For those who died at Jallianwala Bagh

12th April 1919.

Amritsar, Punjab.

Saturday.

In the name of the Lord, I write this journal bearing no ill will, prejudice or contempt.

I wonder how much longer I will have to be in this country. I don’t like it here anymore. Today, Amarjeet was guarding the General’s door when he turned to me and asked me in his newly learned English, “Good Morning Captain”. Amarjeet never spoke to me out of turn, neither disrespectfully. It was not in their values to speak to anyone disrespectfully. He had told me this a while ago when we had been first acquainted. But I had seen him making an exception for people of his country. To them, he would not practice respect or restraint. He had an in-bred dislike for the people of his own country. I had never spoken to him about this. I merely observed.

We, as intruders here, have heaped a lot of misery on a seemingly peaceful people. I had been told this by my senior ranking officer Joel Pemberton when I first came here. He had told me to be careful not to be drawn into the mind games of those defining the power equation in India, within the British Empire. He had told me that most of the senior ranking officials of the empire had lost their sanity and were merely obsessed with having control and an upper hand on the rebelling locals. I heard him but I knew I had to serve the whims and fancies of my commanders.

I am writing in my journal after 5 days because I have been kept busy by General Dyer organizing a general curfew in the city of Amritsar to shun any on-going public congregations or those that are being planned. The tension is building. It is not a very popular decision, neither among the Indians nor our infantry. There is a general feeling that this will only increase the growing local tensions. Over time, I have learned that General Dyer doesn’t have much of a soft spot for anyone or anything. His ego reigns supreme, over every otherworldly creation.

I also don’t believe the General is a God-fearing man. He has pride and he has a rank in the British Army. He has no respect or love for the indigenous folk here. But I respect them. I appreciate how they work hard to till their lands. I appreciate how they are so deeply grounded to the earth and give respect to all those who come to them. I was welcomed into the home of a farmer when my transport ran into problems. Although I was apprehensive, they gave me water and food as I waited for my carriage to be fixed. That day, I marveled at how we communicated so much without saying anything. The farmer was happy I had come to his home and felt it was a blessing for him from his God. His words weren’t driven by fear or submission. It was the truth and my personal guard confirmed it. I wanted to shake his hand and thank him for the hospitality as I got up to leave. He, in his ingrained humility, put his hands together and respectfully bowed. I did the same.

Even without His judgment bearing down on me, I know that respect should be met with respect. Because of this, I know we have wronged the people here. This is a country built on benevolence and mutual respect. Whether it will be so, once we leave here, I do not know. We have brought the Devil here with us and they have taken shape in the form of the top clergy and the high ranking officials of the British Army.

Yesterday, while escorting a wagon of supplies to the cantonment, I saw a few British officers commanding their soldiers to raid a local granary shop and effectively rob it of its contents. The shop owner was pleading at the feet of the officers. From what I could understand, he was begging for the sake of his wife and children. But the officer would not relent. Those under his command stripped the entire shop of its contents. Whatever they couldn’t trade, they destroyed. I wonder how we have ruled here. It is a legacy of destruction and pain. We will never be forgiven for our deeds here. Only He who can forgive may forgive us now.

The curfew is meant to keep everyone indoors after 4 P.M. It is to quell any chance of resistance against our stronghold in the city. They have made pamphlets. They will distribute them and make sure there is no unruly behavior or public gatherings tomorrow. Tomorrow is Baisakhi. It is their New Year Day. Our informants have notified us of a gathering in the public gardens near the Golden Temple that is being planned for tomorrow. I really hope those pamphlets reach them on time.

General Dyer seems to be in no mood to deal with the issue, diplomatically. At first light, he plans to send troops to prowl the streets. If they find something, it will surely be reported. If it is reported, he will mobilize the troops. After that, knowing the prejudiced and racist ire of the General, there would be few places where they could hide.

Keep them safe, O’ Lord. They know not who they have crossed paths with. Let them celebrate and make merry tomorrow. Allow them a day to celebrate with their blood and kith. Let the General’s path not cross with theirs. And if it does, I implore you to keep them safe. They deserve much better than the terrible fate we have condemned them to. O’ Lord, watch over them in their hour of need. I fear it might come tomorrow.

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