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Performing Kirtan Over Indira’s Body
Four
Sikhs by the side of a burnt out gurdwara were crying because a
Raagi Jatha was refusing to go back on its word to perform kirtan
for a dead Indira Gandhi who had ordered army attack on Sri
Harimandir Sahib and Sri Akal Takht Sahib and scores of other
gurdwaras and killed thousands of innocents and whose own families
were rendered refugees in the heart of Delhi because of Indiraloving
mobs.
 Activist
Advocate H S Phoolka's recent book has once again taken us by our
little finger and made us trudge through the sad parts of our
memories. The anti-Sikh pogroms do not find much mention except on
the anniversary every year and the community has marked the day 23
times to be precise. Come every election and we see a motley group
of 1984 affected widows trying to corner a Congress candidate or
hold dharnas giving a bad name to a particular political
party. Once in a while, a kindly soul like Harpreet Kaur makes a
movie like The Widow Colony to jolt our memory and conscience out of
a stupor and forces us to look into the lives of these widows.
But
the official India's single most popular image, evoked time and
again by the late Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and now by his widow
Sonia Gandhi, is very very different. Talk of the family's sacrifice
is paramount in any speech of Sonia Gandhi at any session of the All
India Congress Committee. The Indian nation is told repeatedly about
how much ‘balidaan’ has been made by Indira Gandhi and Rajiv
Gandhi for the sake of India.
 Virtually an establishment voice, India's leading weekly India
Today, recently came out with its anniversary editions, and also
celebrated the 60 years of Indian Independence, but while depicting
the killing of Indira Gandhi, the image it used was of an Indira
lying in state. This is the image that the official India likes and
wants others to remember. A great leader slain by some “traitors”
and the body of the leader lying in state, inspiring the entire
nation to keep voting the family into power again and again in
recognition of the great sacrifices it has made. Forgotten is
Operation Bluestar, no need to use the pictures of the anti-Sikh
pogroms on the streets of Delhi, and gloss over the way the Indian
establishment has run roughshod over minorities and disadvantaged
groups. A simple linear picture is always more appealing than a
complex multi-layered reality.
It
was this that finally goaded the editors at the WSN to look deeply
into this picture of an Indira Gandhi lying in state. Recall the
time. On the roads of Delhi, the massacre of the Sikhs is on. Tyres
are in abundant supply, so is kerosene and petrol. It is just that
the Sikhs are in short supply. Hindutva’s secular-communal monster
dancing on the roads of Delhi not far from where the body of the
slain leader lay in state. But nation-states always need a picture
for the great national album; so it was necessary to have a Sarv
Dharam Prarthna Sabha for Indira Gandhi. The problem was that in
a situation where the number of burning tyres available was already
more than the number of Sikhs available for burning, where does one
find a Raagi Jatha to perform kirtan for Indira Gandhi, for
the national picture album?
 Jaswant
Deed was in charge of Punjabi Programs at the All India Radio in
Delhi. On October 31, 1984, he had finished recording the
translation of Khushwant Singh’s piece on Manas Ki Jaat Sabhe
Aike Pehchanbo. When he came out, he saw people in groups and
whispering to each other. A woman announcer came rushing towards him
and asked him to quickly get inside. He was informed that Indira
Gandhi has been killed, that too by her body guards. Sikh body
guards. (How was the decision taken to let the world immediately
know how a Prime Minister was killed? And by whom, including their
religious affiliation? After all she was not killed in a public
place, and Intelligence agencies would not have let the news get out
without proper deliberations.)
Deed quickly came back to his office room. Soon the entire Akashwani
campus seemed empty. Everyone had rushed home. Producers got
closeted in rooms. Directors were continuously on the phones. Deed
was at the gate of the Akashwani soon, listening to the mobs’ cries
through the huge iron gates. Right before his eyes he saw the mob
catching hold of a Sikh and putting a burning tyre around his neck.
The Sikh ran towards the Akashwani gate. Everyone hid. The chowkidar
too. Deed too rushed inside. Hell on the road is a scary sight. The
woman announcer repeatedly looked at Deed’s karra. Deed saw
the fear in her eyes. “Throw it away,” she shrieked. Deed did.
Immediately. By evening, Delhi was like a city looted. Looted by its
own. Six hours after the shootout, Akashwani confirmed. Indira
Gandhi has been killed. It did not forget to add that she was killed
by her own Sikh bodyguards.
The
AIR put Jaswant Deed on duty at Teen Murti Bhawan where Indira
Gandhi’s body was lying in state. Sarv Dharam Shok Sangeet
was to be organized. Deed was tasked with getting a Raagi Jatha and
reach in the wee hours for the recording. Delhi was awash in fear
and mob violence. Getting a Raagi Jatha in the circumstances was a
difficult task. At least getting a Raagi Jatha alive was. In the
end, Deed passed on the buck to Driver Harbhajan Singh Rattan. Deed
was clean shaven. But the mob did check his antecedents on the way
when he was returning home.
Past midnight the driver called Deed. He had found Raagis. Alive.
But there was a problem. They were not approved by the AIR.
“Approved nu maaro goli. Tusi tayar rehna. I am coming,” Deed
told Rattan.
At
3:30 am, the alarm clock rang. Deed got up. A different driver
reached in time. Deed sat in the jeep, headed for Rattan’s home in
Patel Nagar. Rattan was waiting, all ready. He sat in the jeep and
the vehicle started speeding towards Jangpura. The Raagis that
Rattan had zeroed in on lived here. There was deathly silence all
around. Much of the pogrom had already happened. Much was still to
happen. Tell tale signs were everywhere. Rattan got down at the
Gurdwara road. Deed too. Rattan looked towards his left, then to his
right. He was sure he was at the right place. It is just that the
gurdwara was not there. “It was here only,” Rattan was trying to
explain, looking around as if he was looking for the eye of a
needle. Suddenly he exclaimed, “It is this only.” The
building had just changed colour from pristine white to soot black.
The gurdwara had been burnt. Some bits broken, vandalized. Among
these was the word “Kalgidhar” lying in a heap
of malba.
Someone sauntered over, telling them that Jangpura witnessed
massacres the previous day. Houses were burnt, so
 was
the gurdwara. Raagi Singhs jumped from the rear wall, trying to save
their lives. Entire families of the Raagi Singhs who used to live in
a residential quarter of the gurdwara had taken shelter in a nearby
house of a kind soul. The Raagis’ quarters were burnt. Smoke was
still billowing out from the burnt remnants.
Rattan Singh was thinking. “Come, let’s go,” he said to Deed. “And
the Raagis?” Deed asked. “Sir, hun eh thorra hee jaan ge apne
naal Indira Gandhi layee kirtan karn,” Rattan was saying
something that did not require Deed’s intelligence to understand.
“Should they go hang themselves too?” the driver was now getting
angry. Rage is a human feeling. It is a very humane feeling also.
Woebegone the man whose sense of outrage deserts him at such a
point.
Finally they caught up with the place where the Raagis were.
“Bhai Sahib! Bhayee Saahib!!” Rattan was shouting. “Kaun Hai?”
came the answer. “Main Rattan, Bhai Sahib!” Two men in white
kurtas and blue dastaars came out of the premises. One was a
Raagi, the other his assistant. The Raagi started explaining what
had happened: “We cried Bhai Sahib! We begged! When the mob still
advanced towards us, I ran and asked my family to run. I told them
to jump from the stairs.” He was crying, tears flowing down his
eyes.
“Satyanaas ho giya ji iss mulak da. Chalo hun tusi
kise theek jagah te luk jaavo,” Deed was
advising them. “Shukar karo tuhaanu Parmatma ne hath de ke rakh
liya hai,” Rattan was also trying to console as they prepared to
leave.
The
Raagi Singhs understood. “Kaka Ji, We are the Singhs of the Guru. I
had given you my word yesterday. Till then our house was not burnt
and the Gurdwara Sahib was not burnt. What do you think? Now we will
not go to perform kirtan for a dead one even after we have given our
word?”
Deed cracked. He cried loudly now. If the mobs were there now, they
would have recognized him, even without his karra. Rattan too
was crying. Four Sikhs by the side of a burnt out gurdwara were
crying because a Raagi Jatha was refusing to go back on its word to
perform kirtan for a dead Indira Gandhi who had ordered army attack
on Sri Harimandir Sahib and Sri Akal Takht Sahib and scores of other
gurdwaras and killed thousands of innocents and whose own families
were rendered refugees in the heart of Delhi because of Indira-loving
mobs.
The
four once again looked at the Gurdwara Sahib. The Raagi Singh
brought out a Tabla and a Harmonium and sat in the jeep. His two
more assistants also sat in the jeep as it raced towards Teen Murti
Bhawan.
Indira Gandhi was lying in state. The Indian State was lying in a
coma.
The
AIR’s recording team took positions. Ramayan, Koran, Geeta, then the
Holy Bible, then Shabads from Gurbani. Giani Zail Singh stood by the
body. Rajiv Gandhi too. Amitabh Bachhan was standing next to him. A
few more known names. Indira’s body lay wrapped in a tricolor. It
was soon 5 in the morning. Raagi Singhs were singing, “Sajjan
Mainde Raangle…”
Some slogans were being heard. “Indira Gandhi Amar Rahe” and
“Khoon Ka Badla Khoon Se Lenge” were clearly being heard.
Raagi Singhs continued with their kirtan. Recording was on.
Soon mobs were getting restive. Many voices were being raised.
Fingers were being pointed. It seemed things will go out of hand
right here. Soon Giani Zail Singh and Buta Singh disappeared from
the stage. Everyone now feared for the safety of the Raagi Singhs.
They were asked to quickly wind up the kirtan. Deed called up
the radio station. He was duly updated. Delhi was on fire. Sikhs
were being burnt with a ferociousness not seen in decades. Homes and
shops were being looted.
By
this time someone whispered in his ear. “Aap Akashwani se hain?”
“Yes”. “Raagi aap ke saath hain?” “Yes,” Deed said. “You must
return immediately,” he was told. Deed waived to the Raagis who
understood immediately. Kirtan was wound up fast. Slogans
were getting louder.
The
Raagis and Deed came out and were asked to sit in a huge military
truck. The driver of the truck lifted one of the seats revealing a
huge box underneath. “Get inside this and keep your head down. Do
not say a word,” he said. The Raagis jumped into the pit. The lid
was put back. The Raagis who had had a close brush with death and
left behind their pogrom-hit families to perform kirtan for a
dead Indira were being taken home packed in a box like sardines from
the place where the Prime Minister of India had called them.
Many nations have gone through periods of shame, and learnt their
lessons. That is why they look the beast in the eye when they go to
the museums that display what was done to the Jews. They look the
beast in the eye so that the beast never gets a chance again to
lunge at them. India too was shamed. It is just that its capacity to
live with the shame is unfathomable. Can it be otherwise if its
leader talks of big trees falling and earth shaking?
(Jaswant
Deed, now 53, was soon transferred to All India Radio, Jalandhar.
His description of the episode about picking up the Raagi Singhs for
performing Kirtan will appear in the forthcoming book in Punjabi
Dharti Hor Pare. Deed is a well known poet.)
5 December, 2007
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