The region has seen a lot of strife and bloodshed
but there are numerous traditions of peace and cultural pluralism that are
thriving. Why not focus on these when we build memorials? We should be
conscious of our responsibility towards the future generations
Yogesh Snehi
 Instead of creating memorials that remind us about violence, we should be building memorials of peace and reconciliation like this memorial (R) of writer Robert Burns (L) in Edinburgh |
IN the past few years there has
been a splurge in the construction of several significant memorials and museums
on certain select facets of the history of Punjab. The most ambitious among
these are the Khalsa Heritage Memorial, Wada Ghalughara at Kup Rahiran in
Sangrur district, Chhota Ghalughara in Chak Abdalwari in Gurdaspur district and
Chhaparchiri in S.A.S. Nagar (Mohali).
The most recent addition in this
list is the proposed memorial on Operation Bluestar within the Golden Temple
Complex (Amritsar), which I thus see in a sense of continuity. Significantly,
all these memorials have a peculiar character and tend to engage with
particular kinds of histories of martyrdom, wars, violence and genocide that
the region has suffered since the 16th century.
The framework of time and space
with which these memorial engage with relates to specific episodes within the
realm of political conflict of the Sikhs against the Mughal state and later the
Colonial government on the one hand, and contemporary post-Independence state
on the other.
A broad construction of region’s
history through these memorials bring to fore the idea that Punjab has always
been engaged in wars, conflicts, invasions and violence which is dominantly
religious in nature. These memorials are also premised on the creation of a
binary of Sikhs against the Muslims, the British and more recently the Hindus. In a limited perspective, these
museums and memorials intend to narrate and retell significant sacrifices made
by Sikhs fighting against injustices and oppression of various hegemonising
tendencies.
However, as a historian one seeks
to contest the limited frames of these narratives since they leave out more
significant histories of peace, which has inspired centuries of co-existence
between various communities. In this context, I raise a fundamental question of
‘intent’ and seek to explore the choices which sectarian politics impinges upon
the public domain for narrow political gains? After all. what is it that we
want to leave for future generations to remember?
I am sure none of us would like
to promote re-emergence of bloodshed and violence for the youth of Punjab. How
should we then remember yet forgive and forget those facets of terrible
histories which left indelible scars on popular memory and reconcile them with
contemporary realities?
How would creating war and
violence memorial make better humans out of our generations? I propose, as many
others have, that if we keep larger objective of building the future Punjab in
mind, we should be building memorials of peace and reconciliation. This
objective cannot be achieved through selective tales of shared memories of violence.
In the context of the Partition,
documentary filmmaker Ajay Bharadwaj underlines that while narrating the tales
of violence, "We often prefer to shut out the whole episode with a wall of
silence," and instead target Muslim communalism, which is dominant in the
narratives of popular Partition histories and continue to be taught in the
schools and colleges of the region.
Similarly, the violence
experienced during the terrible days of terrorism in Punjab is vetted out
against each other by the Sikh and the Hindu communalists. Is there then any
‘final solution’ of these vexed issues? Can we ever emerge out these binaries?
Fortunately, there are numerous parallel narratives of peace, which continue to
inspire the lived lives of Punjabis in contemporary times and have been
nurtured threw centuries of shared coexistence. Why should these narratives be
missing from the historical discourse of the region? Let us briefly discuss
some of these narratives.
I begin with the second half of
the 16th century. The popular tale of Dulla Bhatti (a Rajput Muslim zamindar),
which is continually narrated during the Lohri festival of Punjab, retells the
story of how in a dominantly Muslim province of Punjab, a local zamindar saved
the ‘honour’ of two (Hindu) Brahmin girls, from the gaze of a Mughal officer,
who, on hearing about their beauty, wanted to acquire them, by secretly
arranging their marriage.
The tale continues to be popular
among the Sikh-dominated province of Punjab. I emphasise the religious (though
non-descriptive) identities here to highlight how kinship relations and local
ties in medieval Punjab where intertwined with caste and ethnic identities and
played a significant role on shared existence amid the centralising tendencies
of Mughal state.
Two narratives associated with
the tenth Sikh guru retell the stories of Bal (baby) Gobind and the sacrifice
of his two young sons. Pir Bhikam of Patiala had this ‘dream revelation’ that a
new sun had risen in the east at Patna. He and two of his murids embarked upon
a journey to the town to seek the blessings of the baby and dispel the doubts
of the latter. They also carried along two pots of sweets, one from the house
of a Hindu and another from the house of a Muslim. At Patna, the saint placed
two pots of sweets in front of the child, desiring to know what would be his
attitude to the two major religious traditions of India. As the child covered
both the pots simultaneously with his tiny hands, Bhikham Shah felt happy
concluding that the new seer would treat both Hindus and Muslims alike and show
equal respect to both.
In the second narrative, when two
young sons of Guru Gobind were captured by Wazir Khan, the Nawab of Malerkotla,
Sher Muhammad Khan wrote a letter to Aurangzed protesting against the Emperor’s
order to execute innocent boys. Guru Gobind apparently thanked the nawab and
proclaimed that the Sikhs of the region will henceforth offer their oblation to
the buried patron saint Haider Shaikh of Malerkotla. Guru Gobind’s sons could
not be saved, neither did Aurangzeb survive. But, until today the memory of
this episode continues to draw both Sikhs and Hindus to the shrine of Haider
Shaikh and over the centuries this narrative has transformed into a cultural
idiom of shared sacred space. One is reminded of Gandhi’s famous critique of
dominance of violence in the narratives of history where he says that "the
fact that there are so many men still alive in the world shows that it is based
not on the force of arms but on the force of truth or love" which has guided
the course of history.
I thus again seek to raise this
fundamental question about envisioning the kind of society we want for our
future generations. Amid the spirals of violence which continue to determine
region’s history, it is the hope of peace and reconciliation which should
determine the imagination for the future. Can’t we have a memorial where we
collectively mourn the killings of innocent people during the last century; a
memorial which condemns violence meted out against Hindus, innocent Sikh youth,
human rights activists and also millions of those who were killed in violence
of Partition? We need to ponder over these questions rather than glorify one
form of violence over the other. Resistance to an oppressive order is justified
only when it is itself committed to peace. At least, this is what centuries of
historical encounters tell us with the hope that ‘lest we forget’. We also need
to recover the narrative of shared existence from a generation which will soon
be lost unrecorded in the annals of written histories.
