle ever fought since World War II, during the Indo-Pak conflict of 1965. If one were to ever come close to experiencing Valhalla on earth, then it was on the piece of land between the villages Assal Uttar and Cheema—the faltering Indian defense line that thwarted an all-out invasion—where the banzai charge of Havaldar Abdul Hamid (posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra) and Lieutenant General Harbaksh Singh still rang in the ears.

Sur Singh had blipped on the radar earlier too, when I was made aware of the communal segregation being enforced in one of its gurdwaras by my ‘informant network’, and it was duly pinned on Punjab’s Map of Shame, last year. Veering towards the other side of the highway to take a sharp right, landing on the dirt track that led to the heart of the village, I ended up parking the bike in front of the very first gurdwara. Leaning over the brick wall, besides the small water pool meant for cleansing, I read the inscribed Gurumukhi, making overtures with the camera to gather the attention of the old Nihang sitting on the charpoy. The moment our eyes met, he limped forward to greet me.

“Cha-paani ji?”

(Can I get something for you, sir?)

Volunteering as a caretaker of the Gurdwara, Ratan Singh preferred to pass the dull winter afternoons lazing around the premises, so the ill-timed visits from strangers always made for an interesting tête-à-tête. My introduction as a local history buff was enough to get things going.

“Bahut itehaasik pind hai ji!”

(It’s a very historic village, sir!)

The excitement was palpable as his guttural voice struggled its way out of the phlegm-choked throat. Ratan Singh was right. The place was as old as history itself. Dr. Amarjit Kaur Ibban, who taught at the local high school for girls, actually ended up writing a whole book on Sur Singh. From the rather lofty claim of it being the birthplace of Lord Shiva, Ibban gradually descends to traceable antiquity, postulating that the place was teeming with settlers much before the arrival of Sikhism.

Citing contemporary sources, she had compiled an impressive list of personalities having their roots in the village: Abdulla and Nattha, the two dhadi (ballad singers) with Guru Hargobind; Des Raj, the architect of Golden Temple; Jassa Singh Ramgarhia, the commander of Ramgarhia Sikh Confederacy; Maha Singh, the leader of Chali Muktay (Forty Liberated Ones) of Guru Gobind; Sufi saints Shah Jamal and Shah Malik; Jagat Singh and Prem Singh, martyrs from Ghadar Party; wrestler Kartar Singh, a gold medalist at Asian Games; and Dr. Waryam Singh Sandhu, the Sahitya Akademi Award winning short-story writer.

But for Ratan Singh, history began and ended with just one man—the “Robin Hood of Majha” —Baba Bidhi Chand Chhina.

“Tusi kull duniya da itehaas suneya ke Maharaj Chhevein Paatshahi chaar jung jitte aa, te Baba Bidhi Chand sa’ab sajje hatth ‘ch Maharaj ne rakhe aa. Te aenu var ditte aa—Bidhi Chand nu—ke, ‘Bidhi Chand Chhina, Guru Ka Seena’.”

(If you are little aware of “world’s history”, the sixth Sikh Guru [Hargobind] won four wars and Baba Bidhi Chand was his right hand all the way. He was exalted by the Guru with the eternal blessing—“Bidhi Chand Chhina makes Guru’s chest swell with pride”.)

The listless face of Ratan Singh swayed a little with the underlying emotions, as he carried on with the slightly incoherent monologue.

“Te Guru ne onna nu keha, “Tu saada dil ban chukkeya haan. Saade sarir vakhro-vakhri reh gaye aa, appan dovein ik ho chukke aa’. Ae koi shotta-motta itehaas…”

(And the Guru told him, “You have acquired a place in my heart. We may be separated by bodies, but our souls are one”. No ordinary history that is…)

Ratan Singh was stirred, and quite rightly so, for the man Bidhi Chand exemplified the contrarian streak that went right through the heart and history of Punjab. Like an archetypal hero emerging from Joseph Campbell’s mono-myth, his story selectively hid and revealed the subtleties that were essential to the creation of a people’s legend.

“Bidhia dar awwa

duzd bud.”

(In the beginning, Bidhia was a thief.)

—Mohsin Fani, a Persian historian of the seventeenth century, in Dabestan-e Mazaheb.

A DAREDEVIL HIGHWAYMAN in his early life, Bidhi Chand was won over by Bhai Adli, a disciple of the fifth Guru, Arjan, and brought to the Sikh fold. After spending years treading the rural heartland as a preacher, spreading the message of Sikhism, the varied skills of the burly Jatt were put to good use, as the Guruship succeeded to the sixth heir, Hargobind, also beginning the extant militarization of the faith. As a risaldar (commander of a cavalry) managing the intelligence functions, Bidhi Chand showcased tremendous valor and loyalty, routing the armies of the Mughal chieftains, in the four battles that the Guru fought. His most memorable exploit being the rescue of two horses, Dilbagh and Gulbagh, which were brought from Kabul as a gift for Hargobind, but were seized midway and taken to the stables of Lahore Fort. Using the tricks he had learnt as a thief for the one last time, Bidhi Chand managed to steal them back in plain sight, disguising as a grass-cutter and then, as a fortune teller.

Gradually withdrawing himself from the worldly affairs as the end drew nigh, Bidhi Chand bid an emotional farewell to Hargobind and spent the remaining days at Devnagar, near Ayodhya, in the company of a Sufi friend, Sundar Shah. As per a pact made earlier, they left the world together on 14^th August, 1640 (1654, according to some accounts). Bidhi Chand’s mortal remains were brought back to his paternal place, Sur Singh, by nephew, Lal Chand—or as some say, his “second descendant”—and a smadh (shrine) was installed.

Figure 3 — A popular painting depicting Bidhi Chand disguised as a fortune teller, rescuing the horse, Dilbagh, from the stables of Lahore Fort.

But that was as far as a sanitized religious narrative could go. According to Kristina Myrvold, assistant professor at Lund University and the author of the dissertation, Inside the Guru’s Gate, “As a minority group situated within the boundaries of a Hindu centre, the Sikhs have generated their own collective emic historiography”. Circumscribed by political correctness—the ideological absolutism and the newfangled notion of belonging it results in—the case of Bidhi Chand was given the sartorial treatment to better fit within the framework of Sikh identity politics. Far from being a man gone astray, he was the proverbial baaghi: a rebel who not only challenged the writ of the Gurus, but also went to war with a society that rejected his love.

BIDHI CHAND WAS BORN to Sukh Ram Hindal (1573–1648), a farmer and a cleric who established Jandiala Guru, a kasba or small settlement situated at a comfortable distance of eighteen kilometers from both Amritsar and Tarn Taran (one of my cousins got married there). Hindal, or Handal, as referred to in some texts, was a Muslim disciple of the Sufi saint, Sakhi Sarwar. He was converted to Sikhism by the third Guru, Amar Das, and given the responsibility of organizing langar at Goindwal. For his commendable service to the faith, Hindal was later appointed as the masand (administrator) of a manji—the dioceses that were the precursors to gurdwaras.

The young Bidhi Chand seemingly followed the footsteps of his father, preaching the sizeable congregation of Hindal’s disciples. By a curious twist of fate, he fell for a Mohammedan girl and eventually ended up marrying her—an act which was widely despised by the Sikh community and its leaders. The embittered Bidhi Chand was soon tagged as an apostate, only strengthening the convictions of that diehard. He reneged against the very order by creating a schismatic sect that ingeniously exploited the politics of the Gurus. Skillfully mobilizing the followers of Hindal—called Niranjani or Hindali—he pitted them directly against the Sikh establishment. The Niranjanis refused to be identified as Sikhs and frequently aligned themselves with the Mughal rulers and the foreign invaders.

Sometimes, dissent pricked the thick skin of religion at just the right spot to drain out the uncomfortable truths from the abscesses of history. In a masterly move, Bidhi Chand brought the Sikh leaders to the negotiating table by crafting Hindaliya Janam Sakhi: a biographical account on the life of Baba Nanak that depicted him as a disciple of the low-caste Muslim weaver, Kabir; even mentioning the legendary meeting between the two celebrated poets at Varanasi. Deemed as a plagiarized variant of the earliest-known texts authored by one Bala Sandhu—who was said to have pioneered the “Bala tradition” of janam sakhis (quite literally, the birth stories)—the supposedly derogatory references were methodically expunged by the hagiographers and the revised document was put back into circulation. However, the wily propaganda appeared to have raised enough hackles, making the situation untenable for the Sikh leaders, as the “heretical” Niranjanis gained more ground.

Jandiala became the strategically positioned nerve-center of a rebellion. Not abundantly clear as to when and how Bidhi Chand had a change of heart, due to the peculiar absence of archives on that momentous phase, the switching of sides under Baba Adli’s decree and his gradual elevation to a military commander had the shades of a compromise—a balancing act between the political expediency of the Sikh Gurus, and the honor and ambition of a baaghi. It doesn’t take more than a cursory observation of the religious politics played out in Punjab during the recent past to understand how all that could have been legitimatized under the dominancy, the questionable edict of a monoculture.

And as far as the Niranjanis were concerned, the third-oldest sect of the Sikhs gradually faded into insignificance, their lands taken away by Maharaja Ranjit Singh to punish them for tacitly supporting the Mughals. Yet, that rabidly nonconformist movement continued plotting against them till the late eighteenth century, conveniently leveraging the communal rift—notably, by endorsing the official storyline emerging from Lahore on Guru Arjan’s death; by covertly siding with Punjab governor, Adeena Beg Khan, to drive away the Guru’s armies; and by playing a dangerous game in collusion with the Afghan invader, Ahmad Shah Durrani, inadvertently creating the conditions that led to Vadda Ghallughara (Big Holocaust).

Kristina Myrvold made another noteworthy observation, “The rhetorical strategy to counter dominant beliefs and practices is in no way exceptional for the contemporary local historiography in Varanasi, but typical of the seventeenth century Janam-sakhi literature that aimed at proving the supremacy of Guru Nanak and the geographical spread of his teaching”. So the genuine questions regarding the relationship between Nanak and Kabir were consciously sidelined and erased from the public memory. Similarly, the aspersions about Bidhi Chand’s Muslim wife were addressed by inserting the nephew, Lal Chand, into the narrative, instead of his actual son, Devi Das.

Figure 4 — Gurdwara Baba Bidhi Chand of Sur Singh.

THE SUN WAS FINALLY GIVING WAY to the wintry haze, as the day drew near to a close.

“Baba Daya Singh gyarvein peedi de ne.”

(Baba Daya Singh is from the eleventh generation.)

Caretaker Ratan Singh was extoling the lineage of Bidhi Chand. His eleventh “descendant”, Baba Daya Singh, led one of the four Nihang battalions of Khalsa Army and an important Sikh seminary, under the umbrella organization, Sampardaye Baba Bidhi Chand Ji (also called Baba Bidhi Chand Dal).

Guru Hargobind once arrived in Sur Singh at the constant bidding of a rich trader by the name of Bhag Mal, who offered his newly built palatial bungalow and a thousand bighas of land to further the cause of Sikhism. The Guru was travelling extensively and rarely stayed at one place for long. So he delegated Lal Chand, the “second scion”, to develop the property. One could still find the magnificent and remarkably well-preserved ruins of the old buildings in the village, dating back many centuries. The progenies of Bidhi Chand steadily invested their efforts in converting those assets into places of worship and influence.

Ratan Singh told me that the village boasted five historical gurdwaras. The one in front of which we were sitting was the shrine of Bidhi Chand and I saw a larger structure just a few meters away that was Gurdwara Sri Hargobind Sahib. All those institutions were managed by Bidhi Chand Dal. The aging Daya Singh—whose “army” had closely sided with Bhindranwale in the fight for Khalistan—was preparing to pass the baton to his son, Avtar Singh, from the twelfth generation, though they never made it clear whether the politically powerful ancestry stemmed from Bidhi Chand’s nephew, or his son from the Muslim wife.

Figure 5 — Ratan Singh (L) and Ajaib Singh (R) with the author.

 I asked Ratan Singh the question that drew me to the wild-goose chase in the first place:

“Babaji, ae Chauthey Paurey da ki matlab aa?

(Babaji, what does the term “Chauthey Paurey” imply?)

He was habitual to talking in quick spurts and the answers trickled out more rapidly than my questions. I didn’t register surprise or bemusement on the weatherworn face, but his changed mien had a confessional undertone to it:

“Babaji, ek bennti aa meri—mai anpaddh aa. Mai ae nai keh sakda ki, jaaneya, jyon Maharaj ne Amrit shakaaya—Bhai, ae kiss vitth wich baba bhaavein dass gaye—Majbi Singh jehde aa na? Ohna nu Chauthey Pauriye ahnne hunne si. Te… te Amrit taan ikko hi ai na? Ae ghar taan sabda saanjha ai na? Aaye te rabb de ghar ne?”

(Sir, I submit very humbly that I am an uneducated person. I can’t ascertain the context in which, after the Gurus baptized them with Amrit, the babas started referring to the Mazhabi Sikhs as “Chauthey Pauriye”. But… but isn’t the same Amrit partaken by all? Isn’t this our common home? After all, haven’t we arrived in God’s abode?)

I tried pushing him for a little more:

“Mainu badi ruchi aa ki ae Paurey ki ne. Koi dooja ya teeja paura wi hunda?”

(But I am quite interested in knowing what Paurey means. Is there any second or third “step” as well?)

Ratan Singh shirked, but not before divulging the partial truth:

“Babaji, mai tuhannu dasseya ki mai ehde do gaan gall nai koi jaanda. Bhai, Chautha Paura—sannu ehde matbal da hi nai pata—picche aam gall karde hunde si ke falaane Chuhre aa. Chuhre te Jatt, gall taan inni ai na? Te Nihang Singh ehna nu Chauthey Paurey…”

(Sir, as I have already told you, this is the best I can come up with. I am completely ignorant about its origin or interpretation. Earlier, it was the fairly common to use the term “Chuhre” for them. Isn’t the whole thing about Chuhre and Jatt? So similarly, the Nihang Singhs called them Chauthey Paurey…)

The barely decipherable exchange got interrupted by what sounded like a faint cry from Ajaib Singh. He was the granthi (one who reads the scripture) at the Gurdwara. The rotund man with pinkish complexion had an irritably squeaky voice, giving him the appearance of an anthropomorphic piglet from a Disney film. He was busy chopping the daatun (Neem twigs used for oral cleaning), until the interaction piqued his interest:

“Baba Jiwan Singh Chauthi Pauri chon hoya na? Majbi Singh hoya na? Maharaj ne jad sarir tyageya, ohna ne laiyanda nai sir onna da?”

(Didn’t Baba Jiwan Singh belong to the Chauthi Pauri? Wasn’t he a Mazhabi Sikh? When the Guru departed, wasn’t he the one to bring his severed head?)

Ajaib Singh had made a tactical interpolation by invoking the legend of Jiwan Singh, or Bhai Jaita, who rescued the severed head of the ninth Guru, Tegh Bahadur, from Delhi. The first known Dalit poet of Punjab, his story of service and sacrifice marked a turning point in the evolution of caste consciousness among the Sikhs, paving the way for a new social contract based on equity that was unheard of.

Ratan Singh dutifully filled in the blanks:

“Laiyanda! Maharaj ne ohna nu gall naal la leya. Inni gehri gall aakhi ki, ‘Rangrete Guru ke Bete’.”

(Yes, he brought it! The deeply moved Guru [Gobind Singh] embraced him and said, “Rangrete [the low-castes] are the sons of the Guru”.)

Indeed, that impassioned verse became the incantation for inclusion in the times to come.

The semblance of empathy was distracting me, as I tried again to stress on the origin of that disturbing ritual of segregation, hounding them with questions on Paurey and its colloquial usage for Dalits. The thudding of the wooden plank, to which I had grown comfortable by then, stopped for a second as Ajaib Singh raised the daatar (arc-shaped knife) and said:

“Mai tuhannu das dinna. Amrit banauna ikko thaan.Te jehda mudke pauna ke nai? O tuhadda baata tuhannu dena. Jehde Majbi Singh hai na, ohna nu ahdd baata dena, appan nu ahdd baata dena… bannde ikko thaan hi aa.”

(Let me explain it to you. The Amrit is prepared at one place. But when it is distributed later, the Mazhabi Sikhs receive it in a separate utensil, while we [the upper castes] partake from the other one.)

It was as simple as that, clear as crystal. We had bridged the distance of a few generations, between people imagining themselves as warriors, born to different mothers, raised to represent different eras. An achievement of sorts, more like an epiphany actually. There I was: spectacled, clad in a hooded sweatshirt and a leather overcoat, with a voice recorder in one hand and a smartphone in the other; the two rugged Nihangs—who must have strode vast lands over horsebacks during the youth, with nerves bulging out of the faces and limbs like an imprinted relic from their adventures—reminiscing how they had raced the horses at full-speed while spearing a target with a lance at the same time, to a jubilating crowd of onlookers.

A gust of wind ruffled through the leaves of the ghostly Peepal trees that arched over us menacingly, carrying a spell towards the shrine of Bidhi Chand Chhina, then just a mere silhouette in front of the setting sun. For all the Amrit that was partaken there, the gloomy building appeared devoid of the life-giving elixir. The last remnant of the evening took a deep, infectious yawn and right at that very moment, God seemed to have left the Gurdwara.

PART III

FROM HARMANDIR TO HARVARD, the Sikh scholars were busy convincing each other that all the rhetoric about the systemic depravity gripping their religious and political bodies, the clergy and the adherents, was the result of a targeted campaign singling-out a few cases; aberrations for which only some digressing babas or deras were to be blamed. It was their gross misapprehension that an ordinary person can’t see through the complex schemata of the Sikh establishment—that the aspect of Daya Singh slaughtering hundreds of goats for the ravenous Nihangs at the marriage of his son would be treated as a minor eccentricity, long associated with such folks; while the perverse practice of caste-based segregation, masqueraded as a spiritually sanctioned act, in the 350 years old seminary of a religion that abhors ritualism in the first place, would be seen as a crime against humanity.

Long enamored by the trope of falsification and by endlessly chasing the specter of institutional downfall, I was slowly inching towards the eye of the storm.

Situated on the road towards Goindwal, Gurdwara Marhi Sahib looked more like the headquarters of a business conglomerate, when I visited it in January. The huge, marble-floored campus was like a small township with its own godowns, granaries and a bay for trucks and tractors. A newly-built ultramodern, multispecialty hospital adjacent to it, funded by the same organization that managed Marhi Sahib, was now the crown jewel of Tarn Taran. After downing two glasses of the freshest buttermilk at the langar hall, I asked for Baba Jagtar Singh “Kar-Sewa Wale”, who had become the elusive boogeyman since my visit to village Dhotian, earlier in November.

Like any other institutionalized religion, Sikhism had also fallen prey to the commoditization of spirituality and Baba Jagtar Singh was at the very forefront of that game. Kar Sewa, or the voluntary, selfless contribution of services and goods, from physical labor to money, had been one of the founding tenets of the faith. Dera Kar Sewa of Tarn Taran honed a series of leaders to spearhead such initiatives in an organized manner, by training a cadre of volunteers and channeling donations through structured investment vehicles since the last 200 years or so. Jagtar Singh was like the reigning chief executive of the corpus. He had mobilized lakhs of volunteers to renovate dozens of crumbling historical monuments and building new ones across India and abroad; cleaning the holy tank of Golden Temple being the pinnacle of his career. It was an altogether different story that Jagtar Singh’s subordinates had gotten away after embezzlement of funds, that his misplaced zeal had led to the wanton destruction of old artifacts and that he unrestrainedly exercised the power coming with the job.

But all of that never mattered while I was looking for him at Marhi Sahib. My self-imagined grouse with Jagtar Singh was on a much simpler issue. While investigating a case of discrimination against the Dalit Christians of Dhotian, I encountered a prominent gurdwara—one among the many under Jagtar Singh’s administration—that had publicly barred the Mazhabis from performing the langar sewa because their supposed lack of hygiene killed the appetite of a few (chronicled in my article for Kafila.org, A Day in the Life of a Sikh Prejudice).

After some waiting, a message arrived that Baba ji had left for Mumbai. He was in the United States when I had enquired earlier. Disappointed a little, but still having ample time at my disposal, I raced towards the village of Alawalpur, around four kilometers from the place. Sardara Singh, its sarpanch, was another character from my grand confabulation, the most entertaining of all, neatly fitting the profile of transgressors described in my case-book, my very own Malleus Maleficarum.

Sardara Singh drew power from the political standing of his mother, Manjit Kaur, once an SGPC Member. Apparently, the senior Shiromani Akali Dal leader and former minister, Ranjit Singh Brahmpura—widely known as the “Jarnail (General) of Majha” after a slew of electoral victories from the region—bestowed patronage on Manjit Kaur, so she revered him like an elder brother. It was through the ménage à trois that the sarpanch of Alawalpur wielded his clout.

A baptized Sikh with unshorn hair and a ceremonial dagger dangling by the side, he would have resembled a genuine harbinger of the faith, but for a particularly irresistible vice. Earlier in September, Sardara Singh’s mugshot was splashed all over the papers, when the outlandish plan to stage his own kidnapping was foiled. Enacting a drama of epic hilarity, Sardara Singh instructed his cohorts to theatrically “abduct” him from the car and an “eyewitness” was summarily dispatched to file a police complaint. As the cops belted their trousers to get cracking on the sensational case, both the hostage and the abductees merrily sped to a nearby village, in what seemed like a lopsided effect of Stockholm Syndrome, taking a woman on board.

Like any other married man, desperate to escape the scrutiny of his wife and in-laws, Sardara Singh’s shenanigans were merely aimed at spending some quality time with the mistresses. The week-long sojourn amidst the romantic dales of Srinagar was cut short when a relative ratted him out. A passionate lover that he was, driven to the extremes, another plan of a lengthy outing, by falsely summoning himself in a court case, had also gone kaput.

I could very well have ended up appreciating his “lust for life”, until another startling revelation reached my ears through the grapevine of Tarn Taran.  When push came to shove, when it was no longer possible to bridle—what many scholars have alluded to as the “Indus libido”—Sardara Singh used to barge into the sarai (lodge) of the gurdwaras around Goindwal for the romping sessions, both with paramours and prostitutes. The clergy and the caretakers either turned a blind eye, or were themselves enticed by the conveniences of power. The one or two times that he got arrested, a prompt call from Brahmpura’s office was enough to let go the Don Juan. The orgies in the gurdwaras continued unabated.

An orderly at his residence told me that Sardara Singh was unavailable. Not prepared to be snubbed twice in a day, I pushed hard by pretending to be a journalist from Delhi, keen to hear his side of the story. After a long pause, I was told to go away.

Barring a few minor roadblocks like as such, I had arrived full circle in a witch-hunt spanning many months. During the numerous and sometimes exhausting trips to the bucolic outback—cultivating sources, chasing the obscure stories and its subjects, and deconstructing the newspaper clippings that looked interesting to no one but me; hitching over rickety public transport, forever cash-strapped; beating the deadly summer heat, falling sick; getting rubbed off in the wrong way by the so-called intellectuals, activists and apologists, only to hit them back in the same coin—the one stubborn belief, in fact, a presupposition, was that all those contraventions led directly to the “Source”. It was a hothead’s attempt to call for an arraignment of the “System” by never ignoring the cogs, but, more importantly, by also focusing on the wheel, as a whole, to prove that it had deviated from the chosen path—politically, institutionally and spiritually.

If Sardara Singh was meant to be a case in point for the venality of religio-communitarian politics, then Baba Jagtar Singh Kar-Sewa Wale, with his unhindered access to the Akal Takht, was symbolic of the insidious, self-serving cabal that had taken control of the religious bodies. The ever-widening gulf between Miri and Piri, between the temporal and the spiritual—only efficacious when working in tandem—had produced something as sinister as Brahminism, but was never to be confused with it. The demonic plague of “purity-pollution” had struck again—witnessed at places like Sur Singh and Dhotian, to name a few; even at Sis Ganj and Bangla Sahib, where the destitute were served a separate langar simply because they looked “dirty”—leading to the dismemberment of humanity on the basis of caste and creed. The Timeless Throne seemed to have gotten lost in its very timelessness; the daily ablutions with milk had made its floor unctuous with the grease of greed and pomp.

AS THE VISIT TO ALAWALPUR wrapped early, I spent the rest of the day mingling with acquaintances from the bazaar. Perched on the counter at a friend’s shop selling used clothes, shipped in containers from Europe and America, idly staring at the crowd, I receive a message to reach home immediately. The unusual twist was a bit surprising.

My Chacha and mother were sitting in the drawing room, sipping the afternoon tea. He tried giving me a disarming smile and mumbled something incoherent. From the years that I had known my uncle, I knew it was a mix of affection and nervousness forcing him to do so. He certainly had an odd disposition, like every other member of our clan, always reminding me of the lines from G.K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday, “He came of a family of cranks, in which all the oldest people had all the newest notions”, the more our ladies “preached a more than Puritan abstinence” the more did the men expanded “into a more than pagan latitude”.

Was it about alcohol, I made a few guesses. I certainly drank like a fish whenever the opportunity beckoned, more often than not in a joint family type of setting.  My mother, whose face was flushing a bit by then, began the interrogation. She enquired about my recent visit to the villages. I was unnaturally indiscrete and told them everything. And that was when the bombshell landed.

Not that I hadn’t anticipated it earlier, but some stranger, looking like a “dera man” (unwelcome in our places), delivered a missive to my Chacha at the shop, telling me to quit meddling in their affairs or the “consequences would be dire”. He also hinted that the bazaar would not take to the uncharted excursions of the young lad very kindly, for which the whole family would suffer. That was as serious as things could get.

We were calico printers by caste—Cheemba in Punjabi, Chhipa in Hindi and Rangrez in Urdu. Traditionally the followers of poet-saint, Namdev, from Maharashtra, they had made early ingress into Sikhism, after his poetry was incorporated in Granth Sahib. The migration got a further boost over the years, as Mokham Chand, one of the original Panj Pyare (Five Beloved Ones) baptized by Guru Gobind Singh, was also from the same community. With changing times, they became washermen and tailors as well.  Like most landless, artisan groups stuck in social stratification, their conditions remained deplorable, so they were categorized as “Backward”.

All my uncles and aunts were uneducated, so were most of the cousins. Our grandfather relocated from village Bundala, the growing settlement around Darbar Sahib Tarn Taran offered better opportunities. Womenfolk from the nearby hamlets would flock to the town over masya (new moon day) and sangrand (new month in the sidereal-solar calendar), and bathe in the holy tank—the largest ever constructed. As had been the proclivity since the beginning of civilization, they would also steal some time to shop, ordering new suits or customizing the older ones with fancy embroidery, which was what Bhapaji did to raise our family, though the uninhibited proximity to the opposite sex also led to many amorous encounters (some tricks of the trade remaining effective till lately).

One son, exhibiting prodigal talent, was admitted to Sainik School, Kapurthala, after much pounding on their doors, to end up as a defense officer. The youngest turned out be a violent schizophrenic.  The remaining two were bequeathed with shops in the main arcade towards Darbar Sahib, the tiniest ones in the whole bazaar, to sell tailoring material or offer the associated services. The truism, that one mantra, which helped them come out unscathed from the dark days of the militancy, was to always keep the heads low, only to mind their own business, never-ever to catch anyone’s eye.

“Do peg lao, daal-roti khaake, ramaan naal so jao.”

(Drink two pegs, eat daal-roti and sleep in peace.)

In the big, resource constrained world of working-class families, where countless siblings craved for attention, where the kids were breast-fed till they were ten, the failure of expectations, the overlap of oedipal complexes, and the resulting madness was far too common—making us a normal poor family. Religion hardly offered any realistic advice to the landless, the artisans and the downtrodden. That’s probably why a noticeable strain of agnosticism, a penchant for skepticism, ran through most of them.

Incidents, like the one mentioned by my mother, could’ve easily brought down the house of cards in a second. Laden words like aukaad introduced certain somberness to the conversation, making me realize that a line had been crossed. It didn’t matter who that person was, whether he belonged to the dera of Jagtar Singh or Sardara Singh’s gang. In a small town like ours, where power still lay in the old hands, resisting capitulation to the onslaughts of modernism, those folks were law unto themselves.

But, of course, I had known all of that very well. What I really underestimated, that too by a wide margin, was the vulnerability of my own family, how inescapably linked they were to the culture, its geography and the backwardness. For reasons that would be hard to appreciate, arguments ensued the whole evening. A tightly lidded urn got shattered, letting loose the ghosts of the past, feeding over the prized middle-class commodity: peace of mind. Bhapaji had expired recently and my sister was getting married in a fortnight. I had risked a lot. My previous skirmishes with the system played their part too. I was a whistleblower once—a wretched, deliriously high-minded act which almost destroyed my career. You couldn’t pollute the air you breathed.

PART IV

“IK-ADDHI KANDDH DHAA DO gurdware di, fer dasseyo ki karde ne.”

(Bring down one or two walls of the gurdwara and then tell me what they would do.)

The dim, smoke-filled bar of the Press Club was heady with the laidback attitude so typically associated with Chandigarh. The moist window panes, with trails of dew, offered a view to the underworld, which was what the city had transformed into, after a dense evening fog descended over. Hardly discouraging the experienced prowlers of the night, a few tables were still occupied, making the whole setting look like an ungodly feast from a Transylvanian castle—the elaborate capes and makeup hiding the tails and fangs that were to appear later. As expected, the women outnumbered the men, fueling my long-harbored fantasies about a certain esoteric libertinism of the local gentry.

I hardly socialized in Chandigarh, though my parents lived in Mohali—driven to the ‘bourgeoisie anthills’ that had popped up recently—so it was my first visit to the Club. Gurveer (name changed), a veteran journalist, had invited me over. A fixture in the local art and cultural circuits, he was known to have a reasoned and moderated outlook. Gurveer was referring to the incidents of discrimination while making that comment about the gurdwaras, more specifically to the ones which I had highlighted in the “Map of Shame” and the article on Dhotian. His idea of instigating a revolt in the gurdwaras excited me at the outset. Even historically, those institutions had acted as the centers for social upheaval, the common public taking charge when necessary to enforce the shared ethos. I was also pleasantly surprised by Gurveer being candid to that extent, as differing ideologies had led to some friction earlier. The imaginings about a “conspiracy of silence” had turned me into a bit of a rabble-rouser, though some of the suspicions did rung true later.

Nietzsche coined the sublime phrase—the pathos of distance—having so many political, moral and spiritual connotations that the exercise of describing what it exactly meant became a treacherous one. Implying that the birth of the moral framework, the created set of virtues and the foundation of equality, as enforced similarity, deliberately underplayed a primal human instinct to stand apart, to exist, to discriminate, both positively and negatively; to assert, to command and obey; to accept and reject the multiplicities as per need. It was the widening of polarities, the lack of its realization at an inward and outward level, that led to the misperceptions, to the inefficient structures of administration in class and caste hierarchies—if at all such things were to exist, which they would, no matter what. The garb of perfection that only exacerbated the decadence; what appeared like a race to a finale turned out to be hamsters tumbling over each other in a wheel. Not to risk his reputation, but right before the breakdown, he came close to the most subjective of its definitions, “‘The world is perfect’—thus speaks the instinct of the most intellectual men, affirmative instinct; ‘imperfection, every kind of inferiority to us, distance, pathos of distance, even the Chandala belongs to this perfection”.

“Mai nai samajh sakda ke tuhadde ki experiences rahe ne…”

(I can’t put myself in your shoes…)

Gurveer was bridging the ‘distance’, acknowledging the confusion that arose due to the generalities around ‘us’ and ‘them’, and accepting how ideologies could sometimes underplay the intensity of emotions. But the seething suspicion had already firmed up my prejudices against his ilk. Like a splinter lodged in the eye, the past interactions with them unrested me to a great extent. The seeds of disenchantment had long been sown.

THE PRESENCE OF AMARJIT CHANDAN at the Punjabi Subaltern Summit, a small conference I had organized in Chandigarh last year, made the whole effort worthwhile. He didn’t speak much but sat attentively throughout the day, almost wedged in a corner, the glazed eyes and the impassive demeanor imparting some regality to the doyen of Punjabi culture. A British-Indian writer—a young woman with dark, streaming locks and large, accentuated eyes—was constantly by Chandan’s side, like a warder of his poetic sensitivities. The attendees fawned over, even skipped the talks to genuflect in front of him. He appeared lost, slightly weary of the one-sided exchanges, occasionally uttering monosyllables when someone raised a topic of interest. The halo around his head became obvious after a young poet greeted me and immediately rushed towards Chandan, before I could even reciprocate the gesture. As a computer science engineer from Malout, I was a rank outsider to those circles, completely uninitiated to the schools of thought that governed them, with it being my first exposure to their complex dynamics. What seemed rather foolhardy later, I had conjured up a dream to build a united front of the thinkers and doers, influencing policy issues in Punjab.

“Can any dalitist academic do a lit analysis of the following two liner gem of Punjabi folk poetry? — Gaa ke aarti, te dhoop jaga ke, Majbi ne choddi Bahmani.” (By singing hymns and lighting incense, a Mazhabi fucks a Brahmin woman.)

The dream started falling apart like a Jackson Pollock painting just around the same time I received that email from Chandan a few months later, as a reply to a seemingly benign message on a mailing-list, having absolutely no bearing to the scurrilous remark. The sensory deprivation induced by technology often gave shape to the most deeply-harbored biases, but Chandan was no ordinary being. Initially numb with fear for having triggered his outrage, befuddled beyond words by what led to it, I then felt pity for the old man who soon realized that the rant was also broadcasted to his worshippers on the list. He was specifically concerned about the two Bahmaniyan, a feminist-poetess who treated him as a reverential figurehead and that British writer. Showcasing the same traits of senility as my grandfather, I knew Chandan didn’t mean what he said. It was rather the deafening silence of his self-righteous friends—those public intellectuals with private ambitions, who generally didn’t hesitate to nitpick the slightest deviations of an underdog like me—fully aware of the delicacy with which I was touching the caste issues, that really set me off.  The whole effort around the Summit looked undone.

After weeks of sulking and sending drunken diatribes, I decided to delve into Chandan’s world. Son of a Kumiar, a Naxalite in the heydays, he was a contemporary of the radical poet, Lal Singh Dil. Even his own compositions, tepid in verse, betrayed the discordant note he had struck earlier. And I knew at that very instant, Chandan went too close to the “Revolution” and got singed—overwhelmed by the “miasma of lying that, far more than the cruelty, took the heart out of it”. He was one of those born-again believers who survived, but had never planned on it; who should have ideally spent the rest of the days in a sanatorium, like Orwell after the Spanish Civil War, meticulously noting down the number eggs the hens were laying. As a friend of mine tried to put things into perspective:

“O ae babey ne, aina nu nai pata!”

(They are babas, too old to change!)

“You smug-faced PUNJABI LEFTISTS with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.”

—An improvisation of Siegfried Sassoon’s Suicide in the Trenches.

GURVEER OFFERED ME the last piece of fish tikka from the platter. Our interaction at the Press Club was well past the initial hitches, so I asked him about the “Rajab Ali affair”. Nodding his head, as if the question was almost anticipated, he admitted that the matter needed to be contemplated at many levels.

The local continuities in Punjab had often subverted the rigid precepts of religion and nationalism, creating identity markers that were more organically rooted in its culture and geography, with Babu Rajab Ali (1894-1979) being one of its most potent catalysts. Merely mentioning the name of that famed bard elicited unrestrained emotions across both sides of the border. The uncrowned king of kavishari—folk poetry sung in an energetic manner—tapped the latent passions of the land by invoking various legends, from Dahood Badshah to Bidhi Chand. Ajay Bhardwaj, who managed to capture the essence of such fascinating anomalies, had said, “Go to Malwa and you will see how peasants, on moonlit nights, sing songs of Babu Rajab Ali. They need no textbooks to read his songs from. They are rooted in them. He is entwined in their oral tradition”.

But the unhinged directness of folklore, its flirtations with the raw truth, could contradict the conventions of change—that happened when, in September last year, a few publishers from Barnala and Samrala were tossed in prison under the SC / ST Act.  Punjab Police went on an overdrive after a group of protesters emerged from nowhere, alleging that the works of Rajab Ali, reprinted by the publishers, hurt their sentiments, as his poetry was abundant with colloquial slangs for Dalits, quite prevalent during those times.

A comedic farce was set into motion. It wasn’t the first time that his works were recirculated. Some of the activists and the editors running the publishing house were themselves from the Scheduled Castes and well placed within the left-leaning intelligentsia, so the highbrows cried hoarse over the clampdown. Gurveer mobilized the ideological network and pretty soon, in an unusual show of support, the beau monde of Punjab from the media and the academia petitioned the authorities, fully leveraging their access to the newsprint and the airwaves. A barrage of editorials was unleashed, avowing freedom of speech, propriety and all— justifying that even Nanak resorted to the same argot in Granth Sahib, hence it would be preposterous to censor the historically relevant content. Amarjit Chandan, too, was roped in for old times’ sake.

I had a severe heartburn that day. The do-gooders made no noise ever on why similar fissures were appearing more frequently in the first place, why the caste tensions led to instant polarization, and why it was important to acknowledge the changes in societal equations happening at the grassroots. I knew that the clique, whose denial stemmed from guilt, was morally famished. There was no place for propriety or even posterity where such prejudice had existed. It was time to blacken-out those slangs from the conscience, if not from Granth Sahib.

“Kayi vaari aunde ne.”

(The caste-denoting words are scattered throughout.)

When I proposed that rather ambitious alternative of using moderation as a precedent, Gurveer told me that it would make Rajab Ali’s poems completely illegible—a humbling reminder that even art can aggravate the human condition.

Gurveer carried the image of a progressive liberal, more open to ideas than ideologies. Now in his forties, he still occasionally alluded to the charm of Marxism. Like many young men of his age coming from rural families with midsized land holdings during the peak of the agrarian growth, he was also initiated as a rangroot and dreamt of the collectivist utopia—they were actually the baby-boomers. Their inspired vision of communism got firmly bastioned on top of the radical foundations of modern Punjab. It was perfectly alright to be a Jatt, a Sikh and a Comrade at the same time. A generation of philosophers, who chiseled the sociopolitical discourse over the decades, came from similar settings, so the university systems also became the conceptual foundries of leftism. Its writ ran large among the educated few and was unquestionable.

Punjabi leftists or closeted Sikh apologists, I thought. They adored Nanak’s politics, but pretended to ignore his transcendentalism. They gleefully inherited the anti-Muslim bias of the Sikh community, by garbing it under “anti-imperialism”. They preached equity, but, in fact, secretly aspired to marry within their own castes.

Gail Omvedt wrote a blog post last winter which began like, “Writing on the subject of ‘Anti-Caste movements and the left’ is in one sense fairly simple because the Left has so thoroughly ignored and marginalized the issues of the anti-caste movements that there is little to say”. She was correct. They were harmlessly supine. And I had the same consternations, but leaving them aside, it was the sense of wonderment for having encountered the menagerie very late in my life which left me thoroughly amused. I was so diminutive a figure in front of them that the veritable lack of ideology, my intellectual promiscuity became the saving grace! An oaf with roots in Sturm und Drang (Of Storm and Urge)—German Romanticism that challenged the Age of Reason for being bereft of love, ridiculing its aridity with intense subjectivity and an extreme display of emotions—I was the hackneyed “young Werther” of Goethe; overwhelmed with my obsessions, infatuated with my own insecurities.

The quixotic orientation generated visions of splendor that were completely antithetical to what my left-leaning friends had long espoused. I rejected their Revolution and its Heroes, smitten by the love song of the survivor than the banshee’s cry of the martyr. One, crooning Bant Singh Jhabar outscored Banda Bahadur, Bhagat Singh and Bhindranwale taken together. I would have lost all faith in them if the left-feminist cadre hadn’t taken me to task on the inborn patriarchy. My preconceptions on feminism as a fringe cult—that forced its members to wear mannish battle fatigues, women who refused to shave their underarms for some idealistic causes, symbolized by the image of Valerie Solanas chasing Andy Warhol with a pistol—were addressed with honest affirmation. I became extremely cognizant of the gender bias.

But it wasn’t as if their blatant denial had left me unaffected. “Punjab’s Map of Shame” began as an investigative subproject, dissecting how competently and accurately did the regional media addressed caste issues, and to explore avenues that would apprise them of the realities on the ground. In a way, the motive was to lobby for certain causes. My first break came with a news snippet detailing an incident from village Mahan Singh Wala, where the Jatt landlords had imposed social boycott and unfair wage restrictions on Dalit laborers, in complicity with the panchayat and the politicians. Having realized its potential, I delved into the story. In the thick of summer, I was travelling around and meeting the protesters encamping at Mahan Singh Wala, to further understand the makings of that debacle. Soon enough, I had gathered enough information which, when corroborated with the happenings at the village, highlighted a widespread, systemic bias against the low-caste farmworkers. Armed with firsthand evidence, I approached the patrons of the Subaltern Summit, spread across key regional media houses and universities, pressing for more coverage. There was no response, but for a few laconic utterances. So the impetuous few among us approached the national media and voila!—it got streamed on the front pages and the breaking news tickers. The state government finally made a halfhearted attempt to broker a truce in the village, which, as the observers saw, was a sham.

Figure 6 — The infamous notification by the panchayat of Mahan Singh Wala, imposing the social boycott on Dalit laborers.

An eye-opening experience, it made me realize how long-drawn, lonely and thankless the battle was. So, to minimize the dependency on the engrained elite, the armchair activists and the jabbering journalists who rarely crossed the borders of Chandigarh, I charted a travel plan for bootstrapping my own ‘informant network’. Even with the little money, a tight schedule and the backbreaking journeys from Delhi to rural Punjab, I was flooded with tales of atrocities; every third place of worship stunk to high heaven. In a matter of few months, twelve names burst on the Map like ugly zits. There was Sarhali—the maternal home of Bidhi Chand, which had inherited the blight of Chauthey Paurey Wale. Then there were the rest—Amirke, Faride Wala, Dhotian, Sardarpura, Gandav, Sakohan, Jogewala, Lehra Khana and Khiva Khurd—each carrying a sordid saga long enough to fill a few dozen pages. It was more than I could ever handle and soon, with little or no encouragement to go by, despair started looming large.

“Mai qaiyan nu tadaphde vekheya hai, bahot bure halataan wich.”

(I have seen many an activist suffer excruciatingly in dire conditions.)

Gurveer gave me a ride till Mohali. The fog was so thick that one could barely see beyond the front bumper of the car. We almost hit a divider once, so it was hard for me to concentrate on the discussion, but that statement of his did add some solemnity. Gurveer had spent years struggling as an artist, often failing to strike that delicate balance between passion and profession, not to mention the material pressures of life making it even worse. He had watched the most fervent of activists plunge into the depths of despondency, living the rest of their lives in extreme poverty and isolation, betrayed and forgotten by their own—the careerists who sold their souls.

I knew what he was talking about. I knew how tempting it was to give up everything.

PROFESSOR KUMAR HAD READ my piece on Dhotian and was keen to meet up. He called me unexpectedly one Sunday morning, sounding quite excited about the work I was undertaking. I tried complimenting it with equally appreciative remarks on the papers he had written. Kumar taught history at a prominent university located in the western part of India. The first child from a family of Dalit Christians based in Majha to receive an education beyond primary school, the sheer sense of Kumar’s achievements became apparent with a line from his online bio: “… it was only at the Masters level that he [Kumar] started getting used to the English language”.

Ideally, interacting with someone like him would have been cathartic, but I had gazed into the abyss for so long that numbness gripped me all over. Those platitudes from puny professors made me sick to my stomach. The apathy of the entrenched and the endowed had left me completely disillusioned. I was writhing in the agony of hopelessness.

It was that time of the year when I lodge myself into a cocoon for months.

Lacking a convincing excuse and after a few more phone calls, I finally agreed to face Kumar at a plush hotel in the heart of Delhi, where he had arrived for a conference. Dressed in a tweed jacket and a flat cap, the dark and short-statured professor had a fantastically Nubian nose—his broad and pleasant smile gave the impression of a jolly old bloke. As he poured a glass of water, I noticed from the periphery of the eye, Kumar staring at me intently, nodding his head in certain ambiguity. He was sizing me up, locating the common threads of existence—verifying whether my demeanor conveyed the same ‘pathos of distance’, the same nuanced understanding of things, as portrayed in the writings. I had experienced similar class anxieties all too often, with my own personality being tempered by them. In any case, he was happy to have met me.

“Itthe takk paunchna hi ek supne wang lagda hai.”

(It feels like a dream to reach this level.)

In a moment of introspection, Kumar confessed how surreal it felt to be standing in the posh hotel suite. That fleeting glimpse into the intensity of his travails, the casualness with which he made that remark, filled me to the brim, and rather impulsively, I ended up patting his shoulder.

“Khair, in cheezan nu wi kade-kade enjoy karna chahida!”

(Anyhow, such things must be enjoyed occasionally!)

Kumar sensed the opportunity. It was time to drink.

A few pegs later, I was doing all the talking, unintentionally stoking the subtle tensions. With the harbored disgust for politically-correct exchanges, wary of its attempts to sabotage my weakening will, the patience to listen had long worn out. Kumar’s passive aggression also surfaced erratically.

“Ki naa oda? Sant Singh Sekhon. O taan siddha hi kehnda si ki, ‘Ae Mhalle Waleyan nu bahar kaddo!’”

(What’s his name? Sant Singh Sekhon. He used to blurt openly, “Kick these Mhalle Wale out!”)

He shocked me by telling how the venerated Punjabi litterateur, Sant Singh Sekhon, used to openly lambast the low-caste members of the socialist movement, hurling demotic abuses like Mhalle Wale (on their habit of staying huddled together in a few colonies).

I felt like burning his books.

We had found a comfortable spot under the blistering ‘twilight of the idols’.

As I shared my parables from Sur Singh, Kumar furnished a perspicacious account on the etymology of “Chauthey Paurey Wale”. It was the last piece of the puzzle that had confounded me too much, and for too long. The Internet forums on Sikhism and the village squares were pregnant with rumors on how such practices and terms had existed for centuries, how some babas had taken the lead by enforcing apartheid in every other gurdwara. But like an embarrassing family secret, it was repeatedly purged from the mainstream narrative to leave no trace at all. From the bits and pieces I could recollect the next morning, being a little drunk by the time he began with the soliloquy, Kumar’s account painted a surprisingly endearing picture. With an unparalleled foresight, one of the Gurus—possibly Gobind Singh at the insistence of Bhai Jaita—took the lead in affirmative action by reserving a fourth of the stairs surrounding the holy tank of Golden Temple for the low-caste Sikhs. As propounded by Kumar, they wanted the newly-initiated converts to feel welcomed, to bask in the acceptance that the fledgling religion had offered.

As much as I wanted to believe that, the only citable reference on the subject, coming from a paper of political scientist, Harish K. Puri, had something else to say, “Harjot Oberoi cites from an ‘authoritative manual’ – Khalsa Dharam Sastra of 1914 – which laid down that the members of the untouchable groups (like the Mazhabi, Rahtia and Ramdasia Sikhs) did not have the right to go beyond the fourth step in the Golden Temple and the members of the fourfold varnas including Nai, chippe (sic), Jhivar, (sudra sub castes) were instructed not to mix with persons belonging to the untouchable castes”.

The one disconcerting lesson emerging from the folly was that the predacious public memory, naturally inclined towards prejudices, could simmer hate even after the original structures of control had collapsed centuries ago. How baffling was the fact that, although no incidences recounting the actual act of exclusion were ever memorialized, like the will-o’-the-wisp, its myth resurfaced around the damned outliers of rural Punjab.

AS I SLIPPED MY HANDS through her floral negligee, the sepulchral beauty that was Noor, felt like a still-unfolding Greek tragedy. The pale, golden light from the sodium lamp across the street passed through the window grill, splitting her buxom silhouette into two. She appeared half-black and half-white. But that was merely the cast of my own imperfections. Noor had always been flawless, pure and innocent…

Sashaying through the crowds of Nizamuddin mosque, while the qawwals—festooned with saffron cloaks to celebrate Basant Panchmi the way Hazrat Auliya loved doing so—tuned their musical instruments, Noor gently stroked her golden hair. Spanning every inch of the sacred floor with her delicate steps, dressed in a shade above yellow, she was one with the saints. I followed her in congruent motion and thoughts. With emerald green eyes, rosy cheeks and a mole above the deliciously pouty lips, people mistook her for a Persian tourist.

Being so disturbingly perfect, Noor became the Strange Attractor of divine causation, and that was how we seemed to have met, despite an unbridgeable age difference, surrendering to the dark forces and an imminent fate. Only those who had glimpsed into the netherworlds of consciousness could grapple the higher purpose of that union. She was among the few eyewitnesses who saw the tumults of a movement that was Bahujan Samaj Party in its early years. Noor, in fact, bore the brunt of madness, anger and violence that didn’t get channelized, coming from the oppressed who tried to give a fight, but failed miserably.

She offered me food and shelter. For the two years that I had known Noor—majority of which was spent in quelling the angst that often led to bitter fights between us—the chip on my shoulder and her internment in the past never became that obvious. And one spring evening, our love fell prey to the perceived wounds of injustice perpetrated by others, and I lost her forever.

The temperatures had risen considerably by April, so I hopped on a rickshaw for the last leg of my daily commute to Gurgaon. The scrawny figure on the pedals spoke Hindi with an unmistakable Punjabi accent. As it turned out, the man, a Sikh with a masters in political science, had fallen on hard times. We covered the three kilometers fairly quickly and he bid adieu with a couplet of Gurdas Maan.

The next day, we bounced into each other again. Foaming from the mouth and looking very unkempt, he appeared on the verge of a breakdown. I profiled that the man was either a runaway convict or a drug fiend. Genuinely concerned, I confronted him with alacrity:

“Tu koi galat kamm karke bhajjeya lagda, Punjab ton.”

(You seem be a felon on the run from Punjab.)

The confirmation came quickly with a half-cooked yarn of how his brothers had disowned him for the property.

“Waise assin Saini hunde aan.”

(By the way, we are Sainis by caste.)

The once glorious antecedents offered him imaginary relief.

He stayed in the shanty town of Kapashera, near the Delhi-Gurgaon border. It was a shithole for the dispensable lot which erected the MNC utopia—like the security guards of our gated colonies, malls and cyber-parks­—flushed away to the place like roaches when they were not needed.

“Mera munda kainda, ‘Baapu, saada taan haal Majbiyan ton vi maada ho gaya.’”

(My son tells me, “Father, our living conditions are even deplorable than that of the Mazhabis”.)

Here was a creature that would barely pass off as a human, who willfully got arrested for the three free meals in a lock-up. Yet, in his mind, in his soul, still survived a sadist, a demon—placating the ego, licking the maggots off the wounds. He even played politics with hygiene, reminding me of a poignant statement made by a Mazhabi Sikh of Sur Singh, when I nudged him a little about the goings-on in the gurdwara:

“Saanu ki aa? Assin taan nauhne wi roz aa, te saadi boli wi saaf aa.”

(Why should I care? We bathe daily and don’t use obscene language.)

Bouncing atop that rickshaw, I could do nothing but shed a tear on the cruel joke, on the all-encompassing irony of it.

My long winter was finally coming to an end.

­—X—

Dedicated to Noor.

Pukhraj Singh (pukhraj@gmail.com) is the founder of Abroo (ਆਬਰੂ).

A Day in the Life of a Sikh Prejudice

“The very ink with which history is written,” allegorised Mark Twain, “is merely fluid prejudice.” By that rationale, religion can often be the quill which defaces the truth with its broad strokes, perverting history than promulgating it. And like the bastard child of these perversions, a few counter-narratives manage to wade through the tides of public opinion, carrying the dim outline of the ossified ideas that led to its tragic pursuit. But one has to have the right kind of eyes, says Hunter S. Thompson, to “see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

A similar, horrid apparition of truth opened the floodgates of memories and angst very recently as a headline screamed through the Twitterverse—40 Sikhs Convert to Christianity in a Tarn Taran District Village: Gurdwara Management’s Treatment of “Low Caste” Sikhs Calls for Strict Action—in the particularly sultry month of August.

Read it here: http://kafila.org/2012/12/29/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-sikh-prejudice-pukhraj-singh/

Batch I
i. Smt. Sonia Gandhi (President, Indian National Congress)
ii. Sh. Rahul Gandhi (General Secretary, Indian National Congress)
iii. Sh. Ashwani Kumar (Minister of State for Planning & Parliamentary Affairs)
iv. Capt. Amarinder Singh (President, Punjab Pradesh Congress Committee)
v. Sh. Sunil Kumar Jakhar (Leader of the Opposition in the Punjab Vidhan Sabha)
vi. Sh. Satnam Singh Kainth (Punjab Congress leader, ex-MP & former Leader of the Opposition in the Punjab Vidhan Sabha)
vii. Sh. Sukhpal Singh Khaira (Punjab Congress leader & former MLA)

Batch II
viii. Sh. Pawan Kumar Bansal (Minister of Railways)
ix. Smt. Preneet Kaur (Minister of State for External Affairs)
x. Sh. Manish Tewari (Minister of State (I&B) with Independent Charge)

To,

Smt. Ambika Soni
Hon’ble Union Minister for Information & Broadcasting
& Member of Parliament, Rajya Sabha
New Delhi.

Dated: 12th September, 2012

Respected Ambika Soni ji,

SUB:- A TWO-PRONGED STRATEGY FOR REINVIGORATING THE OPPOSITION IN PUNJAB

- Part I -

If dissent is the fluid that lubricates the machinery of democracy and political opposition the inertia that holds the government from drifting into unaccountability, then all the gauges indicating the internal health and vitality of Punjab are screaming of an overload.

Waltzing into the Vidhan Sabha with an unprecedented mandate for the second time, the incumbent SAD-BJP combine has completely pummeled the Opposition as represented by the Congress party. The concoction of developmental reforms being force-fed to the people of the state may produce momentary euphoria, the illusions of well-being projected by the megalomaniacal leadership of SAD may conceal the crumbling edifices, yet this patchwork cannot address the long-term, fundamental and architectural issues that have plagued Punjab.

Riding on the relatively stable institutional frameworks built since Independence, some aspects of the envisaged reforms — like the Right to Service Act, Department of Governance Reforms / Punjab Governance Reforms Commission, Punjab State e-Governance Society and Department of Investment Promotion, etc. — may indeed prove to be fruitful; but that is a mere drop in the ocean. On the other hand, the limbless Opposition stands completely compromised, partially due to their own failings and vulnerabilities that are being conveniently exploited by the ruling parties. The unfaltering conviction and morality that is expected from an oppositional force capable of even confronting such a powerful adversary cannot be fostered with the existing strategy, paradigm and ethos followed by Punjab Congress. Its echelons are too susceptible to sabotage by the Establishment that has all the powers and resources at its disposal. Moreover, as one senior Akali leader pointed out to me with a visible glee on his face, “Even their [Congress’s] closets are full of skeletons.”

Madam, I am indulging, quite luxuriously, in a dispassionate and overly-philosophical assessment of a party which you have been serving so very selflessly for the last many decades. My criticism stems from a sense of hope that there are still a few pockets of progressiveness in Punjab Congress that can be coalesced to undermine, if not end, the autarkical reign of a feudal construct called SAD.

I genuinely feel that the middle-rung of your party in the state has more forward-looking leaders, equitably representing all the sections of the society. Having interacted with many of them in recent times, some of whom I will be mentioning in this note, the sense of disillusionment over infighting, risk-averseness and elitism is hard to miss. To add to the woes, there is hardly any cadre-building and meritocracy at the grassroots-level, thus severing the umbilical that binds your organization with the masses.

Before I move to an action-plan, please allow me to submit the last observation on the nature of the oppositional discourse in the Vidhan Sabha. The appointment of Shri Sunil Kumar Jakhar, a Hindu Jat, as the Leader of the Opposition signals a paradigm and generational shift in the way Congress High Command perceives Punjab from a strategic angle. A tireless crusader whose yeoman service to the people is only outdone by his accessibility and humility, Mr. Jakhar brings in a level of sophistication and objectivity to the debates. But a single man, however exemplary his zeal might be, cannot be expected to become the harbinger of change for the whole organization. We need more Sunil Jakhars! Having said that, one thing which becomes immediately noticeable is that the activism of Congress in the Vidhan Sabha is too technical or agenda-driven sometimes, easily outdone by the wily machinations of SAD. And the activism at the grassroots level, which may require mass-mobilization or other forms of ‘civil disobedience’, is so paltry or based on such frivolous agendas that the administration generally laughs it off.

- Part II -

Madam, sometimes genuine politicking should give way to legitimate but piquant rhetoric, hardened agendas should be left aside for a more guerilla approach in damaging the credibility of the rival, the objective dispensation should be sidelined for subjectivism and emotionalism. Subversion, not stalling, becomes the mantra for such an offensively-styled opposition. This strategy is akin to asymmetric warfare, where a weaker combatant tries to overwhelm the Goliath by focusing only on the soft-spots or vulnerabilities. Swiftness and a realistic appraisal of risk are the two decisive factors in this approach. In the case of Punjab Congress, it may not become a big-changer immediately, especially when the adversary is on such a higher pedestal, but can slowly make small dents, offer vantage points and provide ingress to further sabotage their plans. The party only needs to reassess its two historical trump cards: the Dalits and the media.

I am a young activist running a non-profit venture called Abroo (www.abroo.in) for the last two years, trying to highlight the plight of the downtrodden and weaker sections of Punjab. In the same respect, I also convene an annual sociopolitical and intellectual conclave at Chandigarh, the Punjabi Subaltern Summit (www.subaltern.in), where politicians, artists, academicians and media professionals try to find a common ground on the pressing problems of our state. It is a congregation of some of the brightest minds from the region, attempting to make crucial interventions in the public policy. Being fully immersed in understanding the politics of caste, I have intimately and passionately covered many recent developments that offer a perspective on the growing frustration of the marginalized sections, gaining an explosive propensity now. There is an inherent and ideological repulsion from the Jatt-dominated, feudal-minded politics of the Akalis, whose uncurbed relationship with the institutionalized, dogmatic and hegemonic Sikh clergy has further isolated our oppressed brothers and sisters from the faith. This undercurrent of angst is chiseled by an unflinching desire to gain a respectable socio-economic identity. To put it simply, Punjab is a tinderbox when it comes to caste.

Madam, I may be preaching to the choir here but Dalits are traditionally known to ally with Congress. This foundational mainstay was lost after the splitting of vote-shares among the small parties like PPP, BSP and CPI during the recent elections; a big blunder occurring due to the myopic and outmoded approach towards Dalit politics founded on divide-and-rule, or treating them like a mobile vote-bank, without ever understanding what their real pains and aspirations are.

All is not lost here as the cauldron of casteism is on the verge of overflowing. Sick of being humiliated by the mainstream Sikh establishment which still treats them as second-class citizens, and overwhelmed by the highhandedness of SAD, which has misunderstood their subdued silence for feebleness, the Dalits are mutinying against the very tenet of this perverse and consumerist form of Punjabiyat; to reclaim, to nurture back its pluralistic spirit.

In the last few months itself, Punjab Congress has failed to leverage the golden opportunities laying bare the blatant violation of rights of the downtrodden by an insensitive government that engages in systemic discrimination. These issues not only concern the Dalits but the society as a whole, underlining an end-to-end social breakdown from policy to practice. Take the case of village Mahan Singh Wala, where a few powerful Jatt landlords, in collusion with the panchayat, imposed draconian wage-rules and social restrictions on the unorganized Dalit laborers or seeri. Appearing initially as a small report in a newspaper, the issue almost died down as the pliant regional media implicitly ignored, underreported or misrepresented the issue (I will also be touching on the ‘media mafia’ of Punjab in the subsequent section). After ardent activism by certain groups including mine, the story finally went national. The state government tried to reach a quick resolution by literally forcing the Dalits of the village to give up their protest. By that time, the Chairman of Punjab Youth Congress, Vikramjit Singh Chaudhary, had already raised a morcha against the Akali government in Mahan Singh Wala, without ever realizing that the Jatt landlords who perpetrated this atrocity were allegedly close to the Congress leader, Rajinder Kaur Bhattal. Couldn’t the party have shown more deftness and empathy in its approach? Shouldn’t a Dalit leader or unit be given the charge of such agitations instead of a person whose very surname exemplifies all that is wrong about a caste-based society? This knee-jerk reaction reminds one of the school of thought pioneered by Thakurs like VP Singh, Arjun Singh and Digvijay Singh that the misery of the marginalized can only be understood by upper-caste leaders. In any case, the Akalis efficiently ended the deadlock, if the reportage is to be believed, much to the chagrin of the activists who knew what the ground reality was. The Punjab State SC Commission failed to act. The DC, the SDM and the Tehsildar were not even interested in listening to the laborers who were keen on invoking the SC / ST Act. The landlords were too proud to tender an apology for this punishable offense. Eventually, a few gullible village members were picked and a “truce” was supposedly worked out. The media groups covered the incident only when a conclusion was reached; their tone and tenor promoted a proactive role of the administration, which was not the case.

If you imagine that this was a minor aberration in a society draped with the egalitarian precepts of Sikhism then please allow me to disclose that I have recorded four more serious cases of caste-based atrocities in just the last two months. Similar boycotts have been enforced at villages Ameerke, Faride Wala (where eight protesting workers were shot by armed Jatt landlords) and Sardarpura. As I am writing this piece, another horror story of institutionalized discrimination has emerged from my hometown Tarn Taran, which pains me extremely. In the village Dhotian, forty Mazhabi Sikhs have converted to Christianity after being repeatedly humiliated by the clergy that even refused their entry into the Gurdwara (also see, Punjab’s Map of Shame).

These are some of the developments, causes and cases of genuine introspection which were immediately actionable and would have impacted the societal psyche as a whole. Then there are the broader, strategic issues like adopting a progressive stand on the deras; acknowledgment of Ravidassia Dharam and their holy scripture, Amritbani; the ignominy of manual scavenging and the deplorable condition of the Balmiki and Mazhabi communities; giving an ideological platform to Chamar assertion; and lastly, the absolute underutilization of a powerful position: the Vice-Chairmanship of the National Commission of Scheduled Castes, hoarded by Mr. Raj Kumar Verka, who has done little to alleviate the misery of his people on the ground. After winning the Amritsar (W) seat in the Assembly elections, the chances of him leveraging this powerful constitutional body are even remote. Punjab Congress had fielded experienced Dalit politicians in these polls, poached from the now defunct BSP cadre of the eighties, and the appointment of Mr. Verka was a clever attempt to foment a caste-based rebellion in Punjab, exactly what Mr. PL Punia, the Chairman of NCSC, was meant to accomplish in UP. Admirable the strategy might have been, the party must acknowledge its failure. This position should now be awarded to a veteran, conscientious Dalit leader from the old-school ex-BSP cadre, possibly hailing from Doaba, who doesn’t have any additional responsibilities. Mr. Satnam Singh Kainth (ex-MP & ex-Leader of the Opposition in the 10th Vidhan Sabha), with whom I’ve had long, heart-to-heart interactions on the abject condition of the oppressed sections of society, is one worthy contender in my humble opinion.

- Part III -

Right at the periphery — where pertinent but least highlighted issues like those mentioned above intersect with the public discourse — lies the media: an institution systematically sieged and subdued by the cabal of Sukhbir Singh Badal. The information dissemination wings of Punjab Government like the Directorate of Information & Public Relations can veritably be compared to the ‘Ministry of Truth’, from the novel 1984 by George Orwell, engaging in unrestrained propaganda and censorship for the dystopian regime that is in power. The media organizations on the other hand, be it electronic or print, have been forced or cajoled to ‘manufacture consent’ (if one borrows the terminology of American thinker, Noam Chomsky) among the masses.

The last five years since the Akalis have been in power, the production, dissemination and distribution of news has been blatantly cartelized to mould and influence the collective psyche of society. The Dalit populace, which has largely been at loggerheads with the current government, always leaving their electoral equations in a tizzy, was the last bastion to be taken over. It is with this intention that the owner of Fastway, a mafia-like entity which controls 95% of the cable distribution in the state, was seen lurking at the doors of a Punjabi vernacular, Apni Mitti, a BSP mouthpiece, to strike a Faustian deal that attempts to steal the soul of the Dalit movement.

The editor of Apni Mitti, who was previously the District General Secretary of BSP from Jalandhar, had recently announced the launch of a Punjabi news channel, specifically catering to the interests of Dalits, in a post-poll political rally. Pleasantly surprised by this declaration, which could be turn out to be a watershed in the caste politics of the state and be a death-knell for the partisan attitude of the regional media, I chased the story and went to meet the Editor at his office. At the premises, I saw the owner of Fastway hashing out the launch plans. It’s a known and proven fact that all the BSP candidates in the Assembly elections had been bought-over by the Akalis, with the connivance of Avtar Singh Karimpuri, its Punjab unit chief. The move to launch the news channel, by front-ending it through a known BSP loyalist and an ardent Ambedkarite ideologue, was another attempt to earn the trust and tacitly corrupt the Dalit consciousness and assertion; another ploy of Sukhbir to sway the public opinion, further misguiding or dividing them. That the Editor, supposedly a proud Ambedkarite, was seen inveigling a Congress leader to seek some support in the Municipal Corporation polls which were held recently, is another tragedy. This is not the kind of realpolitik which Kanshi Ram believed in and shows exactly what is wrong with the Punjabi Dalit leadership as well (also see, Inside the Media Mafia of Punjab).

Yet the game is even bigger than anyone’s reckoning. Junior Badal started consolidating the business interests right after 1997, when the Akalis came into power. Control over media distribution and the propagation of news was one of his main priorities. Like a zealous and ruthless dictator, all the state machinery was put at the disposal of Fastway and its subsidiaries. From the snatching away of the Gurbani telecast rights of ETC in collusion with the Jathedars that marked the beginning of this dominance over the airwaves, to the predatory acquisition of competing interests (media corporations, channels and multi-service operators, etc.), every ploy was adopted. Those who did not fall in line were either knocked out or blackmailed through extrajudicial (to be read as criminal) means. Investigating the dozens of shell companies, benami accounts and special purpose entities that fund these ventures is like getting trapped in a labyrinthine maze. The sensational disclosure by Capt. Amarinder Singh which proved that the real owners of PTC, a network of channels setup by this cabal which cannibalized the more popular ETC, were close acquaintances of Sukhbir Badal is just a case in point.

How TRAI’s and Election Commission’s norms were openly violated prior to the elections, when channels paying hefty carriage fees for availing a broadcast over the multi-service operator, Fastway, were blocked or their signals tampered with, while they covered the rallies of Manpreet Singh Badal or the Congress candidates, is well-known. The legal squabble of Day & Night News, a channel embodying the free and conscientious spirit of journalism, typifies the kind of transgressions that were perpetrated. Day & Night News has done a stupendous job in satiating the curiosities and quelling the frustrations of Punjabis, mindless of their caste, class or creed. However, after a long-drawn and costly battle against the cable mafia at the Telecom Disputes Settlement and Appellate Tribunal (M/S. Kansan News Pvt. Ltd. Vs. Fastway Transmission Pvt. Ltd), it seems to have the realized the futility of being contrarian or demur at the system. One must sympathize with them at this point. The sports channel ESPN suffered the same fate when the people of the state were denied access to the World Cup cricket matches (ESPN Software India Pvt. Ltd. Vs. Fastway Citizen Cable Network Pvt. Ltd.).

To give you another perspective on the kind of subterfuge that we are dealing with here, there’s only one ‘headend’ (a master facility for receiving, processing and distributing television signals) in Punjab, located in Ludhiana, which accounts for all the cable distribution in the state, be it for any operator. Compare this to Delhi which has more than 200 headends and the story becomes clear — an extremely powerful conglomerate that can’t be challenged. And it would be a mistake to believe that the mandatory digitization underway in tier-II cities is going to mitigate this. Fastway, the big kahuna, has already forced the small cable operators to use its set-top boxes.

Punjab Congress did make a halfhearted attempt to challenge this monopoly in courts, as is clear from the case of ‘Godfather Communication, Punjab Vs. Media Pro Enterprises’, but it must be understood that even if the CM is summoned by the judiciary, that won’t necessarily lead to any fairness. Commendable is the role of Mr. Sukhpal Singh Khaira who upped the ante and fiercely fought against the cartel prior to the elections. I can give countless other examples on the illegality of this whole affair, e.g. Fastway is running around 20-30 channels of their own without the permission of the I&B ministry. How could this be possible? From what I have heard, they have a very clever workaround. Clearances are taken from the SDMs of all the districts, thus getting a sort of ‘no-objection certificate’ to air the channels in that area. It is rotten to that extent.

Madam, I am sure you must have realized by now, how this seedy nexus completely undermines the role of the Opposition and genuine public opinion in the state. Even Capt. Amarinder Singh had to confess that a part of the credit for SAD’s second win must be given to their shrewd media management strategy. It is my honest perception that Congress should take a leaf out of the rival’s book, revive the militant zeal and engage in soft-subversion that leverages the two most potent assets at its disposal. The Dalit populace is desperately seeking some form of sociopolitical representation, justice and equity. Your party has an experienced and matured caste leadership that only needs to be brought to the forefront. The regulatory powers vested with various central agencies and the I&B Ministry must be enforced to crackdown on the media cartel, or at least give them a scare. I would go a step further and suggest that even Congress should think of launching a regional channel, covertly or overtly, that heats up the political atmosphere, provides space to the caste discourse and ensnares the government whenever it errs.

To reemphasize what I had mentioned earlier: when a tyrannical leadership slips through the cracks by exploiting the bias of representation in a democracy — resorting to quasi-legal or extra-constitutional means that may look perfectly alright on paper and cannot be challenged with the formulaic objectivity of the Opposition — it is time to unleash a subjective, hyperbolic and emotional blitzkrieg that beats them in their very own game.

I am dearly aware of your deep-rooted and emotional connection with Punjab. Having led the national affairs with aplomb, it is my humble opinion, or rather a fond hope that I have been nurturing, maybe it’s time for you to return to the watan and take charge. Only a woman can provide that motherly succor to the bruised collective consciousness of our society, pulverizing its regressive and parochial pedestals.

Warm regards,
(Pukhraj Singh)

THE NOOSE OF NEWS

I

Trying to make myself comfortable in that dingy conference room, I couldn’t avoid inhaling the pungent and rather soothing smell of newsprint that permeated the place. Situated in a narrow bylane of Jalandhar, this cramped, two-room space acts as the makeshift office of a Punjabi weekly that proudly boasts to be a mouthpiece of the suppressed Dalit voices and the political organization avowing to represent their interests, the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP).

Propping open the laptop to prepare for an impromptu presentation, I catch the glimpse of a gentleman sitting in the opposite corner. Dressed in a white, half-sleeves shirt, this gangly figure has an odd posture: stooping towards the table, gazing intently at the wall but utterly disinterested in whatever was happening around us. I could almost sense that this person, however unimposing his demeanor might be, has some relevance in the grand scheme of things.

The Editor walks in. Boisterous and intense, he politely requests me to vacate the room for a few minutes — the mystery man wants to talk. As I am about to leave, the Editor shouts out from the top of his lungs, “Ae Fastway Cable de maalik hann!” (hereby referred to as ‘Maalik’).

The introduction was too abrupt for me to react and I close the door almost instantly.

II

I was visiting Jalandhar to attend the ‘BSP Workers’ Jagriti Sammelan’, organized by a rebel faction within the party that was seeking to overthrow the current state leadership, allegedly responsible for the humiliating defeat in the recent elections. The city has a longstanding association with the Dalit movement and the party cadre is relatively more organized than other places. And as such, the timing, the venue and the people spearheading this clarion call for change offered an interesting glimpse into the grassroots caste politics, or whatever is left of it.

Turn by turn, the local leaders sauntered up to the podium, venting their hate against the party leadership responsible for the fiasco. Choicest abuses like chor and gaddar were hurled at Avtar Singh Karimpuri, the BSP state president during the polls, but one man completely tipped the scales by calling him a kutta. Unmindful of the faux pas that was duly registered with a mix of surprise and amusement, this firebrand orator carried on nonchalantly to engage the audience through his speech laced with international and local intrigues. After a climatic buildup, he announced the launch of a Punjabi channel that would focus on the Dalit issues, becoming the voice of the poorest-of-the-poor that are generally ignored by the “Manuvadi” mainstream media. The person in focus was the editor of the aforementioned weekly.

For someone like me who has been brainstorming and deliberating with the veteran Dalit leaders of Punjab to rid the caste discourse from the clutches of the mainstream media and adopt an effective media-management strategy, this proclamation was exactly the kind of watershed, epoch-making development whose impact would be felt in the times to come.

Done with the speech, the Editor hurriedly shakes a few hands, rushing out of the venue to meet a publishing deadline. Quickly introducing myself as he paces forward to the vehicle — a Toyota Qualis with a plate bearing his name and designation — I am told to accompany him for the ride. Savoring the rush that comes with public speaking, he shares a joke with the two Punjab Police commandos that form a part of his “security cover” on the enhanced threat perception on his life. They grin back in apparent nervousness.

The Editor acknowledges that some parts of his speech were a little too crude but assures me that a change is in the offing. He extols the Ambedkarite politics of emancipation and shares some observations on the personal life of Karimpuri, delicately hinting at the fact that his outbursts were a part of some grander scheme being envisaged. There is a certain sophistication and professionalism to the person, who must be in late thirties, that is quite uncommon in these circles. We reach the office.

III

Sitting on a sofa in the small reception area that is littered with the unsold editions of the paper, the conversation taking place in the other room is clearly audible. Maalik, the owner of Fastway, is sorting out some technical or administrative issues on the soon-to-be-launched channel. I pick an old edition of the vernacular; it has quite an emotive, pro-BSP tone to it, garnished with a few Ambedkarisms here and there. An image on the front-page catches my attention. This month-old issue has a shot of the Editor greeting Karimpuri, unbridled smiles and handshakes that make no attempt to betray the mutually beneficial arrangement in the offing. The contrast, from the vocabulary expended by the Editor for Karimpuri and the bonhomie that is visible in this picture, was clearly not subtle, nor fitted any paradigm of Ambedkarite realpolitik. Positively impressed by his dynamism, I pragmatically considered it to be the necessary evil that comes with minority politics as fostered by the likes of Kanshi Ram, who even struck Faustian deals with ideological enemies and historical oppressors.

I am escorted to the conference room again. The Editor introduces me to his business partner, who was busy talking to Maalik. After some lighthearted banter, I arrive at the actual agenda explaining them how the caste movement has been subdued due to the biases inherent in the mainstream media and that the BSP needs a well-entrenched media management strategy as has been adopted by the Akalis to make inroads into the Assembly. Whatever little that comes out from the nascent Punjabi Dalit reportage, literature and intelligentsia is laced with language and emotions that doesn’t suit the tone and tenor of the large media houses and their vested interests (diatribes on Gandhi and Nehru, etc.). A balanced approach, a trickery of sorts that exploits the very biases that these institutions succumb to — maudlin rhetoric, populist appeasement and pro-Establishment tilt — should instead be adopted, thus beating them in their own game! I further add that the idea of opening up a news channel is very timely and since I am already undertaking research on the Dalit affairs, my services are most available for this noble cause. Gradually, the interaction starts sounding more of an interview to me. I am asked specifically how the Akalis actually reined over the media in the recent elections. I name a few names, recall certain critical developments — editors being cajoled, news being planted, dissent being mauled, and print and electronic media production as well as distribution being monopolized — as a part of this grand scheme of information dominance. While being fully aware that almost all of these acts were orchestrated by or at the behest of the person sitting next to me, Maalik, the big kahuna of the cable distribution business in Punjab. There was not even the slightest twitch of a muscle on his face as I kept on with the conspiratorial soliloquy. The meeting ends pleasantly with the usual promises to be touch.

I would not have undertaken this hit-job on the Editor, or betrayed his ambitions which sounded benign and well-meaning initially, had I not sensed the chicanery, the systematic and institutional subterfuge being machinated here. Just around a month later, I meet a veteran leader from Congress and a trusted friend, at Punjab Bhavan, Delhi. While indulging in the usual political grapevine, he tells me that the Editor had paid a visit to him a few weeks ago. I was quite surprised, pondering why the young leadership of BSP would make such a move. In the trademark discreteness, he hints that they were apparently looking for greener pastures and seeking tacit support for the upcoming Corporation polls in Jalandhar. Not fully convinced about the dirty game that the Congress leader was hinting at, I add that the Editor was previously the district general secretary of BSP from Jalandhar and such a misadventure sounds highly unlikely of him. The Congress leader retorts in amusement, “Ae ajj di young BSP leadership bahot ambitious hai, jaldi utte auna chauhnde ne. Baaki, party di organizational management inni weak hai ke ajj da district general secretary kal da state president bann jaanda hai, te parson party to baahar kaddeya jaanda hai!”. That was the bitter truth about a party which was organizationally in shambles. It had just become a hunting ground for amateur gold-diggers.

But there is a bigger and more worrisome picture to be looked at here. A seedy game that is being played, where the players are dancing to the tunes of certain invisible puppet masters. It is not a secret, and we would go into the granular details later in the proceeding section of this article, that the media has been turned into an institution that can quite aptly and veritably be compared to the Orwellian ‘Ministry of Truth’, engaging in unrestrained propaganda and censorship in service of the dystopian regime in power. The last five years since the Akalis have been the incumbents, the production, dissemination and distribution of news has been blatantly cartelized to mold and influence the public psyche. The Dalit populace, which has largely been at loggerheads with the current government and had always left their electoral equations in a tizzy, was the last bastion to be taken over. It is with this intention that the proverbial Mephistopheles, Maalik, was seen lurking at the doors of that newspaper to steal the soul of the Dalit movement. In a nutshell, the channel could merely be an elaborate ploy to immure the oppressed, to factionalize and polarize the movement at the behest of the mainstream parties, who are itching to exercise or implement a mechanism of control over them for quite some time.

IV

Part II

“We waited for a few hours and then the phone rang. He will be reaching the hotel in thirty minutes”, recalls Vikas (name changed for all the right reasons), a management consultant working for one of the largest media conglomerates of India. He is visibly anxious but is accompanied by another colleague, an old hand in the cable distribution business, to shepherd him through. They are placed in a fancy hotel suite in the heart of Jalandhar. The man at the other end of the phone is a close associate of Sukhbir Badal, responsible for tying the loose ends of the cable business.
___

[...left unfinished. Written last winter.]

[Translated from the original article, 'Fear and Loathing in Dera Sach Khand, Ballan', by Group Captain Kulwant Singh (retd.)]

ਡੇਰਾ ਸਚਖੰਡ, ਬੱਲਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਸੰਜੋਈ ਜਾ ਰਹੀ ਸਮਾਜਿਕ ਤਬਦੀਲੀ ਦਾ ਸਭ ਤੋਂ ਪਰਤੱਖ ਪੇਹਲੂ ਉਸਦੀ ਅਪਰਤੱਖਤਾ ਹੈ I ਇੱਥੇ ਪੰਜਾਬ ਦਾ ਹੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਬਲਕਿ ਭਾਰਤ ਦਾ ਇਕ ਨਵਾਂ ਧਰਮ ਪਨਪ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੈ ਜੋ ਕਿ ਗੁੱਸੇ ਭਰੇ ਦਲਿਤ ਸਮਾਜ, ਜਿਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦੇ ਧਾਰਮਿਕ ਆਗੂ ਗੁਰੂ ਰਾਮਾਨੰਦ ਦਾ ਕਤਲ ਹੋਇਆ,ਦਾ ਇਕ ਵਿਰੋਧ ਵਿਖਾਵਾ ਹੈI

ਇਥੇ ਚੁੱਪੀ ਦੇ ਮਾਹੌਲ ਨੂੰ ਸੁਰਖਿਆ ਬਲਾਂ ਦੀ ਮੌਜੂਦਗੀ ਅਤੇ ਬੇਲੋੜੀਆਂ ਪਾਬੰਦੀਆਂ ਜਿਵੇਂ ਕਿ ਫੋਟੋ ਖਿਚ੍ਚਣ ਤੇ ਰੋਕ ਆਦਿ, ਨੇ ਹੋਰ ਵੀ ਮਾਯੂਸ ਬਣਾ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਹੈI ਪ੍ਰਾਰਥਨਾ ਹਾਲ ਵਿਚ ਸੰਗਤ ਦੀ ਅਗਵਾਈ ਕਰਦੇ, ਮੌਜੂਦਾ ਗੁਰੂ ਨਿਰੰਜਨ ਦਾਸ ਇਕ ਕੁਰਸੀ ਤੇ ਸਾਦਾ ਮੁਦ੍ਰਾ’ਚ ਬਿਰਾਜਮਾਨ ਹਨ I ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਤੋਂ ਥੋੜਾ ਥੱਲੇ, ਹਾਲ ਦੇ ਵਿਚਕਾਰ ਲਕੜੀ ਦੇ ਇਕ ਸਜਾਵਟੀ ਥੜੇ ਉੱਤੇ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦਾ ਧਾਰਮਿਕ ਗਰੰਥ ”ਸਤਗੁਰੁ ਰਵਿਦਾਸ ਮਹਾਰਾਜ ਜੀ ਦੀ ਅਮ੍ਰਿਤ੍ਬਾਨੀ” ਸੁਸ਼ੋਭਿਤ ਹੈ ਜੋ ਕਿ ਮੁਖ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਧਾਰਾ ਅਤੇ ਰਵਿਦਾਸੀਆਂ ਵਿਚ ਕੰਡਾ ਬਣਿਆ ਹੋਇਆ ਹੈI

ਏਥੋਂ ਦਾ ਮਾਹੌਲ ਮਨ ਵਿਚ ਦੋਚਿੱਤੀ ਜਿਹੀ ਪੈਦਾ ਕਰਦਾ ਹੈ I ਗੁਰੂ ਰਵਿਦਾਸ ਮਹਾਰਾਜ ਜੀ ਦੇ ਚਲਾਏ ਇਸ ਧਰਮ ਦੀ ਰਹੱਸਮਈ ਉੱਚਤਾ, ਇਕ ਭਾਵੁਕ ਅਤੇ ਲਿੱਤੜੇ ਹੋਏ ਦਲਿਤ ਸਮਾਜ ਦੇ ਯੁਧ-ਉਤਸ਼ਾਹ ਵਿਚ ਖਲਲ ਪੌਓੰਦੀ ਹੈ I ਇਹ ਸਮਾਜੀ -ਰਾਜਨੈਤਿਕ ਅਤੇ ਰੂਹਾਨੀ ਬੁਝਾਰਤ ਇਸ ਭੋਲੀ ਭਾਲੀ ਸੰਗਤ ਤੋਂ ਪਰੇ ਹੈ I ਪਰ ਸਾਡੇ ਵਿਚੋਂ ਬਹੁਤ ਘੱਟ ਨੇ ਕਿਸੇ ਧਰਮ ਨੂੰ ਜਨਮ ਲੈਂਦੇ ਵੇਖਿਆ ਹੈ ਇਸ ਲਈ ਢਿੱਲੀ ਜਿਹੀ ਟਿੱਪਣੀ ਕਰਨਾ ਸ਼ਾਯਿਦ ਉਚਿਤ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੋਏ ਗਾI

ਹਾਲ ਵਿਚ ਗਏ ਜਾ ਰਹੇ ਸ਼ਬਦਾਂ ਅਤੇ ਰਾਗਾਂ ਦੇ ਸੁਰਾਂ ਪਿੱਛੇ ਅਸ੍ਵਿਕਾਰਤਾ ਤੇ ਬਗਾਵਤ ਦੀ ਫੁਸਫੁਸਾਹਟ ਸਾਫ਼ ਸੁਨਾਈ ਦੇਂਦੀ ਹੈ I ਇਕ ਬਜੁਰਗ, ਜੋ ਕਿ ਡੇਰੇ ਦੀ ਰੀੜ, ਇਸ ਅਲਪ-ਸੰਖਯਕ ਮਧ-ਵਰਗ ਦਾ ਪ੍ਰਿਤੀਨਿਧਿ ਲਗਦਾ ਹੈ, ਬੜੇ ਢਿੱਲੇ ਜਿਹੇ ਲਹਜੇ ਵਿਚ ਆਪਣੇ ਵਰਗੇ ਦੋ ਬਜੁਰਗਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਕੈਹ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੈ “ਕ਼ੀ ਖਾਲਸਾ ? ਇਹ ਕ਼ੀ ਖਾਲਸਾ ਖਾਲਸਾ ਕਰੀ ਜਾਂਦੇ ਨੇ?” ਅਸਲ ਵਿਚ ਸਾਧਾਰਣ ਤੇ ਸਿਧੇ ਸਾਦੇ ਇਹ ਲਫ਼ਜ਼ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਦੀਆਂ ਤਰੁਟੀਆਂ ਅਤੇ ਤਰੇੜਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਦਰਸਾਉਂਦੇ ਹਨI

ਪਿੰਡ ਬੱਲਾਂ ਜਾਂਦਿਆਂ ਚਹੋਂ ਘੰਟਿਆਂ ਦੇ ਸਫ਼ਰ ਦੌਰਾਨ ਮੈਂ ਰਾਜੀਵ ਅਲੋਚਨ ਕਪੂਰ ਦੀ ਰਚਿਤ “ਸਿਖ ਅਲਗਾਵਵਾਦ: ਧਰਮ ਦੀ ਰਾਜਨੀਤੀ” ਦੇ ਕੁਝ ਅਧਿਆਏ ਦੁਬਾਰਾ ਪੜ੍ਹੇ I ਸਿਖ ਰਾਜਨੀਤੀ ਅਤੇ ਸ੍ਵਭਾਵ ਉੱਤੇ ਇਹ ਸਭ ਤੋਂ ਵਧੀਆ ਰਚਨਾ ਹੈ I ਕੋਰਨੇਲ ਤੇ ਓਕ੍ਸ੍ਫੋਰਡ ਵਿਸ਼ਵ ਵਿਦ੍ਯਾਲਯ ਤੋਂ ਸਿਕ੍ਸ਼ਿਤ, ਰਾਜੀਵ ਯੂ. ਐਨ. ਓ. ਵਿਚ ਇਕ ਅੰਤਰਰਾਸ਼ਟਰੀ ਜਨ-ਸੇਵਕ ਹੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਬਲਕਿ ਸਿਖ ਇਤਿਹਾਸ ਤੇ ਸਭਿਅਤਾ ਉੱਤੇ ਇਕ ਅਣਪਛਾਤਾ ਵਿਸ਼ੇਸ਼ਗ੍ਯ ਵੀ ਸਨ I ਮੈਂ ਇਹ ਕਿਤਾਬ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ 2003 ਵਿਚ ਪੜ੍ਹੀ ਤੇ ਹੁਣ ਤਕ ਸਾਰੇ ਵਰਕਿਆਂ ਉੱਤੇ ਕਿਸੇ ਨਾ ਕਿਸੇ ਉੱਲੇਖ ਨੂੰ ਰੇਖਾ-ਅੰਕਿਤ ਕੀਤਾ I ਮੈਨੂੰ ਇਸ ਕਿਤਾਬ ਨੇ ਇੰਨਾ ਪ੍ਰਭਾਵਿਤ ਕੀਤਾ ਕਿ ਮੈਂ ਆਪਣੀ ਪਲੇਠੀ “ਪੰਜਾਬੀ ਸਬਐਲਟਰਨ ਸਮਿਟ” ਦੇ ਉਦਘਾਟਨ ਤੇ ਰਾਜੀਵ ਨੂੰ ਨਿਮੰਤ੍ਰਤ ਕਰਨ ਦੀ ਸੋਚੀ ਪਰ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਬੜੀ ਨਿਰਾਸ਼ਾ ਨਾਲ ਪਤਾ ਲੱਗਾ ਕਿ ਉਹ 2005 ਵਿਚ ਬੇਵਕ਼ਤ ਅਕਾਲ ਚਲਾਨਾ ਕਰ ਗਏ ਹਨ I ਇਸ ਬੁਧੀਜੀਵੀ ਅਤੇ ਉਸਦੇ ਪਰਿਵਾਰ ਬਾਰੇ ਜ਼ਰੂਰ ਹੋਰ ਬੜਾ ਕੁਝ ਲਿਖਿਆ ਗਿਆ ਹੋਵੇ ਗਾ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਉਹ ਲਾਲਾ ਰੁਚੀ ਰਾਮ ਸਾਹਨੀ ਦੇ ਪੋਤਰੇ ਸਨ, ਜੋ ਕਿ ਟ੍ਰਿਬ੍ਯੂਨ ਦੇ ਮੋਢੀ ਨਿਆਸੀ ਅਤੇ ਦਿਆਲ ਸਿੰਘ ਕਾਲੇਜ ਦੇ ਬਾਨੀ ਸਦੱਸ ਸਨ I ਉਨ੍ਹਾ ਨੇ ਸਿਖ ਧਰਮ ਦੇ ਹਿਤ ਵਿਚ ਤੇ ਗੁਰਦਵਾਰਾ ਸੁਧਾਰ ਮੁਹਿਮ ਦਾ ਇਤਿਹਾਸ ਰਚਣ ਵਿਚ ਬੜਾ ਵੱਡਾ ਯੋਗਦਾਨ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਸੀ I

ਉੱਪਰ ਵਰਣਨ ਕੀਤੇ ਬਜ਼ੁਰਗ ਦੀ ਖਰੀ ਟਿੱਪਣੀ ਵੱਲ ਵਾਪਸ ਆਓਂਦੇ ਹਾਂ I ਪੰਥ ਕਦੀ ਖਤਰੇ ਵਿਚ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ ਪਰ ਹਮੇਸ਼ਾ ਸਰਗਰਮੀ ਤੇ ਜਦੋਜੈਹਦ ਵਿਚ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੈ I ਨਿਰਾਸ਼ਾਵਾਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ 1853 ਵਿਚ ਅੰਗ੍ਰੇਜ਼ਾਂ ਦੇ ਹਮਲੇ ਤੋਂ ਬਾਦ ਤੱਤ-ਖਾਲਸਾ ਨੂੰ ਗਿਆ-ਗਵਾਚਾ ਮੰਨ ਲਿਆ I ਉਸਤੋਂ ਦਹਾਕੇ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਜਦੋਂ ਕਿ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਆਪਣੀ ਬੁਲੰਦੀ ਤੇ ਸੀ, ਉਦੋਂ ਵੀ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਉੱਤੇ ਹਿੰਦੁਵਾਦ ਦਾ ਬਹੁਤ ਅਸਰ ਸੀ I ਅੰਗ੍ਰੇਜ਼ੀ ਰਾਜ ਦੇ ਇੱਕ ਦੋ ਦਹਾਕਿਆਂ ਬਾਅਦ ਸਿਖ ਪਹਚਾਨ ਨੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਿਰ ਚੁੱਕਿਆ ਅਤੇ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਵੱਲ ਧਰਮ-ਬਦਲਾਵ ਵਿਚ ਫਿਰ ਵਾਧਾ ਹੋਇਆ I ਸਿੱਖੀ ਅਪਣਾਉਣ ਦੇ ਹੋਰ ਵੀ ਫਾਇਦੇ ਸਨ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਅੰਗ੍ਰੇਜ਼ ਸਿੱਖਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਸਰਕਾਰੀ ਦਫਤਰਾਂ ਤੇ ਫੌਜ ਵਿਚ ਜਿਆਦਾ ਨੌਕਰੀਆਂ ਦੇਂਦੀ ਸੀ I ਪਰ ਸਿਖ ਬੁਧੀਜੀਵੀਆਂ ਤੇ ਉੱਚੇ ਵਰਗ ਨੂੰ ਇਸ ਤੋਂ ਖਤਰਾ ਮੇਹ੍ਸੂਸ ਹੋਇਆ ਜੋ ਕਿ ਸਹੀ ਨਿਕਲਿਆ I ਜਦੋਂ ਮਹਾਰਾਜਾ ਦਲੀਪ ਸਿੰਘ ਤੇ ਕੁੰਵਰ ਹਰਨਾਮ ਸਿੰਘ ਨੇ ਇਸਾਈ ਧਰਮ ਆਪਣਾ ਲਿਆ ਤਾਂ ਕਾਫੀ ਲੋਕਾਂ ਨੇ ਵਾਪਸ ਹਿੰਦੂ ਧਰਮ ਦੀ ਸ਼ਰਣ ਲੈ ਲਈ I ਫਿਰ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਅਲਗ ਅਲਗ ਅਧਾਰਾਂ ਤੇ ਵੰਡੀ ਗਯੀ I ਇਸ ਸਮੇ ਇਕ ਉਚ੍ਚ-ਪਧਰੀ ਸੰਸਥਾ “ਸਿੰਘ – ਸਭਾ” ਦਾ ਅੰਮ੍ਰਿਤਸਰ ਵਿਚ ਜਨਮ ਹੋਇਆ I

ਲਾਹੋਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਸਭਾ ਦੇ ਬਾਨੀ ਭਾਈ ਦਿੱਤ ਸਿੰਘ ਬਣੇ ਜਿੰਨ੍ਹਾ ਨੇ ਉਚ੍ਚ -ਜਾਤੀ ਸਿੱਖਾਂ ਦੇ ਵਿਰੁਧ ਮੁਹਿਮ ਸ਼ੁਰੂ ਕੀਤੀ I ਉਚ੍ਚ-ਜਾਤੀ ਦੇ ਸਿੱਖਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਸੂਬਾਈ ਵਿਧਾਨਸਭਾ ਵਿਚ ਆਪਣੀ ਨੁਮਾਇੰਦਗੀ ਬਾਰੇ ਬਹੁਤ ਚਿੰਤਾ ਸੀ I ਆਪਣੀ ਇਕ ਪਰਤੱਖ ਪਹਚਾਨ ਹੀ ਇਕ ਮਾਤਰ ਸਾਧਨ ਸੀ ਜਿਸ ਨਾਲ ਉਹ ਬਹੁ-ਸੰਖ੍ਕੀ ਹਿੰਦੂ ਤੇ ਮੁਸਲਮਾਨਾਂ ਨਾਲ ਦੋ-ਹੱਥ ਹੋ ਸਕਦੇ ਸਨ I ਪੇਹ੍ਚਾਨ ਦੀ ਇਸ ਜੱਦੋ -ਜਹਿਦ, ਜੋਕਿ ਗੁਰੂ ਨਾਨਕ ਦੇ ਵਕ਼ਤ ਤੋਂ ਚੱਲੀ, ਵਿਚ ਇਹ ਯਾਦ ਰੱਖਣਾ ਜ਼ਰੂਰੀ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਜੱਟਾਂ ਦੀ ਵਫਾਦਾਰੀ ਦਾ ਖਾਲਸਾ ਦੀ ਉਤਪਤੀ ਤੇ ਪ੍ਰਫੁੱਲਤਾ ਤੇ ਸਿਧਾ ਅਸਰ ਸੀ ਤੇ ਸਿੱਖਾਂ ਦੇ ਹਰ ਗੁਰੂ ਨੇ ਇਸਦਾ ਸਮਰਥਨ ਕੀਤਾ I

ਭਾਰਤੀ ਪੁਰਾਤਾਤ੍ਤਵ ਸਰਵੇਖਣ ਵਿਭਾਗ, ਨਵੀਂ ਦਿੱਲੀ ਦੀ ਲਾਇਬ੍ਰੇਰੀ ਵਿਚ ਤਲਾਸ਼ਦਿਆਂ “ਡਾਕਟਰ ਗੰਡਾ ਸਿੰਘ ਦੇ ਸਤਕਾਰ ਵਿਚ ਲੇਖ” ਨਾਮਕ ਇਕ ਵਡਮੁੱਲੀ ਕਿਤਾਬ ਮੇਰੇ ਹੱਥ ਲੱਗੀ ਜੋ ਕਿ 1976 ਵਿਚ ਪ੍ਰਕਾਸ਼ਿਤ ਹੋਈ ( ਸਿਰਫ 1100 ਕਾਪੀਆਂ ) I ਇਸ ਵਿਚ ਇਕ ਲੇਖ “ ਪੰਜਾਬ ਅਤੇ ਸਿੰਧ ਦੇ ਜੱਟ” ਇਰਫਾਨ ਹਬੀਬ ਸੀ ਜਿਸ ਵਿਚ ਕਿ ਗੁਰੂ ਨਾਨਕ ਦੀ ਜੱਟਾਂ ਦੇ ਵੱਲ ਸਹਾਨਭੂਤੀ (ਆਪਣੀਆਂ ਜਾਤ -ਮੁਕਤ ਸਿਕ੍ਸ਼ਾਵਾਂ ਦੇ ਉਲਟ) ਦਾ ਵਰਣਨ ਹੈ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਉਹ ਇੰਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਇਸ ਉਭਰਦੇ ਧਰਮ ਦੀ ਉਧਾਹਰਣ ਬਣਾਉਣਾ ਚਾਹੰਦੇ ਸਨ I ਇਸਨੂੰ ਪਕ੍ਸ਼ਪਾਤੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਿਹਾ ਜਾ ਸਕਦਾ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਜੱਟ ਅਸਲ ਵਿਚ ਸ਼ੂਦਰ ਸਨ ਪਰ ਆਪਣੀ ਹਿਮਮਤ ਤੇ ਜੋਸ਼ ਨਾਲ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਦਾ ਵਿਕਾਸ ਕਰ ਸਕਦੇ ਸਨ I

ਨੀਵੀਂ ਜਾਤੀ ਦੇ ਧਰਮ-ਬਦ੍ਲੂਆਂ ਕੋਲ ਇਹ ਯੋਧਾ-ਸ਼ਕਤੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ ਤੇ ਉਹ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਵਖਰਾ ਤੇ ਨਿਕਾਰਿਆ ਮੇਹ੍ਸੂਸ ਕਰਦੇ ਸਨ ਭਾਂਵੇਂ ਗੁਰੂ ਗੋਬਿੰਦ ਸਿੰਘ ਨੇ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਮੁਖ-ਧਾਰਾ ਵਿਚ ਲਿਅਓਨ ਦੀ ਪੂਰੀ ਕੋਸ਼ਿਸ਼ ਕੀਤੀ I ਇਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨਾਲ ਵਿਤਕਰਾ ਕਦੇ ਵੀ ਖਤਮ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੋਇਆ ਅਤੇ ਸ਼ੁਰੂ ਵਿਚ ਇਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਹਰਿਮੰਦਰ ਸਾਹਿਬ ਦੇ ਅੰਦਰ ਅਓਨ ਤੋਂ ਵੀ ਮਨਾਹੀ ਸੀ I ਇਹ ਅਨ੍ਬੋਲੀ ਕੌੜੀ ਦਰਾਰ ਹਾਲੇ ਵੀ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦੇ ਜ਼ਮੀਰ ਵਿਚ ਹੈ I ਜਦੋਂ ਕਿ ਮਹਾਸ਼ਕਤਿ “ਅਕਾਲ ਤਖ਼ਤ” ਦੇ ਪਤਵੰਤੇ ਜੁਰਮਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਲਿਬੜੇ ਹਨ ਤਾਂ ਇੰਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨਿਮਾਣਿਆਂ ਦੇ ਦਿਲਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਭਰੋਸਾ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਪੈਦਾ ਕਰ ਸਕਦੇ ਹਨ ?

ਹੁਣ ਇਕ ਸਵਾਲ ਮੇਰੇ ਵੱਲੋਂ! ਕੀ ਭਾਰਤ ਵਿਚ ਰਹਿੰਦੀ ਸਿਖ ਬਿਰਾਦਰੀ ਨੂੰ, ਜੋ ਕਿ ਅਕਾਲ ਤਖ਼ਤ ਦੇ ਹੁਕਮਨਾਮਿਆਂ ਤੇ ਮਤਿਆਂ ਅਧੀਨ ਹੈ, ਰਾਸ਼ਟਰ ਵੱਲ ਆਪਣੀ ਪ੍ਰਤਿਬਧਤਾ ਦਾ ਦੁਬਾਰਾ ਮੁਲਾਂਕਣ ਕਰਨ ਦੀ ਜ਼ਰੂਰਤ ਹੈ? ਕੀ ਇਸ ਯੁਧਕ ਫਿਤਰਤ ਤੇ ਫੋਕੇ ਰੀਤੀ -ਰਿਵਾਜਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਛੱਡ ਕੇ ਦੇਸ਼ ਦੀ ਬਹੁ-ਧਰਮੀ ਸੰਸਕ੍ਰਿਤੀ ਤੇ ਵਿਕਾਸ ਦਾ ਰਾਹ ਨਹੀਂ ਫੜਨਾ ਚਾਹੀਦਾ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਰੂੜੀਬਧਤਾ ਦਾ ਅਜ ਦੇ ਸਮਾਜ ਵਿਚ ਕੋਈ ਜਿਆਦਾ ਮਹੱਤਵ ਨਹੀਂ?

ਵੇਦ ਗ੍ਰੰਥਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਅਦਲ-ਬਦਲ ਅਤੇ ਸ਼ੋਧ ਉੱਤੇ ਸਾਡੇ ਸ਼ੁਧਤਾਵਾਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ ਬੜੀਆਂ ਅੱਖਾਂ ਕਢੀਆਂ ਹਨ I ਮੈਂ ਤੁਹਾਨੂੰ ਇਕ ਖਰੀ ਉਦਾਹਰਣ ਦੇਂਦਾ ਹਾਂ I 1877 ਵਿਚ ਗੁਰੂ ਗਰੰਥ ਸਾਹਿਬ ਦਾ ਪਹਿਲਾ ਅੰਗ੍ਰੇਜ਼ੀ ਉਲਥਾ ਕਰਦਿਆਂ, ਅਰਨੇਸਟ ਟਰੰਪ ਨੇ ਇਕ ਸ਼ੁਗਲ ਜਿਹਾ ਕੀਤਾ ਸੀ I “ ਗਰੰਥ ਦੇ ਵੱਡੇ ਹਿੱਸੇ ਵਿਚ ਸ਼ਰ੍ਧਾਗੀਤ ਹਾਂ ਜੋ ਕਿ ਧਾਰਣਾ ਤੇ ਸ਼ੈਲੀ ਵਿਚ ਕਮਜ਼ੋਰ ਅਤੇ ਪੜ੍ਹਨ ਵਿਚ ਫਿੱਕੇ ਹਨ…. ਹਿੰਦੂ ਭਗਤਾਂ ਦਿਆਂ ਰਚਨਾਵਾਂ, ਖਾਸ ਤੌਰ ਤੇ ਕਬੀਰ ਦੀਆਂ, ਗੁਰੂਆਂ ਦੀਆਂ ਆਪਣੀਆਂ ਲਿਖਤਾਂ ਤੋ ਕਿਤੇ ਵੱਧ ਰੋਚਕ ਹਨ ” ਸਾਨੂੰ ਇਸ ਟਿੱਪਣੀ ਨੂੰ ਇਕ ਬਾਹਰਲੇ ਵਿਅਕਤੀ ਦਾ ਨਿਰਪਖ ਨਜ਼ਰੀਆ ਮੰਨਣਾਂ ਚਾਹੀਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਉਸ ਵੇਲੇ ਭਾਰਤ ਵਿਚ ਵੀ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਬਾਰੇ ਕੋਈ ਜਿਆਦਾ ਜਾਣਕਾਰੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ I ਸੰਤ ਸਿੰਘ ਸੇਖੋਂ ਨੇ ਆਪਣੀ ਰਚਨਾ ”ਪੰਜਾਬੀ ਸਾਹਿਤ ਦਾ ਇਤਿਹਾਸ” ਵਿਚ ਕਿਹਾ ਕਿ ਨਾਨਕ ਰਚਿਤ ਸ਼ਬਦਾਂ ਤੇ ਕਵਿਤਾਵਾਂ ਦੀ ਤੁਲਣਾ ਵਿਚ ਬਾਦ ਵਾਲੇ ਗੁਰੂਆਂ ਦੀਆਂ ਲਿਖਤਾਂ ਕੁਝ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ I ਇਸ ਲਈ, ਉਹ ਗਰੰਥ ਜਿਸਨੂੰ ਵਕ਼ਤ ਦੇ ਹਿਸਾਬ ਨਾਲ ਕਟੌਤੀਆਂ ਤੇ ਸ਼ੋਧ ਦਾ ਸਾਹਮਣਾ ਕਰਨਾ ਪਿਆ, ਉਸਦੇ ਉੱਤੇ ਲੰਬੀ ਚੌੜੀ ਬੈਹਸ ਕਿਓਂ ਕਰੀਏ ? ਉਸਦੀ ਹੋਂਦ ਨੂੰ ਸੰਪੂਰਨ ਕਿਓਂ ਮੰਨਿਆ ਜਾਵੇ I

ਇਕ ਆਮ ਸਿਖ, ਡੇਰਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਸ਼ੱਕੀ ਜਿਹੀ ਤੇ ਘ੍ਰਿਣਾ ਵਾਲੀ ਨਜ਼ਰ ਨਾਲ ਕਿਓਂ ਦੇਖਦਾ ਹੈ? ਇਹ ਕੁਝ ਹੱਦ ਤਕ ਸਚ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਡੇਰਾ ਮੁਖੀ, ਗਰੀਬ ਤੇ ਅਨਪੜ ਸੰਗਤ ਦਾ ਫਾਇਦਾ ਲੈ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ, ਪਰ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਯਾਦ ਕਰਨਾ ਚਾਹਿਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਤਕਰੀਬਨ ਇਕ ਸ਼ਤਕ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਗੁਰਦਵਾਰਿਆਂ ਦੇ ਮਹੰਤ ਵੀ ਅੱਤ ਦਰਜੇ ਦੇ ਬਦਇਖਲਾਕੀ ਸਨ I ਯਾਦ ਹਨ ਬੁੱਲ੍ਹੇ ਸ਼ਾਹ ਦੀਆਂ ਇਹ ਪੰਕਤੀਆਂ “ਧਰਮਸਾਲਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਧਾਰਵੀ ਰਹਿੰਦੇ ,ਠਾਕਰਦਵਾਰੇ ਠੱਗ I ਵਿਚ ਮਸੀਤੇ ਕੁਸਤ੍ਤੀ ਰਹਿੰਦੇ, ਆਸ਼ਿਕ਼ ਰਹਿਣ ਅਲੱਗ I”

ਸਾਨੂੰ ਇੰਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਲੱਖਾਂ ਹਿਮ੍ਮਤਭਰੇ ਸ਼ਰਧਾਲੂਆਂ ਤੇ ਚੇਲਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਮੂਰਖ ਸਮਝਣ ਤੋਂ ਗੁਰੇਜ਼ ਕਰਨਾ ਚਾਹਿਦਾ ਹੈ I ਇਹੀ ਸੰਗਤ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਉਸ ਧਰਮ/ਵਿਚਾਰਧਾਰਾ ਦਾ ਹਿੱਸਾ ਸੀ ਜਿਸਦੇ ਮਾਫ਼ੀ-ਜਾਚਕ ਹੁਣ ਆਪਣਾ ਪੱਖ ਪੇਸ਼ ਕਰਨ ਦੀ ਕੋਸ਼ਿਸ਼ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ I ਡੇਰਾ- ਦਰਸ਼ਨ ਦਾ ਮੈਂ ਹੁਣ ਇਕ ਹਲਕਾ ਫੁਲਕਾ ਤੇ ਸ਼ਾਯਦ ਮਜਾਕੀਆ ਪਹਿਲੂ ਸੁਣਾਉਂਦਾ ਹਾਂ I ਅਰਦਾਸ ਤੋਂ ਬਾਦ ਸੰਗਤ ਪਵਿੱਤਰ -ਭੋਜ ਲਈ ਲੰਗਰ ਹਾਲ ਵਿਚ ਇਕੱਠੀ ਹੋਈ I ਜਦੋਂ ਲੰਗਰ ਵਰਤਾਇਆ ਜਾ ਰਿਹਾ ਸੀ ਤਾਂ 15-20 ਮਿੰਟ ਲੰਬੀ ਇਕ ਹੋਰ ਅਰਦਾਸ ਸ਼ੁਰੂ ਕੀਤੀ ਗਈ ਜਿਸ ਕਰਕੇ ਭੁੱਖੀ ਭਾਣੀ ਸੰਗਤ ਦਾ ਬੁਰਾ ਹਾਲ ਹੋ ਗਿਆ ਜੋ ਬਿਨਾ ਬੋਲਿਆਂ ਉਨ੍ਹਾ ਦੇ ਚੇਹਰੇ ਤੋਂ ਸਾਫ਼ ਜ਼ਾਹਿਰ ਸੀ I ਬੇਮਤਲਬ ਰੀਤੀ -ਰਿਵਾਜਾਂ ਤੋਂ ਅਜਾਦ ਹੋਣ ਵਾਲੇ ਲਫ਼ਜ਼ ਫੁਸਫੁਸਾਹਟ ਵਿਚ ਸਾਫ਼ ਸੁਨਾਈ ਦੇ ਰਹੇ ਸਨ I ਸਿੰਘ ਸਭਾ ਨੂੰ ਚਾਹਿਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਉਹ ਉਪਰਾਲੇ ਕਰੇ ਕਿ ਇਹ ਲੋਕ ਵਾਪਸ ਸਿੱਖੀ ਦੀ ਨਿਘ੍ਗ੍ਹੀ ਕੁੱਖ ਵਿਚ ਆ ਜਾਣ I ਜਾਂ ਫਿਰ ਡੇਰੇ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਐਸ ਜੀ ਪੀ ਸੀ ਵਰਗੀ ਇਕ ਸੰਸਥਾ ਹੇਠ ਸੰਗਠਿਤ ਕਰਨ ਤਾਂ ਕਿ ਇਸ ਮੁਹਿਮ੍ਮ ਨੂੰ ਲਕਸ਼ ਅਤੇ ਸਹੀ ਦਿਸ਼ਾ ਮਿਲੇ I

ਮੈਨੂੰ ਲਗਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਆਮ ਸਿਖ ਜਿੰਦਗੀ ਵਿਚ ਥੋੜਾ ਜਿਹਾ ਰਹੱਸਮਯੀ ਰੀਤੀਵਾਦ ਅਤੇ ਤਲਿਸਮੀ ਅਸਪਸ਼ਟਤਾ ਮੰਗਦਾ ਹੈ I ਮਰਣੋਪ੍ਰਾਂਤ ਜਿੰਦਗੀ ਦਾ ਤਸਵਰ ਤੇ ਇੱਕ ਵੱਖਰੀ ਅਣਦੇਖੀ ਦੁਨੀਆ ਦਾ ਸਪਨਾ ਧਰਮ ਦੇ ਸ਼ਕੰਜਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਭੁਲਾਉਣ ਵਿਚ ਸਹਾਈ ਹੁੰਦਾ ਹੈ I ਗੁਰੂ ਨਾਨਕ ਦੀ ਰੂੜੀਬ੍ਧਤਾ ਵੱਲ ਅਸੇਹਨਸ਼ੀਲਤਾ, ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦੀ ਨਾਥਾਂ ਤੇ ਤਾਂਤ੍ਰਿਕਾਂ ਨਾਲ “ਸਿਧ ਗੋਸ਼ਟੀ ” ਵਿਚ ਜ਼ਾਹਿਰ ਹੁੰਦੀ ਹੈ I ਇਕ ਪਰਤੱਖ ਪੰਜ-ਤੱਤਵੀ ਜਿੰਦਗੀ ਅਤੇ ਰੂਹ ਦੀ ਅਨੰਤਤਾ ਤੇ ਭਟਕਣ ਵਿਚਕਾਰਲੇ ਧੁੰਦ੍ਲੇਪਨ ਨੂੰ ਡੇਰਿਆਂ ਨੇ ਆਪਣੀ ਪ੍ਰਗਤੀ ਵਾਸਤੇ ਵਰਤਿਆ ਹੈ ਕਿਓਂਕਿ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦੀ 85% ਸੰਗਤ ਸਿਧੇ ਸਾਦੇ , ਪੱਛੜੇ ਤੇ ਗਰੀਬ ਪੰਜਾਬੀ ਹਨ I ਹੁਣ ਵਕ਼ਤ ਆ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਸਿਖ ਪਾਦਰੀਵਰਗ ਆਪਣੀ ਕੱਟੜਤਾ ਤੇ ਪ੍ਰਾਧਿਕਰ ਨੂੰ ਛੱਡੇ I ਕੱਟੜਪਣ ਹੁਣ ਆਪਸੀ ਬਾਤਚੀਤ ਨੂੰ ਜਗਾਹ ਦੇਵੇ ਜਿਵੇਂ ਬੁਧ ਧਰਮ’ਚ ਹੈ I ਕਿਸੇ ਵੀ ਵਿਚਾਰ ਦੇ ਵਿਰੋਧੀ ਨੂੰ (ਜਿਵੇਂ ਕਿ ਗੁਰਬਖਸ਼ ਸਿੰਘ ਕਾਲਾਅਫਗਾਨਾ ਵਾਂਗੂੰ ) ਫੱਟੜ ਕਰਕੇ ਭਜਾਇਆ ਨਾ ਜਾਵੇ ਬਲਕਿ ਉਸਨੂੰ ਆਪਣੇ ਵਿਚਾਰਾਂ ਦੀ ਠੋਸਤਾ ਸਾਬਤ ਕਰਨ ਦਾ ਮੌਕਾ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਜਾਵੇ I

[Written in a rickety bus on my way back from Dera Sach Khand. Typographical and other errors may please be notified or excused. Read the Punjabi translation of this article, 'ਸਿਖ ਧਰਮ ਅਤੇ ਦਲਿਤਾਂ ਦਾ ਹਾਲ: ਡੇਰਾ ਸਚਖੰਡ ਬੱਲਾਂ ਤੋਂ ਇਕ ਰਿਪੋਰਟ.']

The most striking aspect of the social upheaval being fomented at Dera Sach Khand, Ballan, is the pervasive inconspicuousness; quite obviously so, as it is now the home to the newest religion in Punjab, or probably the whole of India – Ravidassia Dharam – a symbolic act of defiance by the angst-ridden Dalit community that witnessed the assassination of one of its religious leaders, Rama Nand.

The environs of this place exude an uneasy calm, further heightened by the presence of security personnel and unnecessary restrictions like the ban on photography, thus giving a cult-like feel to it. At the prayer hall in the sanctum sanctorum where devotional hymns are being sung, the living guru, Niranjan Dass, is sitting unassumingly on a chair, leading the devout congregation. Just below his level, right at the center of this spacious hall, lies the holy scripture placed on an ornate wooden pedestal, Amritbani Satguru Ravidass Maharaj Ji — the bone of contention between the mainstream Sikh clergy and the Ravidassia community.

A stark dichotomy creeps into the mind as one gets used to the vibes of this place. The militant zeal of an assertive, emotional and undermined Dalit community is being tempered with the mystical sublimity of a religion founded on the precepts of Ravidass Maharaj. A sociopolitical and spiritual conundrum too complex to fathom, even for its followers. But how many amongst us have been a witness to the birth of a religion so as to pass judgments on a movement that has such spontaneous and endearing origins?

Almost like an undertone to the raga of hymns being sung, one can hear the murmur of revolt and disillusionment. The whiff of subversion in the air is subtle yet noticeable. A balding, old man — quite representing the urbane and educated middle-class caste minority that forms the Dera’s backbone (apart from the really poor and downtrodden of Punjab) — is talking casually to two others of his type:

“Ki Khalsa? Ae ki Khalsa-Khalsa kari jaande ne!”

In essence, this oversimplified, rustic exhortation sums-up the shortcomings of Sikhism and the sociopolitical fault-lines that lie at the heart of this divisive issue.

During the four-hour long bus journey to village Ballan, I re-read some of the chapters from “Sikh Separatism: The Politics of Faith”, authored by Rajiv A. Kapur. It is probably the most insightful and definitive primer on understanding the evolution and temperament of the Sikh body politic. A product of Cornell and Oxford, Rajiv was an international civil-servant with the United Nations but also an under-recognized authority on Sikh history and culture. I read this book for the first time in 2003 and since then, every page has been underlined and dog-eared for the rarest and incisive references that it provides. In fact, it left me so impressed that I was adamant to invite Rajiv for the inaugural Punjabi Subaltern Summit. As I found out to my dismay, the scholar par-excellence met an untimely demise in 2005 (More should be documented on the man and his family as he was also the great-grandson of a venerated Punjabi nuclear scientist and social reformer, Lala Ruchi Ram Sahni – founder Trustee of The Tribune, founding member of Dyal Singh College, a tireless Hindu activist who spent his life defending Sikhism and a historian of the Gurudwara Reform Movement).

Coming back to that rather candid remark on Khalsa by the Dera follower, the Panth was never in danger but always in a state of flux. The naysayers had started writing-off Tat Khalsa as early as 1853, after the annexation of Punjab by the British (the genesis of “Panth khattre wich” can be attributed to this period of decline). Decades before that, when the Sikh kingdom was at its glory, the essential ritualism being followed by the rulers was majorly influenced by Hinduism, and quite deliberately at that, as their primary motive was to imbue a sense of secularism. A majority of the followers had even refused to distinguish themselves as Sikhs. However, rather surprisingly, after a decade or two under the British rule, the Sikh identity strengthened itself and the number of conversions increased dramatically. One of the reasons being the economic advantages of opting Sikhism, as the British were most favorable to recruiting them in government positions and the army. But the advent of proselytizing missions left the Sikh intellectuals and elites fearing for their identity. The deathly blow came when the royalty, including Maharaja Dalip Singh and Kanwar Harnam Singh, adopted Christianity that lead to a spate of reversions to Hinduism. Furthermore, the community also stood factionalized due to the various orders, schools of ideology and sects within the religion itself. It is at this juncture that Singh Sabha emerged not as an overarching body but as independent regional chapters having varying and sometimes disparate mandates (leading me to a revelation that the first-ever agitation against the proclaimed superiority of the upper-caste Sikhs was launched by Bhai Ditt Singh, who founded Lahore Singh Sabha). In general as well, the impact of centuries-old Bhakti movements had resulted in the culmination of a huge reformist wave that swept the national consciousness. It was decided, although not unanimously, that Khalsa was to be the cornerstone of a true or Kesdhari Sikh. A note must be made here that the elite who exercised influence over the Sabhas were equally concerned about their political representation in the provincial legislature and thus a separate identity was the only way they could rein the majority Hindus and Muslims — one of the reasons why religio-communitarian politics is so firmly enmeshed within Sikhism till now.

Amidst all this chaos and fumbling for sociopolitical distinctiveness that continued right from the days of Nanak, it must be kept in mind that the genesis of Khalsa was directly influenced by the vociferous and loyal following of Jatts, whose cravings for upward social mobility were handled fairly sympathetically by every Sikh guru including and after Amar Das. Even the five symbols of Khalsa bore the lineage of this community. While rummaging through the Archaeological Survey of India’s Library at the National Archives in Delhi, I stumbled on a gem of a book titled “Essays in Honour of Dr. Ganda Singh”, an anthology published in 1976 (only 1100 copies were printed) to mark the legacy of this celebrated historian. One of the essays penned by Irfan Habib, “Jats of Punjab and Sind”, noted pretty explicitly the romancing of Nanak with this community, at the cost of risking the caste-free nature of his teachings, to make them the exemplar of this fledgling faith. One must be careful in ascribing this bias as communal since Jatts were lowly Sudras but with their zest, vitality and spirit of entrepreneurship could become bastion of Sikh progressiveness. However, the influence exerted by them all across the line of ten gurus led to a gradual militarization of the faith, though it was certainly not the sole reason.

The lower-caste converts from various groupings could not boast the same martial instincts and as such, always felt a little alienated from the boisterous Khalsa brotherhood, although numerous attempts were made to assimilate them by the likes of Gobind Singh. Notably as well, the discrimination against these converts never ceased even after coming to the fold of Sikhism and during the formative years, they were not allowed to enter Harmandir Sahib. The remnants of this bitter divide and discrimination, that wasn’t spoken-of but practiced, still exists in their collective consciousness. What confidence would it bring to the downtrodden when the very individuals who control the supreme and temporal authority, Akal Takht, are getting jailed for criminal acts?

Allow me to pose a question at this juncture – Does the Sikh community living in India, under the auspices of the temporal authority of Akal Takht that is administered by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee, needs to reassess its social contract with the State? Should the inherently militant symbology and ritualism, which challenges the foundational thread that binds this multicultural Union, give way to spiritual-democratic avenues of expression, since such orthodoxy has become outmoded in the times we live in?

Puritans have also been appalled at the modification of scriptures. Let me risk the loyalty of my patient reader by beginning this interjection with a somewhat incendiary remark. The first-ever translation of Granth Sahib to English by Dr. Ernest Trump in 1877 was preceded with the following quip by him, “The greatest part of the Granth contains a sort of devotional hymn, rather poor in conception, clumsy in style, and wearisome to read…The writings of the old Hindu bhagats (or devotees) are on the whole far superior to those of the Sikh Gurus themselves as regards contents and style, especially those of Kabir from whom Nanak and his successors have borrowed all they know and preach.” We should treat this slightly denigrating statement as a nuanced but dispassionate assessment of an outsider in times when little was known about Sikhism and India. I will furnish some support for the analytical part of this opinion with an authoritative resource, “The History of Punjabi Literature” by Sant Singh Sekhon, in which even this celebrated Sikh scholar enunciates very humbly that the ingenuity and brilliance of Nanak’s poetry and compilation remained unmatched when compared to the contributions of the gurus who followed. So why such a squabble over a holy book that so heavily promoted revisions, additions and deletions as per the tunes of time and quality? Why should an anthological and diverse scripture — whose essential genius lies in the fact that it was written in the peoples’ vernacular and conformed to the syntax and rhyme of Vars, which allowed even the simple-minded village folks to memorize and understand the underlying message – be treated as inviolable? There is no exegetical finality to Granth Sahib.

Lastly, why does an ordinary Sikh look at the deras with denigration, as if something really perverse happens there? It is true that most of the sect leaders are taking the uneducated and poor converts for a ride. One must remember that just about a century ago even the gurudwaras were rife with licentious mahants who committed all sorts of acts sacrilegious to the faith. Remembering the lovelorn Bulleh Shah who had this to say on the prevailing state of affairs in the religious institutions, “Dharamsaal vich dharvi rahinde, thakur dware thug. Wich maseet kusatti rahinde, aashiq rahin alag.” And we must be wary in attributing these expedient followers who dared to challenge the status quo as fools, especially when they are numbered in lakhs and were previously part of the same faith on whose pedestal the apologists are basing their counter-argument.

All that being said, let me end this veiled diatribe with an anecdote. After the prayers at Dera Sach Khand, the congregation gathered in the langar hall for the sacred repast. While the food was being served, the flock had to wait for another ardas to be over, which lasted for almost fifteen minutes, before they could actually bite a nibble. The hungry faces clearly expressed their bemusement over such fancy ritualism. The sarcastic comments being passed under the breath also reminded me that this social group is very mobile and opportunistic in nature, due to their ardent desire of breaking free from the manacles of caste and inequality at any cost. A well-intentioned, humane and empathic effort like that of Singh Sabha may also bring them back to the comforting womb of Sikhism. Or otherwise, a parallel institutionalization and reform of the deras can lead to the establishment of a unified, umbrella body like SGPC that can streamline the movement and make things transparent.

It is my inkling that an average Sikh is craving for a little mystic ritualism and esoteric obscurantism in life. Sometimes, too straitlaced an approach can put the entire metaphysical burden on the shoulders of a devout. An other-worldly, afterlife-based externalization of the spiritual experience does help one to forget the nihilistic aspects of organized religion! Nanak’s unforgiving attitude towards orthodoxy becomes clear when he outgunned and outmaneuvered obscurantism and esotericism in his precedent-setting debate with Naths and Tantrics as recorded in “Sidh Gosht”. It is this cleavage between the existential affirmation of life and the transcendental obscurity of Spirit that the deras have used well to their purpose, almost 85% of whose following is the gullible and backward Punjabi poor. Time is ripe for the Sikh clergy to shed its hegemonic and dogmatic traits; the society is clamoring for a “Protestant Reformation”. Absolutism should give way to an argumentative tradition like that in Buddhism; dissenters (remembering Gurbax Singh Kala Afghana here) should not be maimed or chased away but encouraged to defend their findings in a neutral and meritocratic forum.

[A discussion with Professor Pritam Singh of Oxford Brookes University, in the Punjabi Subaltern Summit’s mailing-list.]

1. Pukhraj Singh’s original message to the list

Some of you might remember that I had stumbled upon the celebrated lineage of Lala Ruchi Ram Sahni, while scouring through Rajiv A. Kapur’s, ‘Sikh Separatism: The Politics of Faith’.

From ‘Fear and Loathing in Dera Sach Khand, Ballan’ (http://abroo.in/blog/fear-and-loathing-in-dera-sach-khand-ballan/):
“More should be documented on the man [Rajiv A. Kapur] and his family as he was also the great-grandson of a venerated Punjabi nuclear scientist and social reformer, Lala Ruchi Ram Sahni – founder Trustee of The Tribune, founding member of Dyal Singh College, a tireless Hindu activist who spent his life defending Sikhism and a historian of the Gurudwara Reform Movement.”

To me, Ruchi Ram Sahni exemplifies the syncretic subculture that was to be the foundation of Punjabiyat — an ideology lying hijacked by the fundamentalist schools of thought within Sikhism. Apart from being a contemporary of atomic physicists like Niels Bohr and Rutherford, he was also among the first to document the nascent beginnings of Sikh identity politics in the book, ‘The Gurdwara Reform Movement and the Sikh Awakening’ — a struggle in which he was intimately involved as well. The life and works of RRS can actually form the part of a larger counter-narrative on how the Sikh historical revisionism that we are witnessing now is antithetical to all that is Punjabiyat.

By putting my much-derided occupation of tracking people over cyberspace to good use, I was finally able to locate Avani, the daughter of Rajiv A. Kapur and the great-great granddaughter of RRS. She referred me to Neera Burra, Rajiv’s cousin, who is working on RRS’ biography. Neera got back to me with an interesting email (see below) which I would to share with the group. What a fantastic lineage! You might also want to read this old article from The Tribune: http://goo.gl/SN6TQ.

———- Forwarded message ———-
From: neera burra < @gmail.com>
Date: Thu, Apr 19, 2012 at 7:28 PM
Subject: re: Ruchi Ram Sahni
To: pukhraj@gmail.com

Dear Mr. Pukhraj,

Avani Kapur, my niece forwarded me your email. I am a cousin of Rajiv Kapur’s as also a great grand daughter of Ruchi Ram Sahni. RRS had 5 sons and 4 daughters. His son Prof. Birbal Sahni was a famous Paleobotanist in Lucknow and set up the Birbal Sahni Institute of Paleobotant. Another son of RRS, Mulk Raj Sahni was a Geologist. RRS’s grandson, Prof. Ashok Sahni was also a Paleobotanist, I think he discovered the first dinosaur in India and was teaching in Punjab University till he retired. Some of RRS’s papers may be on the internet and you can get more details on Birbal Sahni and Ashok Sahni from the internet as well. Part of RRS’s autobiography was published by Narender Sehgal. I am trying to collect the writings of RRS to create a blog.

Best regards,
Neera Burra

2. Professor Pritam Singh’s response

Dear Pukhraj,

So good that you have established this contact with the family of an illustrious Punjabi Lala Ruchi Ram Sahni and a great humanist. Rajiv Kapur’s book is an excellent scholarly work and I have used this and commented upon this in my book Federalism, Nationalism and Development: India and the Punjab economy. His book is very fine counter narrative to the Bipin Chandra school of thought in

Indian historiography and copied slavishly by Mohinder Singh in his two books that tries to portray the Akali movement for the democratic control of gurdwaras as a part of the Indian national movement. Rajiv Kapur argues that the Punjabi Sikh politicians worked in unison and clashed with the Indian nationalist leadership dependent upon the strategic needs of their situation and derived their strategic positions autonomously and never viewed themselves as part of the Indian nationalist leadership’s strategic moves.

Another great Sahni family proud of their Punjabi heritage is Balraj Sahni’s. I have become friends with some members of that family in the last few years and it is so wonderful to find such families that remind us and make up feel optimistic of a composite Punjabi identity. Speaking Punjabi with other Punjabis while living in Delhi and in their every day life in the household is a matter of principle for the families that have lineage with Balraj Sahni.

Thanks for sharing this wonderful link with the family of Ruchi Ram Sahni and Rajiv Kapur. I knew Ashok Sahni when I taught at Chandigarh’s Punjab University before moving to Oxford. I remember him as a fine gentleman and a very scholarly colleague but had no clue about his rich Punjabi heritage family background. Good to know this now.

Best wishes
Pritam

With Rajiv McMullen and his family at Baring Union Christian College, Batala.

[Wanted to write an elaborate note but lost interest. This is a very-very rough draft.]

In the midst of the conversation with filmmaker Ajay Bhardwaj over a sumptuous, home-cooked meal at his place, we arrived on a rather interesting fact that there was something far more profound in Nanak’s ideological jousting with the Siddhas and Naths.

As is clear from Siddh Goshti, he had waged an astral battle of cosmogonical proportions with the ‘Perfect Masters’, which had far-reaching sociopolitical implications in Punjab.

But as we delve into that, much has to be known about Nanak the man, who had an equally firm footing on the temporal affairs. Gurinder Singh Mann wrote a rather interesting paper on him, which explored his excursions into the sociopolitical realm (Guru Nanak’s Life and Legacy: An Appraisal.)

He comes out as a seasoned entrepreneur. It puts to rest any doubt that might have arisen in the minds of the skeptics and apologists who differ with Irfan Habib’s postulations that Nanak’s romancing with the Jatts was a well-orchestrated (and a well-intentioned) move. It is rather amusing to note that the academicians have coined a term for people like Mann: the controversialists. I chortled over a glass of water upon hearing it.

Anyhow, the prevalent social constructs of Punjab covertly harbor the most ignored yet potent counter-narrative, that of the Naths and their Tantra, which still affects our societal psyche. In around 2006, I had a profound spiritual experience, what the Zen Buddhists prefer to term as Kensho, which led me to the path of esotericism for the next two years. After exploring a lot of Western orders like that of Aleister Crowley’s, Eliphas Levi’s, Helena Blavatsky’s Theosophy, George Gurdjieff’s breathing routines, I finally arrived home with the Avadhuta Gita.

The modern schools of tantra can geographically be bounded to three regions of origin: Kashmir Saivism, Bengal Shakta and the Punjabi Kaula Nath sects. The Nath rituals demand of a lot of physical and mental rigor, so the best adepts quite naturally came from Punjab. If I remember correctly, E.M. Forster’s ‘A Passage to India’ details an encounter with a huge, burly Punjabi jogi in Haridwar with a gigantic pot-belly, who used to fast for months, could walk on water and drink liters of milk in a single go. This is so typical Nath.

The Nath and Aghori orders have much commonality in rituals, social behavior and the militant approach towards non-dualism. So when I called up Rajiv Mcmullen for a tete-a-tete, he was curious to know the kind of tantrik adepts I have encountered, followed or studied. I told him of a Aghori baba who came from the lineage of the legendary Bamakhepa of Tarapith, further initiated by the venerable Pagala Baba. I had camped with that Aghori baba in Haridwar during the Poorna Kumbh Mela of 2008. He has an American disciple, Shiva Kaal Ugranand, a tall and husky fellow, who could perform demanding rituals like Shav Sadhna with élan. Kaal was like the rockstar of Kumbh. Rajiv got so excited upon hearing Bamakhepa’s name that we immediately planned to meetup in Batala.

There is one ‘overground’ Nath order which still survives, most have gone incognito. Mahendranath, an American disciple had declared during the 70s or 80s that he was the last initiate from the lineage of Gorakhnath and the Order would discontinue with him. Controversial as it may be, he did setup the International Nath Order which has a lot of foreign disciples.

Acclaimed documentary makers, Bedi Brothers, did make a decent film on the life of an Aghori adept, who, probably due to the sudden expansion of consciousness, gets torn between the strict oath to stay away from worldly affairs and his love for the mother. It’s quite a poignant attempt to capture the pains and perils of consciousness. The film has one of the most amazing initiation ceremonies ever captured on camera (http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=u_rJu_20Aps#t=446s). The exorcism of a possessed woman is so real (featured later) that it will send a tingle down your spine! Rajiv knew this adept personally and told me that he was not the most shining of examples of the tantrik fraternity.

All said, I had a great time with Rajiv. He confessed quite candidly that probably due to our backgrounds in spirituality, we are the only two people in Punjab who are aware of these parallel narratives surviving subliminally in the culture. Our conversations ranged from Ashtavakra Gita, the beauty of the dhuni (he still rubs ash on his forehead after performing the daily ablutions), the life and works of the greatest tantrik of the 1900s, Gopinath Kaviraj, a professor at BHU. Must read is Kaviraj’s book, Siddhabhoomi Gyanganj. We wondered why almost every spiritual order in the world details a place, somewhere between the heaven and earth, that is supposedly a paradise for adepts, a perfect abode for the perfect masters. We have so many names for it: Hyperborea, Thule, Mt.Meru, Asgard, Shambhala, Sachkhand, Atlantis, Shangri-La, Gyanganj, etc. Bal Ganghadhar Tilak wrote many books on Mt. Meru and was summarily laughed at and ridiculed for it. Arthur Avalon’s brilliant series on tantra is a perfect starter for anyone interested (he was the first Chief Justice of Calcutta).

Here’s more on Rajiv:

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/the-big-picture/881806/0

http://www.astafilms.com/?p=495

http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2011-11-16/chandigarh/30405252_1_tantra-documentary-pu-research-scholar

On Thu, Jul 26, 2012 at 10:54 PM, Pukhraj Singh <pukhraj@gmail.com> wrote:

While taking a hike in the village Daun near Mohali, I accidentally stumbled upon a Freemasons’ lodge being maintained by a businessman. It was in a very pristine condition and the new Grandmaster of the lodge, a kesdhari Sikh, held regular fortnightly meetings and initiations there. That reminded me of a fact rarely known to people: Sikhism had a very close connection with Freemasonry. I actually did the field research and fact-checking in Punjab on a book, In Search of Masters (1994), authored by the historian of esotericism, K. Paul Johnson. Johnson postulates that out of the five “Ascended Masters” of Helena Blavatsky — the immensely popular occultist who founded Theosophy in Adyar, Chennai — two were from Punjab, namely, Dayal Singh Majithia and Thakar Singh Sandhanwalia. Now, it is indeed true that many of the Punjabi elites were certainly Freemasons and that Singh Sabha borrowed a lot from the egalitarian principles laid down by this society. That’s why we see more than century-old lodges in Amritsar and Patiala. Remember, this was the time when the Christian proselytization movement was at its peak. Moreover, the whole New Age reversion to paganism was happening as well. Having been a Freemason myself, I can assure you that it’s not a heretic cult at all. The secretiveness was retained due to their pretty bold religious beliefs. Freemasonry is a mish-mash of Egyptian mysticism, worshipping Isis and Solomon, along with the old pagan Gods like Baphomet (which was equated to Luciferanism at that time) and some derivations from Vedantic monism. Now, the members have completely forgotten the mystic origins and it’s mostly a place for socializing with the powerful elites. For example, the Grandmaster of one of the lodges in Delhi which I frequented often was the Chief Justice of India. The Chandigarh one is led by a Lt. Colonel, the last time I went there (which was quite a few years ago!). You might enjoy this old article from Tribune on the Amritsar lodge: http://www.tribuneindia.com/2005/20051222/aplus.htm#1.

——— Forwarded message ———-

From: Sarvan Minhas <sarvan58@gmail.com>
Date: Fri, Jul 27, 2012 at 4:06 PM
Subject: Re: [subaltern.in] Freemasonry and Sikhism
To: rajesh sharma <sharajesh@gmail.com>

Thanks, Rajesh. The last time I read about Freemasonry was in Dan Brown’s The lost symbol.

The cultural history of Punjab is still very, very underdeveloped, and I do not know how the situation can or will be remedied. It will be interesting to find out what attracted certain sections of the Punjabi elite to under- ground societies of European origin such as Freemasonry or Theosophy, particularly in the context of nationalism and religious revival. Interestingly, I notice no Muslim among the names listed.

When is your book expected ?

Best wishes,
b/sm

Behind these overtures lies hidden is the fact that probably for the first time ever since 1989 when the BSP opened its account in Punjab, the minority of the oppressed and downtrodden can aspire to improve their skewed ratio of representation in the legislature. It is also a monumental opportunity to establish a real third-front in Punjab that would pulverize the barriers of caste and class, providing a peoples’ alternative against the hegemony of the ruling autarchies.

In the last few years, the state has witnessed an outpouring of angst by the Dalit community. Tormented by the highhandedness of the kleptocracy, incensed further by the discriminatory attitude of an institutionalized clergy that gives them a stepchild treatment, these voices from the underbelly are dying to be heard. In a society overburdened with past and a misplaced sense of history, the parallel narrative of Dalit consciousness was tacitly side-lined under the post-traumatic stress of the partition, the green revolution and terrorism. But the sigh has become a wail now.

More by chance rather than merit, BSP stands in a unique position to capitalize on this wave of assertion. Being a statist party that had gathered its initial support from a burgeoning middle-class among the scheduled castes incentivized by the generous provisions of the constitution, it has successively and unabashedly moved away from idealism to realpolitik. If one were to draw a comparison, BSP’s current standing amidst the socio-political atmosphere of Punjab shows the same pattern that was once visible in UP during the formative years.

From its founding in 1984, the failure of Bahujan alliances with parties like SP during the early 90s to the formation of a coalition government with a Brahmin-dominated BJP in 1995, the party had graduated from anti-Manuvadi isolationism to adopt a more ambitious, pragmatic and tactically-inclined approach. By 2007, when it staked the claim for a majority government, BSP had also widened its social base by orchestrating a clever scheme of selective distribution of tickets to the representatives of other castes and communities as well. What may have seemed as the marginalisation of the Dalit cause turned out to be a multi-pronged strategy of caste mobilisation. Having realized early on that the ideology of exclusion would stymie the efforts of gaining political dominance, Kanshi Ram evolved a utilitarian approach of favouring priorities above principles. To minimize the uncertainty that comes with pre-poll alliances, Mayawati de-risked the process by hedging it with a policy of distributing seats to non-Dalits. This hybrid system worked marvellously.

In this context, a polity that has lived in constant denial about the acrimonious caste cleavages in Punjab seems completely unsuitable for pre-poll alliances. What further accentuates the problem is that the Dalits of the state, forming a mammoth 30% share of the population, are also marred by internal strife and sectarianism. The Mazhabi Sikhs and Balmikis are at loggerheads with the Ad-Dharmis, Ravidasias and Ramdasias on the fractious issue of “reservation within reservation”. The religious polarisation induced by the Dera politics, further catalysed by an increasing disillusionment with mainstream Sikhism has also added fuel to the fire.

To offset the prevalent discord, BSP would have to reincarnate its early avatar of a social force that thrived on militant zeal and contrarianism, elevating the collective pain of the subjugated to an altogether transcendental level. Resulting from an absolutism of ideology and belief, the lack of emerging leadership and the centralization of ideas has plagued the party for long. What may seem like an internalized dictatorship is actually the result of a flawed outlook that advocates a hyper-aggressive approach towards empowerment, to intensify the level of the discourse and shatter the social hierarchies. Nonetheless, it is imperative that new ideas and fresh talent is imbued in the party’s state machinery. With the total number of reserved seats in the state up to 34 and BSP’s proclamation of going all-out and alone, this becomes a struggle for the rightful identity. As a boisterous Kanshi Ram once pronounced, “We may not win even a single seat, but we are going to demonstrate our strength”.

The flame of emancipation that endures in the hearts and minds of Dalits still casts a spectral shadow on the remnants of an excruciating past, than illuminating the alleyways towards a bright future. If the Indian establishment collectively experiences the pain and horrors of exploitation lasting so many millenniums, the statue of an empowered Dalit would stand deified as the emblem of equality in the hallows of a conscientious democracy. Far away from Noida, from the blistering “twilight of the idols” (as philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche would have added mockingly), this story of assertion is heralding a new chapter in Punjab, whose aftermaths would be felt nationwide.

For it was in this state, home to the highest proportion of scheduled castes, that Dalit consciousness took the shape of a formidable socio-political movement, paving the way for an upheaval in UP and across India. What was once a confident and cohesive community strumming to the tunes of empowerment, the Punjabi Dalits are now engaged in a divisive battle to safeguard their interests against each other.  And the averseness shown by successive state governments in lending a patient ear to their woes and aspirations could forever mar the egalitarian credentials of Punjab.

The SAD-BJP administration would be treading a very fine line when it replies to a notice issued by the Supreme Court on the contentious issue of sub-classification of scheduled castes within a stipulated period of three weeks. An apolitical organisation by the name of Chamar Mahan Sabha has filed a special leave petition to revaluate the directives of The Punjab Scheduled Caste And Backward Classes (Reservation In Services) Act, 2006, that allocates a 50% quota to the Balmikis and Mazhabi Sikhs from the overall entitlement of government jobs reserved for the scheduled castes.

As is the norm, the 37 listed scheduled castes of Punjab can broadly be divided into three groups based on their socio-economic standing: 41.9% are the Balmikis and Mazhabis, the Ad-Dharmis and Chamar Sikhs (Ravidasia and Ramdasia) constitute another 41.59% and the remaining 33 castes forming a minority of 16.51%. The second cluster being a relatively progressive lot — with a long history of political, social and religious reforms that have helped them break the manacles of the caste system — took up a lion’s share of the reservation quota. Then there was also the case of occupational mobility as the entrepreneurial Chamars were able to capitalize on the burgeoning demand for leather-based goods in the newly setup British cantonments. On the other hand, the Balmikis and Mazhabis found it increasingly difficult to graduate from their caste’s occupation of scavenging, a debilitating exercise that completely sapped their hopes and confidence. The ignominy associated with their work must be unbearable considering the fact that a law against manual scavenging was passed decades ago. Unable to blend-in with their Dalit brethren from other sub-castes, as there were strict protocols of inter-dining and inter-marriage based on the degree of “pollution”, they could truly be termed as the lowliest of the low.

Driven partially by their plight but more so by political necessities, Giani Zail Singh – the only chief minister hailing from the backward community, a position that is still hogged by the dominant Jats – passed an executive order in 1975 to reserve a 50% sub-quota for the Balmikis and Mazhabis in direct recruitments. The progressive decision inspired many other governments to take up the case of “reservation within reservation” with Haryana implementing a similar provision in 1994, also fostering sub-caste movements in states like Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu. Citing a Supreme Court decision that declared sub-classification as “unlawful and unconstitutional”, the Punjab and Haryana High Court ruled over the orders of the state government in 2005 in response to a writ petition filed by a Chamar. Aggravated by the decision, the Balmikis and Mazhabis took to the streets leading to incidents of public disturbance and vandalism. Realizing that this development could have an impact on the approaching elections, the Congress government hastily drafted the aforementioned Act to reinstate the provisions. Amidst all drama, it was passed on the concluding day of the last session of the 12th Vidhan Sabha. To add a little twist to the tale, the centre had also appointed a commission in 2006 under the chairmanship of Justice Usha Mehra to cast a serious glance on the issue as the Madigas in Andhra Pradesh became more vociferous. The Commission which submitted its report in May, 2008, ruled in favour of sub-classification thus giving a major impetus to the stance of Punjab government.

But the issue is far from resolved as various factions are clamouring to get the rightful compensation for their communities. All eyes are set on Punjab as it tries hard to steer clear from the social cleavages that it has ignored for so long, having acquired an explosive propensity now. From the holy triumvirate of the legislature, the executive and the judiciary whose formulaic deductions are void of empathy, to the religio-communitarian disposition of the Punjabi society that has surrendered its allegiances to an institutionalized clergy and the political elite — all are to be blamed for this mess. Nietzsche compared such societal passivity to the diminishing “pathos of distance” in an environment where equality thrives “as a certain factual increase in similarity”. The Dalits of Punjab must also recall that Ambedkar envisaged reservation as a means to gain political standing and hence, they must strive to remove the disparities of representation in the legislature rather than succumbing to communitarianism.

The idea of Bharat, posited by nationalists who led us to freedom, as a kind of Hegelian organism, a soul bearing the imprints of history and the collective-consciousness of society, has lost some of its mythical glimmer. Inheriting a range of ethnicities so diverse that it could sum up the very nature of human evolution, any attempt of fostering an equitable identity in this country was to prove formidable. It is in this context that a handful of centripetal formations professing parochial loyalties have repeatedly shaken the unionistic foundations of India with an intensity that has altered the underlying nature of its democracy. On an axis of federalism that has its extremities marked by Tamil Nadu and Kashmir, Punjab lies somewhere in the middle.

Lord Acton, a British historian and moralist of the late 19th century once had an oracular realization that “nationality does not aim either at liberty or prosperity, both of which it sacrifices to the imperative necessity of making the nation the mould and measure of the state.” In envisaging an age of organic federalism, supra-nationalism and globalization, Acton seems to have laid the foundation of modern India in an interconnected world where cultures evolve at the click of a button. The ethos of Sikh nationalism also underwent a major and positive transformation, congruent to the dynamics of this regional and international comity. Shedding the burden of an intransigent past, the Sikh autonomists have relegated to fiscal federalism for furthering the cause of this buoyant community. But if one were to assess this development minutely, in the overarching paradigm of centre-state relations, there remains a lot to be done.

The year 1991 has a monumental importance here. While India took a giant leap from the Nehruvian ambit of planned development, Punjab was resuscitating from the throes of terrorism and economic stagnation. The region highlighted a paradoxical anomaly of being rich but not developed — the per-capita income was high; although judging by the levels of industrialization, the contribution of secondary sector to the state domestic product and on human development indices, it reeled under backwardness. With the highest fiscal deficit compounded by a decade of strife and almost 96% of land under plough, the vestiges of Green Revolution were creaking under strain.

The institutional framework of independent India caters to a selective distribution of power and resources — the only guarantee to forge a distinct pan-ethnicity, eradicate socio-economic disparities and assuage the simmering sectarian undercurrents. The tenets of the constitution leaned towards a unitary republic, clarified by Ambedkar when he exhorted that “the federation is a Union because it is indestructible”. Being the articulator of a cohesive nationhood, the Indian centralist state took to the route of intervention.

From the creation of a unilingual Suba in 1966 to advent of liberalization, Punjab has often been subjected to the centralist bias as evident from the high-handedness in dealing with its natural resources like rivers, the methodology to curb political unrests and fundamentalism, the unsolicited regulation of its agrarian sector, the disproportionate devolution of economic incentives and the marginalization of its industry, etc.

The nature of Indian federalism has three identifiable traits: political, fiscal and constitutional. The subjects of legislative powers — classified into Union, State and Concurrent Lists — can easily be appropriated by the parliament with a volley of provisions. Articles 256 and 257, in conjunction with Articles 365 and 356, necessitate mandatory compliance to the Union Laws and failure may lead to the imposition of the President’s Rule. A series of other such clauses entail the subordination of the state legislature even on matters under its jurisdiction. The administrative machinery of the state also falls under the centre’s purview as codified in Article 258(2). These discretionary powers often wrest on ambiguous phrases like “national interest” that have a tendency to override the public good. Article 131 appoints the Supreme Court as the adjudicator of centre-state disputes, but the ascendancy of the parliament and the central cabinet makes sure that the judiciary implicitly subscribes to the nationalist ideology as has been evident in many of its decisions. The disbursement of financial resources to the state government, especially via non-plan and non-statutory transfers, is also subject to the centre’s discretion that is largely influenced by political expediencies than a benign motive of alleviating inter-state inequities.

From 1991 onwards, when these unitary traits have been pitted against a free-market regime, the states have mainly been left to fend for themselves. While the deliberations of the Sarkaria Commission were largely overlooked, the establishment of Inter-State Council gave a major impetus to realign the quasi-federal arrangement. Having implemented 179 of total 247 recommendations of the Commission, it is rather unfortunate that the Council has not met since 2006. The National Commission to Review the Working of the Constitution setup in 2000 under the NDA regime also came as a whiff of fresh air that has amplified the discourse a bit.

While other states have reaped the benefits of economic boom to bolster their bargaining power, Punjab is still stuck in the quagmire of fiscal imbalances. The enactment of Fiscal Responsibility and Budget Management Act, 2003, seems like a well-orchestrated sham. Mounting non-development expenditures, populist policies that thrive on subsidies, slow growth of revenue and loss-making PSUs have only aggravated the condition; not to add factors like corruption, nepotism and illiteracy. The Sikh federacy stands fractured today as rabid communitarianism has driven the lower castes from its fold and incited sectarian tensions. Since 1980s, the word “crisis” has become synonymous with Punjab, not realizing that its composition in Chinese has two characters that represent “danger” and “opportunity”. Only an inward and inclusive overhaul can herald a transition that can tilt the scales towards Punjab’s favour.

Quoting the preliminary media reports, Punjab Government had received “intelligence inputs” that screening the film could lead to a “law-and-order issue”, as it touches the volatile topic of caste-based reservations. On the surface, it appears to be a benign and considerate attempt to pacify the simmering casteist undercurrents in Punjab which had nearly lead to a riot after Sant Ramanand’s assassination. For a state which boasts the largest Dalit-Bahujan (SC, ST & OBC) population in India, discussions on caste seldom find any mention in the mainstream, probably due the pluralistic and egalitarian ethos of Sikhism. That is as far from reality as the fact that racism has ceased to exist in the West. The cancerous and elusive form of casteism that the Punjabis have adopted under the garb of religio-communitarian politics could lead to a permanent and unbridgeable chasm, destroying the very fabric of secularism on which the Sikhs had founded their identity on.

Coming back to the ban, it was already known that the movie had little to incite any public sentiments. Uttar Pradesh (UP) had already relented to the constant clamouring of PL Punia, a former Mayawati-aide, now heading the all-powerful National Commission for Scheduled Castes (NCSC). It is well-established that the NCSC is merely a Congress subsidiary machinating to usurp the BSP rule in UP. Raj Kumar Verka, an ex-MLA from Amritsar and confidante of Capt. Amarinder Singh, was given the plush appointment of Vice-Chairman of the NCSC to foment a similar upheaval in Punjab. As the movie neared its release, Mr. Verka upped the rhetoric of it being anti-Dalit giving the Punjab Government cold feet. For years, SAD, the unabashedly Jattist party, was trying to find a way to woo the lower-castes which have clearly demarcated themselves from the religious and political mainstream. Factionalism and Dera politics have become the order of day as the desperate Dalit-Bahujans struggle to find security and equality in a larger bid to re-establish and assert their identity. To add to that, the impending results of the nationwide caste census would lay bare the gross inequities and disparities inherent in the Punjabi society. The knee-jerk reaction of the state reminds one of the school of thought pioneered by Thakurs like VP Singh, Arjun Singh and Digvijay Singh that the misery of the marginalized can only be understood by upper-caste leaders. It seems that the Jatts of SAD are on a similar messianic misadventure.

If it had been a Sunny Deol movie than the state government would have organized a special screening for Parkash Singh Badal. Why couldn’t he rise a little above the parochial concerns of his party to display some statesmanship by taking a conscientious call on the ban?

Seldom in the last few years has the Punjab Government enjoyed so much publicity as the news of the ban invited. International media was aghast that the state was meddling into the affairs of artistic freedom and morality, especially on a topic as important as caste, when the censor board had already given a green signal. Fearing a backlash from the Supreme Court, the state government quickly softened its stand by putting pre-conditions before the release like removal of certain “objectionable” dialogues. In a matter of days, the ban was also lifted. There were no reported incidents of vandalism or protest and soon the controversy was forgotten. However, it left a subtle message that the feudal autarchy or the Jatt cabal now feels morally obliged towards the cause of Dalit-Bahujans without ever hearing their real woes for years, without ever bringing them to the fold of their blatantly institutionalized religion, without ever nurturing political leadership among the downtrodden and without even their participation. The upper-caste political elite of Punjab have taken the mantle of emancipation like those overzealous harbingers of freedom who still codename their enemies like Bin Laden as Geronimo. As Noam Chomsky wrote in sheer repugnance, “the imperial mentality is so profound.”

Shri Manpreet Singh Badal
C/o Shri Gurdas Singh Badal
Bathinda-Kheo Wali Road
Village: Badal, Tehsil: Lambi
Distt: Muktsar – 152113, Punjab

Dear Sir:

AN OPEN LETTER TO SOLICIT YOUR GRACIOUS PRESENCE FOR A TV DEBATE WITH SHRI HARCHARAN BAINS

As the harbinger of democratic renaissance which promises to catapult Punjab back to its halcyon days of glory, your persona, intellect and self-effacing disposition has captured the imagination of young and old alike. You have the empathy as well as intensity which pulverizes every perceived barrier of society, shattering the glasshouses of inequities and inequalities machinated deviously by certain unscrupulous elements; a farmer or villager feels as connected and devoted to your cause as an educated highbrow or urban dweller. The bold brushstrokes of yellow, color of your party, seems to have covered every gali and nukkad of Punjab, as if they are marking the arrival of a new and eternal spring. You stand tall like a warrior-poet, as the bestower of izzat-abroo to a land where men as valiant as Maharaja Ranjit Singh and Alexander the Great have reaped their fortunes — only to share it with the people, only ending up being subservient to them. From the minutest political dynamics to broadest democratic overtures, nothing misses your observant eye and erudition.

However, Sir, I must remind you of a political development — nay, an obligation — that seems to have been overlooked by your party in the heat, literal and figurative, of this election campaign. Shri Harcharan Bains, Media Advisor to the Chief Minister, is a public intellectual of unfathomable wisdom and humility, the kind of which is seldom seen in the corridors of power. I must confess this candidly that not only is he my personal hero but his demeanor, pervasive and transcendental personality, the cultural and artistic richness of his discourse has inspired me so much that I hail Mr Bains as the Richard Wagner of Punjab. It is as if a Sufi dervish has lost his way and meandered into the hallowed halls of politics, mistaking it to be some dargah. But I presume that you are in a better position to appreciate Mr Bains, having spent a majority of your childhood and youth in his overwhelming presence.

During the unfortunate turn of events after your separation from SAD, emotions ran high on both the sides. Sometimes, words or expressions which were to be seen through the lens of gloominess and irony were mistaken as personal attacks or vendetta politics. As the feeling of a monumental loss subsided, Mr Bains requested you to engage in a TV debate in order to provide a decisive and transparent platform on which the people of Punjab could base their pluralistic and democratic aspirations. But in a swift and unexpected way, you marked him as persona non grata. I am sure some misunderstanding attributed to the “fog of war”, if I may, led to this opinion of yours. From that day on, Mr Bains has constantly repeated this request, like he is writhing in the agony of designated insignificance; like a knight chained and locked-up in the high tower, seeing a wave of activity down below yet feeling utterly helpless. I urge you Sir, to free this man from the shackles and accept his request for a debate. Let it be a benchmark for the way in which elections are fought, ideologies are promulgated and leaders are nurtured. It would be a tad bit unfair to disregard him as an unequal political competitor, with three decades of experience and an extremely senior position in the Government of Punjab. And I am doubly sure of you being well-aware that in the present scenario, he is the most experienced, skillful, knowledgeable and entertaining competitor you can ever enter into an oratory duel with. Although I consider Mr Bains’ open letter to you (published by The Tribune on October 17, 2010) as one of the finest polemical pieces in Punjab’s political history, there is to be a gentlemen’s agreement that the debaters would not highlight or point-out aspects from each other’s personal lives, and that any justification should be citable or have documentary evidence. Let the JFK among you unmask a sweaty Nixon!

Yours sincerely,
Pukhraj Singh
Founder, Abroo (ਆਬਰੂ)
www.abroo.in

CC:
Shri Harcharan Bains, Media Advisor to the CM of Punjab
Editor, PTC News
Editor, Day & Night News

It is in the inherent, ephemeral nature of self and truth, that what is perceived can not be attained. How can one strive to be boundlessly pure by essentially following an indoctrinated and dogmatic path? Such a rigid exercise in duality and purity would either have to pass through the impurest, or end up succumbing to it.

One must always be wary of falling into the trap of an exegetical discourse while questioning the writ and legitimacy of an institutionalized religion like Sikhism. Metaphysics has minimal relevance among the faiths which flourish on the strength of accompanying socio-political movements. It is actually the tendency of the followers to subconsciously doubt or even reject the broader esoteric paradigms on which such religions are founded; adopting only the perceptible and formulaic parameters like rituals, which are just supposed to act as bridges between the material and divine. The rise of Brahmanism and Khalsa are cases in point. History stands witness to the fact that rarely in the conduct of its followers could one see the depth or intricacies of transcendence; social, political or economic expediency being the only explicable intentions. Quoting a scripture to justify the validity of a claim should be taken as an outright defeat of the apologist, when the prevalent socio-political conditions are discordant to its teachings. This inescapable truth becomes even more relevant when it comes to the reign of Bhakti or reformist movements like Sikhism. The transition from the first to tenth guru and the affiliated sequence of events are enough to prove that a sort of “Cassandra Complex” has gripped the vision espoused by Nanak. The modern Sikh clergy, after undergoing rampant “papalization”, have opted for the revisionist-chauvinist route, shackling this religion with the very dogmas that Nanak tried to break away from. In this respect, Sikhism is now oddly comparable to the fundamentalist Hindu movements or the papacy of Middle Ages. More so, it is a fallacy to elevate this socio-political movement to the level of a religion, when even basic or justifiable societal upheavals seem to undermine its scriptural authority.

One of the litmus tests for Sikhism was the eradication of casteism. At this juncture, I would like to highlight that if scriptural esotericism is a bane for religious ethics, then pedagogical assessment equally impedes the cause of a socio-political discourse. Hence I would tacitly stay away from citing experts, timelines or numbers. The decadent orthodoxy and ritualism which has gripped Sikhism after the rise of Khalsa had a devastating and irreparable impact on the lower-castes. Had the Indian democratic or constitutional imperatives not offered an avenue of moderation, the stratification in Punjab would have been subverted to turn it into a fascist theocracy.

Suffocating in this acrimonious environment, the lower-castes have already broken away from the mainstream, aligning themselves with deras or self-appointed gurus. This stroke of genius, clearly befuddling the upper castes, feudal elites and religious polity, is actually quite compliant to the original tenets of Sikhism. Flexibility and freedom to choose were foremost in the mind of poet Nanak. It does not betray the contrarian sentiments expressed by Nanak if any of these dera leaders attempt to alter the Granth Sahib (an assorted anthology of spiritual poems) or impersonate one of the ten gurus. Rather, it would serve as an admirable example that the downtrodden are reinventing the religion to affirm their identity and not vice-versa. It is certainly the time of Protestant Reformation or even better, Quakerism, for lower-caste Sikhs.

A word of caution. To seek guidance from the current batch of political leadership would probably be the biggest mistake. Caste inequality is a direct consequence of religious short-sightedness and none of the lower-caste political leaders have the temerity to question or tackle this volatile aspect. While talking about the failures of Sikhism, all these spineless leaders can do is offer a sorry face or beat a hasty retreat. It is one of the major reasons why Punjab, which has the highest SC population among Indian states, has failed to produce a Dalit leader.

If all these measures fail to offer a resort then the only thing to be kept in mind is that Sikhs are the most entrepreneurial of converts (as a majority of them were freshly-baptized Muslims or new-age Hindus who became disillusioned). The first Indian to adopt the Bahai faith, the most modern of all religions, was a Sikh. It is certainly to be taken as an omen.

Madan Gandhi: If a man is called to be a streetsweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the host of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great streetsweeper who did his job well. (Martin Luther King Jr.)

James Nesral: in western culture, work is view as part of the ‘curse’, resulting from the Fall, as recorded in the Bible…Genesis. but i disagree. work is part of the rythym of life and is sacred.

Pukhraj Singh: The Bible, through its symbolic esotericism, is trying to convey the spiritual ignominy of work. People who work honestly and diligently all their life may still be longing for a closure of their existential or moral pangs. It is merely an illusion that perfection in work may lead to some sort of redemption. Rather, it is in the inherent nature of work, a form of action, that lies, deceit, hate, jealousy and one-upmanship bear fruit. Madan Gandhi seems to have forgotten that in India, the Dalits, or so-called Untouchables, are still being forced to undertake manual scavenging, i.e. removal of human excreta. And this being the 21st century, in the world’s largest democracy, where a law against manual scavenging was passed many decades ago. I can’t imagine someone commenting, “Here lived a scavenger who did his job well”. Ironically, this also reminds me of the adage, Arbeit macht frei (work sets you free), placed over the entrances of Nazi concentration camps like Auschwitz.

End manual scavenging in six months, PM tells states
http://www.deccanherald.com/content/169469/end-manual-scavenging-six-months.html

Scavenging describes its continuance a national shame ; NHRC
http://www.publictrustofindia.com/news/2011/03/15/scavenging-describes-its-continuance-a-national-shame-nhrc/

HC takes Railways to task for employing manual scavengers
http://www.indianexpress.com/news/hc-takes-railways-to-task-for-employing-manu/772880/

2. America saw a similar transition in the field of literary journalism. Pioneered by people like Hunter Thomson and Truman Capote, there came a wave of magazines which introduced opinionated subjectivism, first-person narratives, style over preciseness and vernacular over polished speech. This movement has been designated with many overlapping but loose terms like – New Journalism, Gonzo Journalism, Narrative Journalism, Creative Nonfiction and Immersion Journalism, etc. But what is truly beautiful about this wave was that it produced such fine gems like Rolling Stone, Atlantic Monthly and Esquire Magazine – periodicals which still sustain the bohemian character and creative zeal capable of shaping the national discourse in the US. A recent example would be the resignation of General Stanley A. McChrystal, the man who called the shots in Afghanistan, following a scandalous piece of embedded journalism in Rolling Stone.

3. Remarkably, with the advent of Internet and social media, this “coolness” has also started pervading the mainstream, from Time Magazine to India Today, from The New York Times to The Times of India. The discourse has gone completely “viral”, Internet “memes” challenge all the established notions of anthropology, the dialect has been globalized and revolutions are being hatched over Facebook and Twitter. Early social media analysts were able to foresee this trend when they wrote “The Cluetrain Manifesto” (1999), a brilliant attempt in forging a consensus that businesses should start listening to the newly-connected marketplace, that “Markets are Conversations” and “Hyperlinks Subvert Hierarchy”.

4. Bringing back the focus on Punjab, the disparity and inequity between the haves and have-nots needs an intense debate. While some base it on socially and economically quantifiable notions of caste, class, religion and gender, others argue that the true definition of the “Punjabi downtrodden” can not be resolved with such monolithic and formulaic machinations. There is an acute under-representation in terms of caste and gender on one hand, the alarming decline of the hapless farmer on the other. You have the socially-excluded, the economically-excluded and the constitutionally-excluded. Thinkers from all strata of Punjabi society urge that historically-apt terms attributed to the downtrodden fail to address the expansiveness of the problem, that we need a new term. Till that time, we have opted call it the “Punjabi subaltern”.

5. Abroo, a bilingual print magazine, is an attempt to forge an opinion on similar lines. We are looking for editors and writers who can contribute meaningfully, carry the same fervor and wit that they exhibit on Facebook, yet aspire to reach the audience whom they represent so passionately.

6. It is my humble request that the contributors make a conscious attempt to establish a personal bond with the readers and realize that this magazine aims to the puncture the divisions of society in a very unconventional manner. Let the authors be artists, choosing to hide their real affiliations under colorful characters, which promulgate the cause and carry forward the story. Let’s shed our surnames, our hereditary affiliations, our parochial concerns and use nom de plumes like Ankhi or Batalvi! Give the marginalized a chance to come out from their cocoon of prejudices and savor the nectar of creativity.

Are you game?

]]> http://abroo.in/blog/articles-on-the-punjabi-subaltern/feed/ 0 http://abroo.in/image-slider-1/2889/ http://abroo.in/image-slider-1/2889/#comments Mon, 07 Dec 2009 14:40:56 +0000 Pukhraj Singh http://abroo.in/?p=2889