Village Life in Punjab

Dravidian Epoch to end of British Raj

Shamsher Singh Babra

Observations and Appreciation

This book is essentially a compilation of oral history. The cultural bearings of villages were well known. Balladeers sang the old tales and the history of prominent families. Children grew up listening at their own door steps, bits and pieces of the stories recited by wandering minstrels seeking alms. Men talked when basking in the winter sun or relaxing under the shade of a tree during the red hot months. Women talked when they sat down pursuing shared chores. Oral tradition was strong. It was therefore easy to elicit information. Writing this book was emotionally tortuous; remaining objective was difficult. A shortcoming of the book is that as a result of Partition and the existence of a long drawn IndoPakistan hostility thereafter, it was not feasible to interview Muslims and Christians of the village. Heartfelt appreciation is expressed to those who gave revealing interviews, contributed to put the book together and made scholarly comments on the manuscript. Their names are listed in the Annex. Particular thanks are expressed to Maldeep nee Margaret Peters formerly of London with deep roots in Wales for her relentless urging and assistance in enabling me to pen down this homage to Village of by gone Punjab. Shamsher Singh Babra Washington D.C.

Table of Contents
Part I Evolution, Maturing and Splintering of Punjab

4 Evolution of Punjab 6 Sequel 10 Punjabi Culture 12 Social Syndrome 13 Social Bifurcation 14 Social Contradictions Spirits and Superstitions Memory Lane 17 Paintings of Village Scenes 21

I Chhotian Galotian 46 II Legends & Tales 51 III People and Their Way of Life 56 IV Moulding Influences 63 V Unique Institutions 70 VI Morning to Morning Life 75 VII Farming 80 VIII Measurements, Prices and Records 84 IX Rural Industry 86 X Communications and Transportation 94 XI Health Care 97 XII Birth to Death Cycle 102 3

45 Village Life

Part II

XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII 184 XXIV

Education 106 Trail Blazers 121 Money Lenders 138 Joys of Life 142 Quarrels and Crime 150 Womanhood of the Village 156 Marriage Celebrations 165 Marital Crisis 169 Bhua 173 Two Colourful Clans 177 Veterans

Amorous Affairs 187 XXVII Unforeseen Parting 192 Statistical Annex 200 Acknowledgements 204 About the Author 205

PART I Evolution, Maturing and Splintering of Punjab

EVOLUTION of PUNJAB INDUS VALLEY to the end of BRITISH RAJ Long after the advent of human life there were no villages anywhere on the Earth. People moved perpetually to safer havens in search of food and perhaps adventure. As civilizations advanced, and clans came to live together, hamlets evolved at a crawling pace. As agriculture flourished, people developed a kinship with the soil and their environment. Hamlets acquired permanency. Here and there, some hamlets grew into villages. Elementary industries and crafts evolved. Structure, mode and way of life varied from continent to continent, region to region and village to village. In time, some villages became towns and some towns became cities. Indus Valley is one among the many sparkling examples of such human settlement. Indus Valley was fertile like the venues of early civilizations such as the Golden Crescent (Mesopotamia) and the Nile Valley. Dravidians were the first farmers and the first craftsmen and engineers to settle and develop the Indus Valley from 4000 BCE (Before Common Era) to 1500 BCE. Indus Valley was unique in that it was traversed by seven mighty rivers: Indus, Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Beas, Sutluj and the mythical Saraswati as well as hundreds of rivulets. These rivers and streams originated in the lofty Himalayan glaciers, carved valleys, flattened plains, deposited nutrient laden new silt every year, refreshing and enriching the soil. These rivers then merged together before flowing into the Arabian Sea. Seemingly, the region with numerous arteries was akin to the palm of natures hand. Dravidian people penetrated the Indus Valley, possibly before 4000 BCE). It is not known if there were any Adivasis (original tribes) who predated them. In the hospitable environment, Dravidians achieved path setting advances in a variety of fields. They developed cultivation of crops; they were thus the first farmers of India. They tamed animals, and developed manufacturing implements, crafting jewellery, weaving and baking bricks. They invented weights and measures and bullock carts. They established trade ties with Iran and Mesopotamia. By 3500 BCE, urban culture had taken root. Planned cities of Harappa and Mahinjodaru, inhabiting 40,000 5

to 50,000 persons, were flourishing by 2500 BCE. There must have been satellite cities as well. Harappan civilization endured peacefully for a thousand long years. Round about 1500 BCE onwards waves of fierce Aryan tribes from Central Asia flowed in, inundating and enslaving the Dravidians. They established a new order. Awed by the immense charm of their new environment, Aryan thought soared to divine heights. Between 1200 and 1500 BCE, they wrote timeless epics, Vedas, Puranas and Shastras. They gave birth to a new civilization, Hinduism. With a far reaching vision aimed at social and economic development, they divided their society into four profession based hereditary groups which came to be known as castes. They enslaved the darker skinned Dravidian inhabitants as serfs and defined them as out castes. They assimilated some of them and pushed others down south. Some Aryan tribes married Dravidian women but mostly they adhered to the notion of purity of the fair skinned Aryan race 1/. Arts, crafts, and sciences flourished during the Hindu era. The revolutionizing concept of zero and hence the decimal system was their ever lasting gift to the realm of mathematics all over the world. -----------1/: Biography of Professor Mohinder S. Gill of Durham NC records that the clan of Gills likewise all Aryans were herders. On reaching the Indus Valley, they learnt cultivation from the Dravidians and married some of their women. DNA tests would probably confirm that blood of all castes is well mixed. --------------Hinduism held a progressive sway for a thousand years, spreading west to Afghanistan and east to South East Asia. First challenge came from Buddhist and Jain thought. Buddhism fanned all over India with enlightening speed around 500 BCE. Jainism arose about the same era. Both religions questioned the caste system of the Hindus. While Jainism remained confined to the creamy layer of the society, Buddhism, as peoples religion, spread far and wide. However, within a few centuries, following intellectual debates, Buddhists yielded their followers in India back to Hinduism. Around 1100 CE (Common Era/AD), Islam from Arabia, sword bearing but equally armed with a potent ideology, swept the Indus valley. Sufism from Persia, a pacifist facet of Islam, 6

followed in its train. Islams spread in India and South East Asia was speedy. Judaism and Zoroastrism had gained a foothold in coastal West India but they did not make it to Punjab. Islamic deterrence was strong. Another religion of the soil, Sikhism took root in Punjab early in the 16th century. Its founder Guru Nanak (1469-1539) travelled far and wide, engaging in intense debates with Hindu scholars and dialogues with Muslim savants. In 1699 Sikhism took a revolutionary turn in pursuit of political emancipation of their land. They achieved this goal against heavy odds but the religion was hard put to break out of the confines of Punjab. Christianity was the last one to arrive in Punjab. During the British Raj (1848-1947), it spread widely but thinly. Thus, four of the principal religions of the world Christianity, Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism became grounded in Punjab, Lured by the legendary riches of India, Punjab was waylaid time and again, century after century, by waves of invaders, plunderers and conquerors. Persian King Darius annexed Punjab in early 500 BC. Greeks led by Alexander the Great were the first Europeans to conquer the Indus valley (326 BCE). After reaching river Beas, Alexander had to turn back, pressured by his overstretched forces. Greek rule was known for its civility, contributed to modes of governance but it was markedly brief. During 1100-1526 CE, Punjab was ruled overlappingly and sometimes jointly by Afghans, Arabs, Tajiks, Turks and Uzbeks. They were followed in 1526 by the Mughals (Mongols) hailing from the Farghana Valley (Kazakhistan-Turkmenistan). They established a mighty empire in India. Their eventful rule impacted every facet of peoples life. Mughals ruled Punjab for about 200 years. The Sikhs of Punjab rose in rebellion against the Mughal rule which had become oppressive. They nibbled at the Empire during 1700-1760 and then ruled the Indus Valley during 17601849. They ceded power to the British following two AngloSikh wars of 1845-46 and 1848-49. With the conquest of Punjab, the British rule, termed as Raj became firmly established over the Indian subcontinent. The Raj in India (1600-1947) left deep foot prints, forever altering the structure, ways and means of civil political landscape. Following World War II, the British lost the will and the power to govern the vast and populous sub-continent. They decided 7

to peacefully transfer power and then madly rushed it. Indian political leaders were in an equal mad rush to take over the reins of power. After protracted negotiations, agreement was reached whereby India was Partitioned and power transferred in 1947 to two sovereign Republics of predominantly Hindu India and predominantly Muslim Pakistan. An artificial line of separation was hurriedly, callously and schematically drawn, in cool comfort. Deal done, needed Legislative measures in Britain and in India were meticulously adopted. Acceptance of the Partition Plan by some of the Provincial Assemblies and regional rulers had to be manipulated. In the northwest wing of the sub-continent, the dividing line ran through the heart of Punjab. Partition was swift and brutal in its speed, scale and bloodshed. A million men, women and children lay dead in a matter of weeks. The carnage was accompanied by a general exodus, the forced migration of 40% of the population of Punjab then numbering twenty five million. Caravans of five million Hindu and Sikh refugees moved from West Punjab to India; about the same number of Muslims moved in the reverse direction from East Punjab to Pakistan. The ethnic mix in East and West Punjab changed suddenly and drastically. --------------------Note: The history and life of the Indus Valley is a sub-set of the history of South Asia, in particular that of India. Punjab is a sub-set of both. Due to historical overlapping, this treatise uses the terms Indus Valley, Punjab and India liberally and interchangeably.

SEQUEL What is (was) Punjab? The nomenclature is Persian. Punj means five, do means two, ab means water (river). The words taken together gave it the name Punjab, the land of five rivers. The territory bounded by two rivers is called Doab (two waters). Punjab encompassed five Doabs: Sind Sagar (land between Indus and Jhelum), Chaj (between Chenab and Jhelum), Rachna (between Ravi and Chenab), Bari (between Beas and Ravi), and Bist-Jullundur (between Beas and Satluj). Punjab has been known by a variety of names over the centuries; its political and administrative boundaries have seesawed. The Persian nomenclature may have figured in the folk lore but its first recorded use was by Ibn Batuta, the famous traveller and historian who visited India in 1400 CE. The name slowly became embedded in the chronicles. Shah Mohammad used the word Punjab while writing about the Anglo-Sikh War as the war between India and Punjab. Around 1850, the British formally named the Province as Punjab. The geographic boundary of British Punjab ran from river Sindh to river Jamna. It included a swath of non-Punjabi speaking territories. Partition of India in 1947 split Punjab between Pakistan and India. Three-fifths of the territory including the historical centre, cultural hub and capital city of Lahore was allocated to Pakistan while two-fifths of the territory to India. Emotionally charged, each country retained the name Punjab for the allocated share though the foundations of the name had been tattered and cultural cohesion shattered.

----------------------------------------------------Indian Punjab was re-divided in 1966 on linguistic basis into three States (Provinces): Punjab, Himachal and Haryana. The Punjabi speaking region retained the name Punjab for the truncated State of Punjab (India). The boundaries of Pakistan Punjab have remained unchanged since 1947. Primary 9

language of the people of Punjab (India) and Punjab (Pakistan) is Punjabi. It means that 76% of the Punjabi speaking territory lies in Punjab (Pakistan) and 24% in Punjab (India). Urdu is the official State language in Pakistan, Punjab and Punjabi is the State language in Indian Punjab. Gurmukhi is primarily the script used in Indian region and Urdu (Shahmukhi) in Pakistan.

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Punjabi Culture
The value system shapes the sum total of human activities defined as culture or way of life. This totality covers beliefs, ethics, customs, traits, language, mores and morals. The domain of values and culture overlap to the point that both words are often used interchangeably. Both change in tandem, slowly but surely. Values are the soul, the glue and the polish of a culture 1/. Punjabi culture had taken birth in the volatile crucible of the Indus Valley, trodden century after century under the feet and hoofs of invaders. The stresses and strains of coping with the new comers toughened the people and shaped their character. In the process, Punjabis adopted the ways of the new cultures whereby they broadened their outlook. Language is the life blood of any culture. Punjabi language responded to every change with open arms. Rooted in scholarly but archaic Sanskrit and its derivatives, spoken Punjabi emerged around 700 CE as peoples language. It enriched itself with folk lore, and matured to its ascendancy around 900CE. As Islam advanced from 1100 CE onwards, Punjabi absorbed an abundance of Arabic and Farsi (Persian) words. The Sikhs developed a new script, Gurmukhi in early 16th century to phonetically express Punjabi. The process of assimilating new words was continuous. Even in the relatively short span of just a hundred years of British era (1849-1947), Punjabi language lavishly welcomed English words. A single word that characterizes the Punjabis is dynamism. Punjabis are ever ready and ever confident to do anything and every thing. History shaped Punjabis into a tough race and invigorated their mental horizons. Martial spirit is deeply rooted in Punjabi culture. Heroes are admired; their sacrifices are honoured. They are energetic, mentally agile and restless. They make the best of friends and the worst of the enemies. Their hearts are big but so are their egos. Punjabis are self-confident and cherish freedom. They have an addiction: work, work, work. They are equally addicted to hospitably enjoying the fruits of their labour. They love to eat; most of them relish intoxicants. The way of life of the Punjabis until the Partition of India in August 1947 is portrayed throughout this book. 11

1/ Punjabi Value System, a paper presented by Dr. Shamsher Singh Babra at the International Punjabi Convention, New York, 9-11 July 2000.

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SOCIAL SYNDROME
Sages (the thinkers, the philosophers) and Gurus (the teachers) had laid solid foundations for the formulation and growth of the society. Astronomy and mathematics flourished. Technology to support and sustain farming and elementary industries took root. Vast lands, jungles and river valleys provided ample resources for the production of food and raw materials. Social environment was tranquil. Historical look back brings out two vivid short comings in the development process: lack of industrial revolution and confinement of education to the thin crust. Social bifurcation became solidified, social contradictions emerged and superstitions became a segment of daily living, This social syndrome is the subject matter of this chapter.

Social Bifurcation
A change that has been the slowest of all changes is the social bifurcation based on caste demarcations. Caste based social structure of the people of Indian origin has changed little despite the revolutionary changes in the political and economic order, nationally as well as internationally. Even when people changed their religion from Hinduism to Islam, Sikhism or Christianity, or moved abroad, they carried the caste nomenclature with them. This permanency is unlike any other social order anywhere else in the world. Aryan (Hindu) thought had stratified the society into four hereditary professions. These professions came to be known as the caste system. Brahmins, the priestly class had the sole right to learning (education); Kushatriyas (Rajputs) had the right to bear arms and rule; Vaishyas were the traders; and Sudras, numerically the largest, were the working classes. Serfs were the out castes, the untouchables lately known as Dalits; their destiny was to serve others. Caste exalted or demeaned the social status of a person. The system developed into a rigid social order to the point that inter-caste marriages were desisted. The nomenclature stuck to the family name even long after persons had changed their professions. Brahmins could exercise the right to approve caste changes. A notable case of downgrading was that of Mirasis (Bards) who used to belong to the lower rung of Brahmins but were 13

expelled from the order for marrying off their widows. Elevation to higher castes was workable for those who gained education and acquired wealth and power. This is illustrated by the story of Srivastas. Srivastavas Low caste Ramu from Uttar Pradesh was an attendant in Agra on the household staff of a British Colonel in mid nineteenth century. Honest and hard working, his charming manners impressed everyone who came to feast at the Colonels bungalow. About that time, the British were in the process of establishing a cantonment in Agra. A canteen was needed for the British soldiers. Search was on for a trustworthy contractor. One morning after breakfast, the Colonel asked Ramu to apply for the canteen contract. Ramu folded his hands, sheepishly giggled, and hesitatingly said: Sahib! How can it be!! I am a humble man. I cant ever dream of being a contractor. The Colonel firmly said that, you are a good man who ably handles my butteries; you apply. Nonplussed, Ramu said Sahib, I dont have the money to open even a tea stall let alone a canteen! Dont worry Ramu, you apply said the Colonel as he galloped off to the barracks. Ramu obeyed the command and applied. On the day of interviews, applicants lined up at the military headquarters. Ramu sat alone by a tree; he knew that he was no match to well placed bidders. As his name was called by turn, Ramu tiptoed into the office. He was shocked beyond measure. His Colonel was presiding; the two Panel members, Major Sahibs, had often attended social events at the Colonels bungalow. The interviews over, Ramu was called in again and told that he had been awarded the contract. Furthermore, he will receive a loan to cover initial expenses. The canteen flourished. As the Cantonment expanded, so did the canteen. Ramu had no trouble bringing good cooks and helpers from his village. Ramu became rich and came to be known as Ram Lal. He bought a good house, put his children in school and regularly donated good sums to the Temple. Wanting a closer social association, his merchant neighbours insisted: Ram Lal Ji, you cant be a low caste, let us have your genealogy prepared. The Temple Brahmin drew colourful parchment with charts and figures, tracing his ancestry. It 14

concluded that Rams ancestors were Srivastavas, a clan of Brahmins. Henceforth, Ram Lals family came to be known as Srivastavas. In time, matrimonial offers poured in. All his children were married into higher castes. The social order was particularly rigid in the rural domain than in the cities. As people moved away from the narrowly defined environment of their village to a far off place or to an urban melting pot, some of them changed their caste based names to claim a higher social standing. A familiar Punjabi clich was: pehlon si asi khas julahey, pher bun gaye darji hauli, hauli ho gaye sayyad, ugon Rub di marzi (we were weavers, then we became tailors slowly we became syads (mullahs), future progression is Gods will) Jats were classified as Sudars, members of the working classes. In 1706, Sikhism under Banda Bahadur abolished the zamindari system and granted land to the tillers thereby enhancing the pride and economic status of the cultivators. The British protected the holdings of the farmers through the Land Alienation Act of 1911, barring the acquisition of farm land belonging to agricultural classes by non-agricultural classes. Provincial Autonomy, transfer of power to an elected Legislature, granted in 1935 was based on limited franchise. Voting rights were given to all those who paid income tax or land revenue. These developments solidified the political power in the hands of Jats. In India, since the Transfer of Power and the extension of voting rights in 1950 to all citizens, a different kind of social reordering has been in the making: amalgamation of some farming classes. Among the Sikhs, Rajputs and Gujjars have come to be viewed as Jats. Inter marriages among them have become common. With ranks swelled, Jat political power has further solidified. Not wanting to be known as Sudras, they have lately been projecting themselves as a caste apart. ********************

Social Contradictions
Over the centuries, as new cultures sprouted and religions evolved to explain the realm of the unknown, new ways of life among people took root. Wherever established order and 15

newly arrived external forces clashed, ethnic lines of separation deepened. Social taboos developed as well and became deeply ingrained. As people changed their religion, they carried some of their old ways with them giving rise to social contradictions in the daily lives of the people. Irritantations caused by these contradictions were tolerated, accepted as a fact of life but never corrected. The religious practices and the social contradictions, as they prevailed at that time are portrayed here as simply as the simple people minded inhabiting the village. 1. Religion: Four religions were being practiced in the village Sikhism, Islam, Christianity and Hinduism, in order of their numbers based on the 1941 census. Although their tenets and practices varied, everyone respected each others religion. 2. God: Everyone shared the belief in God. People were fearful of Gods wrath, God alone was the witness to the truth, and everyone swore by God. But, who is God? Where does God live? How do you find God? As many answers, as questions. The essence of each faith, as understood by the people was: Sikhism -God is one; different paths lead to Him/Her/It; God has no gender. Islam -God is one; Allah is the only path. Christianity -- God is one; His son, Jesus can lead you to Him. Hinduism God is one; many a form portrays Him/Her/It; Forms have many a gender. 3. Worship: Each religion followed its own rituals. Sikhism Men, women and children congregated at the Gurdwara. Men sat on the floor to the left of the Granth, the holy book of Sikh scriptures, women sat on the right side, children sat or ran around wherever they felt comfortable. Music was played; everyone joined in the singing of hymns. A person of any faith could come in, join or observe. At the conclusion, Parshad (sacramental pudding) was distributed and sometimes langar (community meal) was served to everyone sitting together on the floor. 16

Islam Men and women prayed separately, at different hours. Few women went to the mosque to pray. Few children went to the mosque to learn Quran. Music and singing were not allowed inside or in front of the mosque. Non-Muslims could not join in the prayer, but they were welcome to visit the mosque at other times. Christianity Men, women and children congregated together and sang hymns. Someone read a passage from the Bible and said a prayer. A person of any faith could join the congregation. Hinduism -- There was no Temple left in the village, not anymore. The Pandit worshipped the idols privately at his home. However, all Hindus joined in the prayers at the Gurdwara. 4. Caste System: No matter what the religions preached, people lived by the prevailing customs. Caste based social inequalities remained in tact. Caste system was so deeply imbedded in every religion that people construed it as a natural phenomenon. Sikhism: Religion condemned separation by caste. Everyone sat together in the Gurdwara, ate their meals together and shared in all festivities. But in social practices, clans were distinctively marked by their inherited caste. Barring a couple of exceptions, marriages remained strictly confined within the castes. Islam: In Arabia, the land of its birth, no one had even heard the word caste. There was no such social demarcation. But when Hindus of South Asia accepted Islam, they took along the caste system with them. Like Sikhs, clans were separated by caste. There were no inter-caste marriages. Christianity - Since all Christians in the village belonged to the same caste denomination, the caste issue did not get tested. Hinduism: Aryans had given birth to the idea and the practice of caste system. The delineation was based on hereditary professions. People could change their professions but no one could change their caste.

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5. Food: Same stones ground the flour for everyone, same buffalo or cow gave the milk, but once bread was baked or milk reached home, communal sharing ended. As a rule, Sikhs and Hindus would not share utensils with the Muslims and Christians; Muslims would not use Christian utensils. Neutral glass and chinaware was used to serve visitors. No one ever questioned the duality of these practices. They were accepted as an established norm, a fact of life. No one ever paid thought to the farce of these practices. Staples: It mattered not which community grew the crop, harvested it, processed it and sold it. Everyone bought it for consumption, be it grain, fruits or vegetables. Cooked meals: A strict discriminatory line of demarcation was in vogue. Sikhs and Hindus would not eat the food cooked by Muslims and Christians; Muslims would eat the food cooked by Sikhs or Hindus but would not eat the food cooked by Christians. At the time of weddings, Muslims would send uncooked food to the Sikh houses as a mark of sharing happiness. Christians always accepted cooked food from the homes of Sikhs, Muslims and Hindus. Milk: Fresh milk was shared by the communities, but a line of discrimination was drawn once it was heated. It became a cooked food. Fresh butter was not exchanged but melted butter (ghee) was freely bought and sold for consumption by every one, even though it had gone through cooking (heating and processing) like other foods. Lassi (butter milk): Sikhs and Hindus would not take lassi from Muslims and Christians. Muslims would accept lassi from Sikhs but not from Christians. Christians did not have such inhibitions. Meat: Sikhs and Hindus protected the cow; Muslims protected the pig. These were never slaughtered in the village so as not to disturb the communal harmony. Sikhs would cut the head of a chicken or a goat with one stroke; Muslims killed through slow bleeding. The method of killing was regarded as sacred. Christians were free of these rigidities. 18

Water: This free gift of nature stood as a glaring example of social contradictions. Irrigation wells supplied drinking water to all; any one could fill their pots at any time. But once poured in respective pots, it acquired a communal tinge. People did not drink the same water from the pots of the other community. Water pitchers at railway stations and on roadside were clearly identified as Hindu Water, Muslim Water. Separation did not end there. If a Muslim touched the filled earthen pot of a Sikh or a Hindu, it was deemed to have become tainted. It was broken right there and then. It mattered not that every pot had been baked by the same Muslim potter. 6. Sex Discrimination: Any man could legally take more than one wife. Could a woman even dare to think of it? God bless her! (In Hindu mythology, a princess was simultaneously married to five royal brothers!) Sex discrimination started right from birth. A boys arrival was greeted with joyous celebrations. Sweets were distributed; festivities were observed. This was never done for a girl, even if she was the only sister among several brothers. Young girls were served half a glass of milk, while boys were served a full glass. Mothers were concerned about girls maturing fast. If a young man died, ritual wailing was observed; a young womans death was lamented calmly. Boys wedding was celebrated with pomp and show but not so for a girl even though a lot more money was spent on a girls marriage to appease her future inlaws. A girl was not entitled to inheritance, even if she was the sole child. The property was vigorously claimed by her male cousins. Nonetheless, a woman was the symbol of honour and dignity for the family. Protecting her was the duty of every man in the family, particularly that of her brothers.

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Spirits and Superstitions

The awe of spirits and the shadow of superstitions hung over everyday life. Though the belief in them had slowly weakened in the past two centuries, the fear of their power reigned strong, particularly among women. Bad omens could be wished or warded off at small cost but at immense damage to human relations. Fascinating stories of demons with super natural powers abounded but none of them had ever been spotted. On the contrary, encounters with a daen (witch) or a chudhel (spirit) were quite frequent. Are There Spirits? An often told story was about two youngsters arguing about their existence. The believer dared his friend who ridiculed their existence, to go to the graveyard at night when spirits come out, and stick a peg in the ground. Wooden peg in hand, the fellow went to the graveyard after dark, picked up a stone and hurriedly bashed the peg into the ground. About to walk back, he noticed that his lion cloth had been grabbed. He broke away fast but lost his lion cloth. He reached home breathless and delirious. Women gathered around to comfort him. The spirits had shown their power, everybody believed. Next day someone discovered his lion cloth with the peg piercing through its corner. Did he do it himself in the dark or did a spirit force his hand? Whatever the truth, the case remained unproven. Belief ruled stronger than the truth. Are there Witches and Spirits? There always was an old spinster in the village who was alleged to be daen, a witch. She was shunned by other women. Reputation of being a witch was worse than being one. It was believed that a daen could cast a spell or do physical harm, including plucking away the heart of a baby. Crib deaths were usually attributed to her. Chudhel was said to be the spirit of a lass who had died at the prime of her life. Female spirits lived as a community in grave yards and came out at night. No one ever went near the graves after dark. The haunt of an individual chudhel was the wild jasmine shrubs which commonly grew on mounds here and there. No one dared to pluck the little fragrant white flowers. It was believed that they were the preserve of charrels. The damsels gathered on dark nights, decorated their locks with jasmine flowers and danced. No one dared to piss on these mounds or pass by them at the dead of night. 20

A provoked chudhel could enter someones body, make it her new home and then command the person to do whatever pleased her sweet whim. Some spiritualists were reputed to have the power and the knack to communicate with her, and ritually cajole her to abandon the illicit occupation of the body home. Abodes of the spirits: Female spirits, known as charrels, lived in the grave yards and came out at night. No one ever tress passed the graves after dark. A common home of individual charrels was the wild jasmine shrubs which grew on mounds here and there amid fields. No one dared to pluck the fragrant white little flowers. It was believed that they were the haunt and preserve of charrels. The damsels who had died at the prime of their life gathered on dark nights, decorated their locks with jasmine flowers and danced. No one dared to piss on these mounds during the day or pass by them at the dead of night. It was feared that these spirits would either cast a spell on them or enter their bodies taking control of their mental faculties. Episodes involving witches and spirits did occur once too often. Here are some of the occurrences. Jasmine encounter: Boys regularly played hide, seek and tag running bare feet in the fields around sun down. Mohinder and Sheri hid from others behind a wild shrub. Instinctively Mohinder plucked some jasmine buds. Momentarily, a spirit emerged from the mound and chased them; the two ran like hell. Sheris left sole was punctured by a cottonwood spike; he reached home bleeding. His mother applied a hot paste of turmeric and ghee at the wound. She also swirled red chillies around his head and burnt them in the fire to ward off the spirits. Mohinder reached home breathless and ran high fever for three days; his mother recited scriptures by his bedside until the fever broke. The event was a bitter reminder to all the boys to stay clear of the jasmine mounds. Nwab Bibi: A chudhel entered the body of a newly married Arain woman. Bibi lost control of her senses. She would shriek, turn cots upside down, decorate her hair with cotton wool, tell stories of her past life and curse her husband when he returned from the farm in the evening. Often, she had to be restrained, tied to a cot. Maulvi was called to recite kalma (Koranic verses) in her ear; fakirs came to bless her food; nothing worked. The spirit in her would loudly relate 21

unfamiliar tales of her personal life. Finally a reputed spiritualist was invited to drive the spirit out. He talked to the chudhel incessantly for two days, offering her the food that the spirit relished. To appease the spirit, the spiritualist had a woman wash and groom Bibis hair the way she wanted. But whenever the spirit was being overly difficult, the spiritualist would beat her with a slipper. Finally the spirit divulged who she was, why she had entered Bibis body and listed her demands. The chudhel said that she was a beautiful young woman from the neighbouring village. She died during a complicated pregnancy. She had made the jasmine mound as a shrine for her tormented soul. Bibi had the audacity to piss on her shrine during a visit to her farm. To leave the body, she demanded a feast in her honour and a new rainbow collared chunni to be spread at her shrine. When the spiritualist demanded a concrete proof of her departure if her demands were met, the chudhel said that I will leave in the middle of the feast; as a proof of my departure I will turn a shoe by the entrance upside down. Bibi was inside the room with the spiritualist and her sister-in-law while men sitting on the cots in the courtyard were feasting. Suddenly a shoe by the entrance turned over. The neighbourhood children sitting on the ledge watched the drama with awe. Momentarily, Bibi came out of the room, all smiles, touched her husbands feet as a mark of affection and sat by her mother-in-law as if nothing had ever happened to her.

Baji: Short built, slim and having only four elongated teeth, all
in the front, Baji was known to be a normal person but women avoided her visiting them. It was said that sometimes she would turn into a daen (witch). Whenever on an ill errand, she walked like a whirlwind; her feet were believed to be facing backwards.

One early morning, young Bhola was sitting on his usual perch behind the bulls walking around to turn the irrigation wheel. He saw a strange woman (alleged to be Baji) walking behind him with raised arms. Startled, he got down but instantly fell on the ground. The oxen stopped and so did the tik tik of the stopper attached to the main gear, attracting attention. When brought home, Bhola was incoherent. His language was strange. Every one thought that he had been possessed by a spirit. 22

The family invited the reputed Dalit spiritualist from the village of Jamke. He was known to perform miraculous acts, scaring the spirit to speak up and then leave with a visible trail. He camped in the house for three days, cajoling, talking and beating the spirit at its game. Whenever Bhola played the game of the spirit, he was beaten with shoes and kitchen tongs but he felt nothing. The spirit in him absorbed the impact. Finally the spirit gave in and divulged that Bhola had the audacity to tinkle over my clothes which I had washed and spread out on a wild shrub to dry. The act roused my anger. I had to grab him. But now, I dont want to be tortured anymore by a superior force. The departing spirit left behind scattered bits of shattered earthenware in the courtyard. Bhola became normal. Had a spirit commanded Baji to transport her to Bhola or was Baji a witch who commanded spirits? Who knows! It mattered not. People believed the visible truth.

Evil Eye: A common superstition was the evil eye, a notion

that an admiring look of some persons caused inadvertent harm. The eye had to be diverted! Women routinely put a little blob in the corner of a handicraft. What was done when someone built a precious new house? The mason would paint a colourful head of a demon with his tongue sticking out on the bottom of a pitcher and hang it above the front door. A passerbys eye caught the demon and not the house. If an eye was cast when the udder was full, for sure the buffalo would kick the pail with her hind leg, spill the milk and not allow further milking. As soon as an admirer staring at the udder left, the woman of the house threw red chillies in the fire after swirling them around the head of the buffalo. If someones buffalo stubbornly resisted milking for a couple of days on end, causing serious concern, a lump of kneaded dough was blessed by a known hermit or fakir who recited a verse, blew on it and fed it to the buffalo. For sure, there was no more trouble milking. Once Balaqa cast a pleasing look at his brother-in-law when he saw him returning from town, all dressed up. On return to his village, he told his wife that your brother looked like an officer! Worried, she rode to her native village the very next day. For sure, her brother was running a high fever. She performed a ritual to ward off the spell of the eye. She placed dog shit in an earthen bowl and put smouldering dung around it. Smoke bellowing, she walked around her brothers cot three times, muttering some secret words. The temperature broke. 23

Toona:

For those seething with jealousy, the invoking of an evil was called toona. A pagan rite performed secretively, it was supposed to bring bad luck. One common mode of performing a toona was that on request, a fakir scribbled something on a scruffy bit of paper, a coded message which could be read only by a supernatural power, blew on it a few times, and instructed the person wishing to do the toona to insert it in the crevices of a wall of the targeted house. Something bad would happen in that household after a stipulated number of days. Whenever some woman found scraps of inserts here and there, she raised an alarm. Neighbourhood women freely speculated as to who may have done this evil deed. If one fakir had the power to bring an ill will, another one knew how to ward it off. Remedies were as numerous as the toonas. Often, these included making an offering of food at the grave of a sage. Such shrines dotted the country side; all fakirs camped there for the night. A common remedy was tweet, a silver charm with a prayer encased in it. Many a child could be seen wearing a tweet around the neck. It served as charm as well as negated the power of an evil eye or an ill will.

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25

MEMORY LANE
How does the way of life in the Punjab of by gone era compare to that in the present era? Hardly! Science and technology has revolutionized the world at the dazzling speed of sound and light since the second half of 20 th Century. Everything has changed every where; way of life in Punjab too has changed dramatically. Gone are the artisan wells, bullock carts, earthen lamps, mud houses, ploughs, ponds, and walking every where bare feet. Simplicity, the core of the times and life of the people for ages on end, has given way to complexity. New generations are oblivious of the village life of bygone Punjab, the Punjab before 1947. This book attempts to portray and preserve that history lest it gets buried in the dust of times. What was life like in the villages of Punjab through the ages, up to the end of the British Raj? This is illustrated by the story of Chhotian Galotian, a village in Majha, the middle region of Punjab. Though the village was just one among the several thousand that dotted the landscape, it was unique in that it was inhabited by all the four principal communities of Punjab -- Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims and Christians. Travel down the memory lane traces the way of life of the people, their institutions and their environment from the founding of the village in around 1100 CE. Per force, recollections dwell mainly on the century prior to Partition. Memories of daily life in earlier years, except some preserved in lore and literature, have faded beyond recollection. The case study is essentially a compilation of the recollections of the Sikhs and Hindus who used to live in the village until ousted by Partition in 1947. Oral tradition was strong. Children grew up listening at their own door steps, bits and pieces of the ballads recited by wandering minstrels seeking alms. Life in the villages was safe, tranquil, healthy and happy. Children grew up without fear; boys roamed the fields, the streets and roof tops nonchalantly. Everybody knew everybody else by name or as child or grandchild of so and so. Common names were linked with some distinctive identity mottu (fatty), khabu (lefty), kalu (darky), teera (cross eyed). Everyones affairs were known to everyone else though they remained shadowed by hushed whispers. Since whispers breed rumours and rumours spread at the speed of lightening, 26

unwrapping any person or any spicy episode was never difficult. People practiced their traditional, spiritual and cultural values, freely and peacefully. They worked, played, sang and danced together. Leading a progressive way of life, people sweated to improve their future. The author had spent the first twenty thrilling and invigorating years of his life in the village, fostering his emotional bonds and soaking in the culture. India was partitioned in 1947 as part of the Transfer of Power by the British to two sovereign nations of Pakistan and India. Punjab was carved between the two. At that time, the political map of the land of five rivers portrayed the pink British Punjab as well as some 30 small and large autonomous States ruled by Princes under British suzerainty. Partition took place without ascertaining the will of the people most of whom did not even have the right to vote. Partition shattered the multi-cultural mosaic of Punjab for ever. Until then, Punjab was inhabited largely by Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and Christians. Neutral in the political reckoning, Christians stayed put unharmed in both regions. Partition was swift and brutal; the largest holocaust in human history in its speed, scale and bloodshed. In Punjab, a million men, women and children lay dead in a matter of weeks. The carnage was accompanied by a general exodus, the forced migration of 40% of Punjabs population then numbering 25 million. Ten million became refugees; about five million Sikhs and Hindus moved from West Punjab to India; about the same number of Muslims moved from East Punjab to Pakistan. Mosaic of Punjab was hurriedly undone forever at a reckless speed. People lost a way of life that had been dearly nurtured over the centuries. The heritage was lost; the institutions so lovingly and laboriously built over generations were lost. Ancestral homes, the streets and the lands that were dearer than blood were gone forever. The animals that were partners in daily living and were loved as family members were forsaken for good. Memories remained deeply etched in the minds and hearts of those forced to flee from their homes to Refugee Camps. They often reminisced and dreamt of their roots. Partition was a particularly devastating blow for the Sikhs. For them: 27

pind gia, ghar bar gia merae saeen da darbar gia (lost the village, lost hearth and home lost the shrine of the Gurus) Refugees had nightmares, night after night, throughout their remaining life. As their minds ravelled in the past, their hearts palpitated with deep emotions. They sang with nostalgia: vundia Punjab merae, udhia Punjab merae dinae rateen channa terae, takdi aan khwab wae (my split Punjab, my other half I dream of thee my love, day and night) Unfortunately no one ever recorded their dreams. Two of the authors many dreams that portray the depth of emotional attachment to the roots are presented here as a specimen: False Dawn The night train from Lahore steamed into Gujranwala. Chacha (uncle) Musa, chacha to every youngster in the village, was leaning beside his tonga, patiently waiting to take me to the village. Welcome hug, I climbed up to the front seat, placing the satchel of books by my feet. Chacha steadied himself on the pole, assuring proper balance for his plumed roan. He jerked the reins, tapped with his whip and off we raced on the pucka road. Six long miles clippity clop, we stopped to refresh and ease at Nandipur, the midway horse stop by the vast Upper Chenab canal. Riding in slow trot, we crossed the bridge over the water fall designed to slow the flow. Sheet of water to the left, in full swell, was rushing deep into the wells, roaring, churning in endless motion, a musical serenade of natural action. Five more miles, the horse routinely turned onto the dirt road trailing the ruts deepened by many a cart. Dawn was breaking. As we neared the village, a musical sound resonated from a farm hut: Allaaaah Hoo Akbaar. What? Allah Hoo Akbar! No Muslim ever lived around this farm of stalwart Sikhs!! Startled, I woke up, heart pounding in requiem. The dawn was false and so was the dream.

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Millions must have dreamt similar dreams, traversing their own road, to their own village. Dreaming of the never ever to be the road, the never ever to be the village, not anymore. Return Visit My father had accepted an invitation from Pakistan to visit his native village. Quick preparations, off we went. In a wink we reached our own house. A welcome reception was in progress. The house was overly crowded. Village folk were present in numbers; so were Government officials and dignitaries in formal attire. Women were congregated on the ground floor while men mingled and chatted on the top two floors. Waiters carried around trays of finger food and soft drinks As the hour wore on, the crowd thinned. I quietly reminded my father that it was time to take leave. He leaned against the brick railing on the third floor foyer and replied emphatically: You go, you go. I am staying right here. This is my house. I woke up with a wrenching feeling in my stomach, pondering! Yes, it was his house, his own house that he had fondly built with his own bricks, in his own village. That is where his spirit belonged!

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Paintings of Village Scenes

Life in a village as seen by his eyes, experienced by his heart and absorbed by his soul during early years of his life in Punjab (1933-63) have been aptly depicted by Mohinder Singh Gill, Professor of Fine Arts, University of North Carolina, Durham, N.C. Seventeen of these paintings are portrayed in this section in random order. Mohinder Singh Gill came to the United States in 1963 as a student. But he left his heart and soul in the village. Haunting memories commanded him to depict the life and times of the village as seen by his eyes and experienced by him. His paintings constitute the largest collection of village scenes by an artist. These paintings are on display at the Smithsonian, at the National Museum of Chandigarh, at the Agricultural University, Ludhiana and at some private homes but the largest collection remains as part of his personal museum in Durham.

Plate I Plate II Plate III Plate IV

title already inserted ,, ,, Village Well

Damsels brought their earthen pitchers to the well and carried home fresh water. Plate V Swing

A delightful pastime for children from times immemorial Plate VI Plate VII Thread of life Khuh, the Irrigation Well

Irrigation well constituted the life line of the farms, humans and animals

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Plate VIII

Bracelet Vendor

A popular attraction for young girls was for colourful glass bracelets on one or both arms: these bracelets were a must for wedding celebrations. Plate IX Velni (carding)

An age old hand operated machine for separating seed from raw cotton. Plate X Punjabi culture and spirit

Three panels commissioned by the Smithsonian depict the celebration of life. The first panel shows a dance called Jaago which is performed by women as part of wedding celebrations. Jaago literally means wake up. The women dance with a pot lit with a candle while singing light-hearted and teasing songs. The second panel expresses the nature of music in Punjabi life. It shows classical instruments. Song and dance express the spirit, creativity and passion of the Punjabis. The third panel reflects the rejoicing and celebrations that take place at harvest time in Punjab, the homeland of bhangra. Plate XI Churning Butter

An early morning household chore for churning yogurt to separate butter from the residue called lassi. Plate XII Folk Songs

Group of girls singing to mark a happy occasion Plate XIII Helping Hand

Fodder cutting machine: It came into vogue around 1930 Plate XIV Henna Ceremony

Henna is applied in intricate patterns and flowers on the hands, forearms and feet of brides palms. At the same 31

ceremony, it is popularly applied on the palms of girls and young women Plate XV hands. Kiklee

A dance performed by girls while holding each others Mother swinging the child on her knees Doli Departure of the Bride

Plate XVI Plate XVII

Plate XVIII

Popcorn Roasting

A professional woman used a large wok with white sand heated over a hearth for roasting pop corn and other grains. Dry leaves and other biomass served as inexpensive fuel. Plate XIX Plate XX Lass cuddling a Lamb Chaki

A hand-operated machine for grinding wheat into flour Plate XXI Picking Fruit

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PLATE I

Village View

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Plate II

Penja

Fluffing Cotton: very fine for spinning and medium fine for stuffing quilts.

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Plate III

Hill Damsel with her Lambs

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PART II VILLAGE LIFE

Eye Witness Account This peek into the rural life of a village in the Punjab of bygone days is a compilation of the recollections of some of the Sikhs who once lived in that village. The author himself had spent the first twenty thrilling and invigorating years of his life among them. Travel down the memory lane traces the history of Chhotian Galotian from its founding in the eleventh century, dwelling on the way of life of its people until the Partition of India and the concomitant Partition of Punjab in 1947. This encyclopaedia of Chhotian Galotian attempts to capture the spirit and the life once nurtured by that village with a view to preserve its historical essence.

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Chapter I

CHOTIAN GALOTIAN

Rachna Doab, rich in land and lore, lay in the embrace of Ravi and Chenab rivers of the vast Indus system. It was this region which minted the Punjabi language and contributed to defining the Punjabi culture. It gave birth to the jubilant and vibrant bhangra dance. Chhotian Galotian, located in Sialkot District, prided itself to be a part of this fertile river valley. The dreamily flowing Ravi to the south of the village was a full days marathon walk while the turbulent Chenab towards the north was a days horse ride. Gujranwala was the nearest market town. The origin of the village is believed to be circa 900 CE. It was the time when the then two hundred year old Punjabi language had started ascending towards its maturity. The land was ruled by Hindu Rajputs. The village had slowly grown to a population of around 3,000 in 1946. The four principle communities of Punjab Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims and Christians - lived peacefully in shared equilibrium, enjoying deep cultural harmony. It was a tranquil, prosperous, healthy and happy village. People played, sang, danced and sweated together, leading a progressive way of life. Children grew up without fear; boys roamed the fields, streets and roof tops nonchalantly. Everybody knew everybody else by name or by some distinctive identity such as fatty, lefty, darky, cross eyed. Everyones affairs were known to everyone else though they remained shadowed by hushed whispers. Since whispers breed rumours and rumours spread at the speed of lightening, unwrapping any person or any spicy episode was never difficult.

Visage: The land was flat as far as the eye could see. The

alluvial top soil was rich and deep, as deep as one could dig. Stones were non existent; children could not even find pebbles to play with. The subsurface water was sweet, clean and healthful. It was abundant and easily found at a depth of twelve feet. The water level would rise up a couple of feet during monsoons and fall during dry months. Access to the village was provided by a dirt road and by several bullock cart arteries. Beautified by twin lines of sheesham trees, all dirt roads were graded lower than the adjoining fields thereby providing natural drainage. The downside of the drainage system was that heavy rains created muddy patches, making 55

the passage for horse drawn buggies and bullock carts arduous. Five public ponds skirted the village. Once huge, they had steadily shrunk following flood control measures associated with the building of an irrigation canal two miles up. The extensive open space around the ponds served as a play ground. These common lands faced slow but sure encroachment by the adjoining farm owners. The infringements were over looked and even legally regularized. It meant added payola for the village Patwari (Land Registrar), assured more food production and increased land revenue for the Government. Crop land constituted 90% of the villages total area of 1,175 acres. Twenty five khuhs (irrigation wells) haphazardly surrounded the village, irrigating over a thousand acres. Holdings were small and scattered, averaging 10 acres per family; fields around each khuh fitted into each other like a jigsaw puzzle. Since more than one owner had a stake in every khuh, water sharing arrangements had to be delicately negotiated. Everyone, rich or poor, owned their house, small or large. With few notable exceptions, all houses had a single storey mud structure. Compact and wedged into each other, every house shared two or three walls with the neighbours. Not a single house stood by itself. Some lanes were so narrow that one could jump across the parapets. The flat roofs were usually of the same height. One could walk from roof top to roof top. The layout assured safety against invaders, intruders and thieves. Houses were usually clustered into mohallas (localities), sharing a common courtyard and a well. A few houses had a well of their own. They had a patio in the front which opened to an all purpose sitting cum sleeping room. It was invariably decorated with a long, narrow, high up shelf for proudly displaying decorative articles crafted by young girls, possibly as p [art of their dowry. The rear had one to three windowless rooms used for sleeping and storage of farm produce. They were dark even at mid day. But, they remained cool in summer and warm in winter. These airless rooms had a small vent in the roof. The eat-in open-air kitchen was located in the patio. It had two or three small hearths. Equipment included a wooden rolling pin, tongs and a flat iron griddle for making chapatis. Every 56

house had a movable hearth for slow boiling of milk and slowcooking of saag and lintels. The fixed earthen oven (tandoor) for baking rotis (flat bread) was located in the courtyard or on roof top. Tandoors were commonly shared with neighbours, saving fuel. Every household had an assemblage of clay pitchers earmarked for different uses: slow cooking, churning butter and storing wheat flour, rice, lentils, chunky brown sugar and rock salt. Brass utensils with tin coating were common among the economically better off; cheaper silver (aluminium) utensils were popular among the Muslims. The indoor (winter) kitchen had a high shelf for displaying large brass pots. These prized items were used on special occasions. Dried dung cakes were the main fuel for cooking, followed by chopped wood and cottonwood stalks. Fresh corn, chickpea pods and other grains were professionally roasted at a bhathi (country oven); a bit of the item was retained as roasting fee. Mustard oil was used for lighting wicks; kerosene oil lanterns came into being early in the twentieth century. The need for light was minimal because everyday cooking, eating, reading and writing were done mostly during daytime. Household furniture consisted of one heirloom bed with carved wooden legs, several charpoys (stringed cots), some peedis (low chairs), and possibly a stool or two. The easily portable charpoys were moved in and out of the house, to the roof top or where ever the family members and guests wished to sit together, rest or sleep. Every inch of the space was used; there was no room around the house to grow anything except perhaps a medicinal vine. Most houses kept on the rooftop a pot of aloe, a medicinal plant considered auspicious. It was also believed that aloe kept the snakes away. Many families shared their residential quarters with their treasured buffalo for the ease of the womenfolk milking, feeding and caring for them. Some families had an outhouse where animals were kept and fodder, dung cakes and chopped wood was stored. Here, stringed cots were scattered around for mens leisure and sleeping at night. The mud house look of the village started changing at a slow pace after coal fired kiln bricks came into vogue in the 1920s. The places of worship were the first to go all brick after WWI. Common notion of a village was trees everywhere. The reality was different. Streets were treeless and so were most of the houses. Shade and fuel wood were always in short supply. Shelter from the scorching summer sun was treasured; its 57

availability was patchy. The best shaded spot was a dignified old bunyan tree with wide girth, dense canopy and an expanse of a quarter acre. Boys played here while men whiled their time playing cards, napping or just chatting. A lone, old man was the only one who worked in the lovely, breezy shade, making wooden combs. The place emptied at sunset. Night was the time for the spirits to dance and play under the dark canopy. Good shaded areas were the domain of animals and men. Women solved their problem of scarce shade by creating a tent on the roof by aligning stringed cots in an A-shape and draping sheets over them to keep the sun rays out. A cot was placed underneath to rest on. There, they had a breezy little room right on their own roof top. They also congregated in the breezy foyers of some houses and in the middle of some streets, busy making things and enjoying gup-shup (chit chat). Everyone carried a hand fan, some colourfully decorated with little mirrors. Children loved to climb all large trees for fun and sometimes to steal birds eggs. Crows and kites made their nests high up on tops of the trees; sparrows built them low down; and other birds where ever it was safe. Forced to leave their chicks unattended while searching for food, bird moms naturally worried about their offspring. A popular rhyme portrayed a doves lament: tahli maere bachre luk tunoo, tunoo (my chicks alone on tree top, my heart aches! a gust will blow them away, my heart aches! sunshine will burn them rain will drench them, my heart aches! ) Cropland per force was bereft of trees but Irrigation wells were marked by green clusters which included lofty pipal, hardwood sheesham and mulberry) and soft wood dhrek and neem. Mounds of wild jujube shrubs could be seen here and there. Dotted with rat holes, these mounds were an excellent hideout for rabbits. Snakes lived in the rat holes as poachers because they cannot dig their own burrows. There was a time when beri tree was commonly grown in many houses. It was much loved by children, sparrows and parrots. It faced slow elimination.

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Alas! Dear Beri Once, beri (jujube), a thorny, 12-15 feet tall tree with dense, small leaves used to be a common courtyard fixture. It was the favourite home of sparrows; parrots loved its fruit and so did children. Hundreds of sparrows swarmed in at sunset, made a hell of a din and then as darkness spread, suddenly fell silent and remained motionless throughout the night. As darkness lifted, one sparrow spoke, then, another one and quickly every one of them started chirping. Theirs was the finest musical welcome pronouncing the arrival of the sun god. Soon thereafter, they flew away, one and all, in search of their daily livelihood, spreading themselves around the houses. They left behind a present; tinted little droppings everywhere. In spring, its branches would be laden with marble sized berries with a hard stone in the centre. As the hot season came on, the tangy berries started changing from green to golden before fully ripening to pink and red. Parrots swarmed in at daybreak and nibbled down berries by the hundreds. For a whole month, somebody had to clean up the mess. Who else, but the ladies of the house! The season brought a lot of sore throats as the children tended to eat the fruit in competition with the parrots. Every laden branch had small little hooked thorns as well. During the berry season, children climbed the tree every day to eat the berries, ignoring their yelling mothers. They brought down two presents: soar throats and thorns lodged in their finger tips and feet. Gentle hands of a sister had to carefully ease them out with a needle and a mother had to nurse the throat. Thorn pricks, sore throats, droppings of the sparrows and the nibbling left by the parrots was a nuisance for mothers. It was useless as lumber; as a fuel it emitted a pungent aroma. So the loved beri faced slow elimination. Children missed the chirping of the sparrows and the sight of beautiful parrots.

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Chapter II.

LEGENDS and TALES

Conjecture the simplicity of daily life in a village. Spiritual practices and religious rites were the sole preserve of the priests. Practical knowledge was imparted by the parents and grand parents. Wandering story tellers and musicians were a source of history and culture. Children absorbed bits and pieces which they shared with each other. There were no schools. Fakirs and mendicants often stopped by at the door step of well to do houses to recite a story or sing a blessing. They would leave as soon as a palmful of wheat flour was dished into their shoulder bag. A tribal woman, dressed in an ankle length black skirt with colourful flowers appliqud, would come by once a while. She would take a little one in her lap and sing a lullaby; her resonating voice would throb in the hearts of children assembled around. If she was rewarded well, she would give a sewing needle or two to the mother as a mark of her appreciation. Some villagers were good at reciting personal experiences. Rurh Mal would sit on a charpoy in front of his house and recite to assembled children the story of foursome them who became school skippers. We finished primary school in slow motion taking six years; for the 5th.Grade we had to walk to the town three miles away. Often, we were late and faced punishment. We were older and taller than the town boys who rarely had the courage to fail an examination. We never felt comfortable among our dwarf classmates; on top of it, our teacher often made fun of us elongated ones. With our rural impulses, we often had the urge to beat him up after school. The sole restraint was the fear of bloody caning by the Headmaster. Not only we fell behind in studies, we defaulted in other ways as well. At the beginning of each month we used to carry our monthly tuition fees. Once, enticed by the inviting fragrance of frying, we stopped on the way at a sweetmeat shop and ate heartily. The tuition money was gone. Somehow school fees had to be paid. Next morning we left home before daybreak, stopped at a cantaloupe field and quietly plucked a sack full each. We headed straight to the town market, sold the cantaloupes quickly but cheaply and paid our tuitions. 60

On the walk back from school, usually famished, we would pick wild berries. Once we spotted the eye level oven for slow boiling the morning milk at a farm. When no one was around, we quietly drank the cosy milk by poking a hole in the thick crust. Cats drink milk that way, avoiding the crust. When the farmers wife returned, she wondered aloud in agony: the latch is intact, how did the cat get to the milk? She called the farmer who quickly surmised that it must be those naughty rascals. He promised to catch them next time and teach a lesson. Ruhr would end his captivating stories with the firm advice to youngsters: never skip school; look at me how I have ended up, a poor tonga driver. Bards were famous for their unique way of singing legend of the yore at country fairs and other gatherings. The legend of Purus (Alexander The Great) and {Pura were among the popular ones.

Porus- Alexander the Great:

The mighty army of Conqueror of the World, , was poised on the northern bank of Jhelum with their rafts and boats on the ready to cross the river. Greek horsemen and soldiers were equipped with 12 foot long spears. On the opposite bank were arrayed hundreds of wildly drunk elephants ready to crush the onslaught. They were backed by a mass of foot soldiers. The powerful Raja Porus was in command. It was 326 BCE. Alexander surveyed the scene, feared a rout, and called off the invasion. In the middle of the night Alexander led a band of horsemen upstream, crossed the river and attacked Porus from the rear. Used to face to face battles, such an attack was unknown in Indian warfare. Porus ordered the redeployment of elephants to the rear. Unprepared to reverse, the drunken elephants became unruly, ran amuck and crushed their own army. Simultaneously the Greek forces crossed the river and attacked from every direction. Porus was defeated. At the surrender ceremony, Alexander asked Porus as to how should he treat him. Porus replied the same way as one king treats another. Impressed, Alexander returned the sword to Porus and restored him to power under Greek suzerainty.

Puran: An eternal legend was that of Puran, a native prince.

The captivating drama of Purans life was enacted in the 61

village every year in an open air makeshift theatre during the springtime celebration of Holi, the festival of colour. It was attended by every segment of the society, men, women and children. The festival refreshed the common cultural heritage of everyone. Legend had it that Raja Salwan of Sialkot was blessed with a son from Rani Ichhraan. There was rejoicing in the entire kingdom. The Prince was named Puran (perfection). As time went by, the Raja married three more Ranis, one after the other; none of them bore a child. Then in his older age, the Raja married a young princess. By then the Prince was in his mid teens. The beautiful young Rani used to play with him in the Palace. Soon she developed a crush on the Prince. She made overtures to him time and again but Puran took no notice. The youthful Rani became possessed of her longing for the handsome Prince. Rejected, dejected, the lovelorn Rani dreamed of an awesome plot to punish Puran. Thoughtless of the consequences, one day, about the time of Rajas return, she sat distraught in her parlour with her hair untidy, her clothes ripped, and scratches on her chest. Startled by her state, the Raja asked the Rani as to what woe had befallen her. Weeping, she replied that Puran had tried to force her into submission. The Raja was outraged. He consoled her and asked what punishment should be decreed on Puran. Sobbing, she replied in haste that the hands that attacked her should be chopped off and the culprit thrown into a well in the jungle. Royal promise! Royal command! The next day, hands of the handsome Prince were chopped off. He was carried away and thrown into a deserted well in the wild. As destiny would have it, the wandering Nath Yogi and his disciples came by to camp in that jungle. Early in the morning a disciple went to the well to fetch water. He lowered the bucket but he could not pull it out. He looked into the well and was horrified to see two handless arms holding the bucket. A demon! Scared, he ran fast to the camp. A group of disciples armed with sticks rushed to the well. They discovered that it was a young man and not a spirit. They pulled him out, took him to their camp, bandaged his forearms and fed him. Affectionate care healed his wounds fast. His princely identity revealed, Puran was brought before Yogiji. (In India, ji is commonly added at the end of a name as a mark of respect).The Prince placed his head on Yogijis feet and 62

begged that he be accepted as a faithful disciple. The Nath order was strict; a new disciple had to pass a series of tests. Puran qualified them all. As a final test, Yogiji asked Puran to go and beg alms from his own mother without revealing his identity. Dressed in a beige robe, bare feet, Puran walked to Sialkot clutching a black, oblong begging bowl. Going door to door, finally he knocked at the door of his own mother. The poignant scene of a handless but awfully handsome young sadhu begging alms from a withered Rani has been portrayed by many an inspired song writer over the centuries. Puran keeps his eyes low as he begs; the Rani suspects that he is her Puran but holds back. Puran keeps begging calmly; the Rani is tormented. After longing looks she slowly puts food into the bowl but holds its edge. She then hurriedly takes off her jewels and drops them all into the begging bowl. Her heart is shedding tears of a mothers emotions but she refrains from touching Puran. Mission completed; Puran returns to his encampment. He washed his hands and feet, placed the bowl at the feet of Yogiji and bowed in supplication in the presence of assembled disciples. The Prince is ordained into the Nath Order.

Two Tales:

Potter catches a Tiger

A potter had a small house on the outskirts of the town. One side was used for pottery shop; the family lived above the other store room. The large courtyard had a shelter for his lone donkey, with a tree beside it, a pile of dung cakes and an open pit with ashes scattered around. A nearby pond was the source for clay; jungle stretched beyond. The potter was familiar with the environment. One dark stormy night, it rained cats and dogs, thunder clapped and lightning flashed through the sky. Nature seemed angry. Potters worried wife woke him up and asked him to check on the donkey. Grudgingly, the potter got up, plodded downstairs and found the donkey missing. He had a hunch that the scared beast must have run to the hill side cave in the jungle. He picked up a stick, a rope and went straight to the spot. It was dead dark. In the flash of lightning, he spotted an animal huddled in the cave. The potter yelled, put his rope around the neck, drove it home and tied it to the tree trunk. The beast was too scared by thunder and lightning to resist. 63

The potter went back to bed assuring his wife that the donkey was back home safe. As the day broke and the townspeople awakened, they saw a tiger tied to a tree in the potters courtyard! News spread like wild fire, people gathered and the astonished potter and his family saw it too! The whole kingdom went crazy over the bravery of the potter who had single-handedly caught a tiger. The Rajah himself galloped to the spot as well. Impressed, he offered the brave potter the job of commanding his forces. The potter reluctantly accepted it on the condition that his family will continue to live in his house while he served in the fort. The rajah agreed. Soon thereafter, the powerful neighbouring king decided to march on the rajahs small kingdom. The worried rajah asked the commander to prepare for the battle and gave him his best horse to ride. The commander requested a brief leave to visit his wife. He walked home with the horse and told his wife, tearfully, that I must go to the battlefield but I am scared that Ill fall off the horse because I know only how to ride a donkey. His wife thought of a plan. As he mounted the horse, she tied a rope many times around him and the horse so securely that the potter could hardly move let alone fall. Returning to the fort, he rode to the barracks and confidently prepared to march with the soldiers. He had gone only a short distance when he prodded the horse with the butt of his lance which made it gallop full tilt. Potters lance fell from his hands; he did not know how to stop his steed. He grabbed hold of the next tree with both hands feeling sure that the horse must stop. Instead, at such speed, the tree was uprooted and there was the potter riding his horse with a tree between his arms. As he reached the battlefield, the enemy soldiers thought that a monster with a whipping tree had come to demolish them all. Scared, they scattered like leaves on a windy day! The horse stopped on reaching the enemy kings chariot. The pale faced king begged the potter for peace and agreed to personally beg forgiveness from the rajah. Peace treaties were signed by the two rajahs; the potter was honoured as a great victor and showered with gifts of gold and silver. The rajah married his beautiful daughter to the potter; the whole family started living happily in a palace in the fort. Donkey for Sale 64

A potter, wanting to sell one of his donkeys took it to popular cattle fair. Prized oxen, horses and buffalos lined the vast grounds. The potter too tied his donkey, set the price at three twenties (Rest. 60) and sat by awaiting a customer. Though the donkey cost only one fourth of a horse, no one showed any interest all day long. The next morning, he shouted to the passers-by: Two twenties only! No takers!! The potter ran low on food and feed; he sat dejected as the donkey stood by with head down. A Nahang (Sikh soldier) happened to pass by, saw the disheartened pair and quickly surmised the problem. Why would anybody buy an ass with a lifeless look? Nihang ran his hand across the donkeys nape, whispered something in its ear and walked off. The donkey reflected on what the Nihang had said and got excited with the idea. An obvious erection followed; the donkey brayed and kicked its hind legs with joy. People gathered. Seeing the energetic donkey, several people expressed an interest to buy it. The potter sold the donkey for two twenties and ten in a matter of minutes. Wishing to thank the Nihang, the joyful potter looked for him all over the fair. Finally, he spotted him sitting at a shop eating freshly made (jalebi) sweets. The potter touched the Nihangs feet and offered him Rs.10; the Nihang refused and said that Gurus soldiers dont accept charity. But he let him pay the shopkeeper. The potter then begged the Nihang to reveal the magic he had wrought on the donkey. The Nihang explained that a timely compliment can be very uplifting. All I whispered in the donkey was: Cheer up my friend! Be in the best of spirits. You have the longest action tool of all the animals!

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Chapter III

People and their Way of Life

Most people had classic Aryan features: usually tall and stout bodies, sharp noses, light brown skin, long black hair and black-brown eyes. Punjab having been a melting pot of invading races, the distinctive presence of bluish or green eyes, streaks of brown or reddish hair and dark skin were not uncommon. While other colour variations were envied, dark skin was dubbed as inferior, a legacy of the Aryan bias against the Dravidians. DNA tests will surely testify that Punjabi blood as well mixed, including with the Dravidians. The people spoke sweet and chaste Punjabi, the language for which the Gujaranwalla-Sialkot region was famous. Song and dance was part of all rituals and celebrations. Sialkot region was the proud and original home of Bhangra; this jubilant and vibrant harvest dance was in the blood of the people. Women danced gidha and sang at every celebration, small or large. Lone and alone, they always sang poignant songs, particularly while spinning. People were known more by their qoum (lit. nationality) than by their religion. The word qoum was synonymous with caste or clan. Documents identified the qoum of a person (qoum jat, qoum zimidar, qoum tarkhan, qoum khatri, qoum teli, qoum mirasi and so forth, rarely mentioning their religion. The religious composition of the population numbering 3,000 in 1946, with 430 households, was: Sikhs 52%, Muslims 39%, Christians 7% and Hindus 2%. The Sikhs consisted of 5 castes - Jats, Ramgarhias, Khatris, Sanyaras and Mehras. Muslims were the most diverse group in terms of caste based skills. The 13 clans among them were Jat, Arain, Lohar (blacksmiths), Ghamiar (potters), Barwala (weavers), Mirasi (musicians), Teli (oil millers), Nai (hair dressers), Mochi (cobblers), Maachhi (caterers), Syad and Kashmiri. Small in numbers, Hindus consisted of Sanyaras and Brahmins. Christians were homogenous, belonging to the same caste group. Hindus and Christians did not own any land. The life of the four communities was economically integrated, culturally unified but socially apart. They were like a variety of colourful marbles in a bag, each with its own identity. They worked together, played together, consulted each other in hour of need and enjoyed their leisure time together sharing 66

stories and spicy tit bits. Women and children walked into each others houses at will. Men as a rule had to announce themselves before entering any house, even that of their relatives. They did this by loud coughing at the door step. Sikhs and most Hindus congregated at the historic Gurdwara in the centre of the village on Sundays; in Sikhism, all days of the week are equally venerable. The Hindu temple had ceased to be for long past. It was amalgated with the Gurdwara after most Hindus became Sikhs. Though owned by the Brahmins, Hindu Thakadwara (abode of Idols), too had become a shared heritage accessible to every villager as a leisure spot. The Namdhari Gurdwara, located in the outskirts and known as Damdama Sahib, was the venue of special festivals. There were four Muslim Mosques, each associated with a separate caste group. The Muslims also had a Dara, a mens community house where men met to smoke and converse. Christians congregated at their Church on Christmas day. On regular Sundays, they prayed and sang at a house in their colony. Normally, the Church building functioned as a secular school. Communal relations were among the healthiest anywhere in Punjab. The closest it ever came to a communal showdown was when some Muslims secretly butchered a cow at a farm. The news electrified the Sikhs. But instead of picking up their swords and spears, the Sikh elders went to the farm of the perpetrators and demanded an explanation. They told them that the Sikh rebuttal would not be secret. They would take out a procession with the beat of a drum and sacrifice a pig in the village square. The Muslims apologized profusely and assured them that it would never ever happen again. It never did ever happen again.

Attire: Simple garments made from homespun yarn and hand

woven white cotton cloth was the centuries old norm. Men and women wore a loose kurta (collarless shirt) and a loin cloth wrapped around the waist. Young women invariably dyed their clothes and had a muslin scarf on their head or around the shoulders. There was no veil, though married young women always pulled their scarf down to their eyes and may be a bit lower, in the presence of elders and visitors. It was a mark of respect as well as modesty. No woman ever trimmed her hair; a single braided pigtail hung at her back. On special occasions, women wore an ankle length skirt with a drawstring, loose 67

around the knees and wide at the bottom. It was topped by a bodice (a forerunner of bras.) or a short length shirt or blouse. Sikhism introduced a major change in dress code from 1699 onwards when the Sikhs were banded into a sovereign brotherhood. Every Sikh man and woman replaced the loin cloth with breeches (shorts). Peasants welcomed the change because of its practical convenience while working. Sikh and Hindu women adopted salwar kameez early on in the eighteenth century and did so rather quickly recognizing its elegance as well as convenience as a work dress. Christian women followed in toe, wearing garments handed down to them by Sikh women. However, Muslim peasant women remained steadfast to their loin cloth topped by a kurta (shirt). Their shift to salwar kameez started after WWI. The convergence in dress code meant that unless one lived in the village, one could hardly differentiate between women of different communities. Long skirt had been a formal dress in vogue for centuries. It was worn with a high neck, full sleeve blouse so fitted that it did not require bodice. Simple at normal occasions, black at funerals, it was brightly colored and decorated for weddings. It required seven to nine yards of material depending on the number of pleats and the circumference at the ankles. Women dancers always wore elegant skirts at public performances. Gold jewellery was treasured but normally it remained safely hidden away. At the time of weddings, the simplicity of daily life yielded to colourful extravaganza. It was time for women to splurge. They wore day and night most of the gold and silver that they owned. Colourful glass bangles sold by wandering salesmen were popular, particularly with little girls and young women. At weddings they were a must; every young forearm dangled with bangles. Children ritually received new clothes and shoes at the time of festivals, usually twice a year. Mended and re-mended, passed down among siblings, clothes were used until they shredded. Men of substance wore silk turbans but these were slowly replaced by starched muslins of various hues. Dress materials started changing around the beginning of the twentieth century. Womens wear was the first one to go industrial when the textile industry began penetrating the ruraldom with starched white latha and colourful poplins. In the 1930s, mill made cloth became widely available at cheap prices. Spread of college level western education, recruitment 68

to civil services and increased urban exposure brought about a spate of dress changes. Western shoes, socks, shorts and pants became popular.

Food: People ate simple but wholesome food, living by the

Punjabi clich: khaao daal jehri nibhe naal (eat lentils, the nourishing sustenance from birth to death) and dub ke wah, te raj ke kha (work hard, eat heartily)

Three meals a day were the standard. Local produce dictated what was eaten. Roti, daal and seasonal vegetables swimming in ghee (melted butter) were the staple. Yogurt, buttermilk and pickles were an integral part of the morning and mid-day meals. Winter vegetables offered wide varieties including turnips, radishes, greens, carrots but the most relished was sarson da saag (mashed, tender turnip shoots) with makki di roti (roti made with maize flour), an exclusively Punjabi meal. Summer vegetables included eggplant, okra, bitter gourd and varieties of squash. Eggplant smoked in the oven pit, pulp gently mashed and simmered with tomatoes and spices topped the list. Raita (de-seeded kudu squash, grated, steamed, mixed with yogurt and lightly spiced) was inviting. The afternoon snack was a wide selection of seasonal products: sand roasted popcorn, roasted pods of chickpeas, cucumber, sweet baby turnips, long white radish and carrots. Dinner ended with a piece of gurr (lump of brown sugar); good for digestion. A glass of boiled and sweetened milk followed at bed time; it was a must for good deep sleep. Deserts were not an everyday affair but on special occasions wheat and rice pudding loomed large. Watermelon and cantaloupe were ample and inexpensive. Sugar cane was chewed daily during the winter season. Wild jujube could be picked by anybody willing to make the prickly effort. Rice crispies and glazed peanuts were within the reach of many. Fruits and nuts not grown locally constituted a scanty part of the diet. Raisins, almonds and other nuts were expensive. Imported fruits such as bananas and grapes were a treat; apples and pears were a luxury. The main difference between the meals of the various economic classes was the amount of milk and milk products and gurrh or sugar consumed per head. Two-thirds of the 69

households kept a buffalo which amply supplied them with milk, yogurt, lassi (butter milk), butter and ghee. Milk was never sold. The needy could ask for and were given a bit of milk or yogurt. Lassi was generously shared; no one in the village went without it. But sale of ghee was common. A poor familys dream was to one day own a buffalo. Numerous private and public wells were the key source of fresh water; even private wells were accessible to neighbours of ones own community. Every household stored drinking water in earthen pitchers. The insatiable thirst during long, sweaty summer days was quenched by cool water stored in a sandy clay pots with a fat tummy and a long narrow neck. Being porous, the outside surface stayed wet; evaporation cooled the water. The popular cold drinks were sattu, kaanji and sardai. To make sattu, barley was dry roasted and ground into flour. Two heaped spoons of flour and a spoonful of sugar were stirred together in a glass of cool water. It made an energizing and refreshing drink. To make kaanji, black carrots were scraped, cut into chunks, and immersed in a pitcher of water along with rye and fragrant spices. The mixture was allowed to stand for a couple of weeks, stirring it occasionally. Kanji was ready when fermentation started. It made a tangy, refreshing and wholesome drink. Sardai was made by grinding almonds, melon kernels, cardamoms, sugar and black pepper, adding water as needed, sifting it and then adding lots of water. Nihangs (descendants of Sikh warriors) made it into a potent potion by simultaneously crushing blossoms and tender leaves of bhang (marijuana). They called it sukha sahib, the giver of tranquillity. Moonshine (country liquor) was brewed by an expert fringe; they enjoyed it themselves, shared it with their buddies and sold it to those wanting to celebrate happy time. Islam brought the hookah which was popular at social gatherings of Muslim men at home or outside. Some Hindus also fell for the hookah. However, smoking was a taboo among the Sikhs. They would not allow tobacco to enter their domain including the village square, schools and the bazaar. The British introduced licensed liquor and opium shops as a source of revenue.

Transactions: Money was scarce; its purchasing power was

high. Gold coins were rare; silver rupees were the common; 70

paper currency of five rupees and higher denominations was uncommon. Shopkeepers happily accepted payments in kind, usually wheat, other grains and cotton. Most services were also paid in kind. Sales and purchases, personal loans and advances against pawned jewellery were all oral. Faith in each other and reputation of the parties involved cemented the mutual understanding. Eye contact or hand shake sealed the deal. Change of mind was akin to spitting on ones palm and licking it. Land transactions were recorded on a Stamp Paper and registered in the court. Notations in a Vehi (ledger) constituted the main body of written records. All shopkeepers and a few families kept a ledger which served as a memory of personal, family and business dealings. A common notation was Neondra, the reciprocal cash contribution made by relatives and friends to help meet wedding expenses. The ledgers also recorded important family events, personal loans, and cash advances against land. Such notations were legal provided a Revenue Stamp was affixed beside the thumb impression of the borrower and witnessed by the scribe. Houses were neither sold nor recorded; the de facto ownership was just known to everyone.

Civic & Civil Affairs: Hygiene was everyones own affair.

Every family deposited its household and animal waste in at a site designated by a farmer wherefrom it was transported to the fields as prized manure. Open fields were the toilets. People used water, soil or dew laden leaves to wipe their bottoms followed by a wash at an irrigation artery. A few carried water with them. The thought of a toilet inside the house was repugnant and considered dirty. Householders reluctantly shared the maintenance of their street. Bathing with ample freshly-drawn water from a well was a daily ritual and a delight. Hair was washed with a few days old soured yogurt, an effective and natural shampoo cum conditioner. Use of English soap, even the cheaper brands like deep pink Lifebuoy and yellow Sunlight, was uncommon. Whenever long hair of a child became matted with dirt, washing soda was used. Once dry, the head was oiled profusely and massaged leisurely. Sikh children cried when their entangled long hair was combed. Clothes were washed with a cake of desi soap; heavily soiled clothes were soaked overnight in washing soda. Utensils were scrubbed with white ash from an oven and then wiped clean or rinsed. 71

Births and deaths were not recorded. Taking of census every ten years commenced in 1881. Genealogy was recited by bards but only for the prominent families. Muslims and Christians buried their dead while Sikhs and Hindus cremated them and immersed the mortal remains in rivers, often in the Ganges at far off Hardwar. Here, family information was noted with perfection by the Pandas (Brahmin scribes) who maintained family records for generations and quickly retrieved them on request. The system was efficient and inexpensive. The village was largely self governing. Official presence was low key; Government stayed out of peoples affairs unless law and order was threatened. Its main interest was revenue collection. Government appointees in the village were the Patwari (Revenue Officer), the Lambardar (Headman), and the Watchman. Patwaris job was to maintain land records. He numbered and mapped each field in a huge Atlas. His records were orderly, exact and available to the public. The same could not be said of other organs of the Government. Lambardar was a hereditary title subject to continued loyalty to the Government. He collected the land revenue, deposited it in the Treasury and received a commission. Watchman performed night duty; he was the town crier making official announcements with the beat of a drum. He also reported at his convenience the number of births and deaths to the civil offices and crimes to the police station located in the town. Police also had a network of petty persons who served as their touts and informers. A key organ of the power of the Raj was a person of status, a man of means who hosted visiting Government officials. He enjoyed the good offices of civil and police personnel. Some of these notables were as powerful as the old time feudal chiefs.

Feudal Chieftains Under the Moghals, land was controlled by the feudal nominees of the State. These land owners dotted the rural landscape and were a power unto themselves. The plebeian Sikh revolution abolished the system in the 18 th. Century and distributed the land to the tillers. Peasant proprietors came to dominate the scene in most villages. The British encouraged the feudal remnants, granting them honorary titles as a 72

reward for their support and loyalty. The British regarded these chieftains as trustworthy and natural leaders. These despots stayed on the right side of the law and led a life of pomp and show. They developed a nexus with police and civil officialdom, lavishly entertaining them and periodically sending them expensive gifts. They operated within a supportive network of other feudals, meeting them at shikars (hunts). They surrounded themselves with henchmen and held mujaras, song and dance revelries electrified by professional females, some of whom were available for additional favours at a price. To maintain their lifestyle, these chieftains needed a steady stream of income through fair or foul means. Fair means included being a lobbyist for government work with the police and the courts. Foul means included garnering protection money from cattle rustlers and thieves, and free supply from moon shiners. These chieftains demanded loyalty; retribution followed quickly if someone tried to undermine their authority. They believed that they had the divine right to flesh, the flesh of the weak and the vulnerable.

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Chapter IV

Moulding Influences

Layer after layer of cultural and spiritual influences steadily reshaped the social order and way of life. For centuries, the village was a quiet Hindu bastion. The hierarchical structure had remained in tact ever since its installation by the Aryans five thousand years earlier. Brahmins were the spiritual leaders while the Rajput Rajas ruled the land. Eleventh century onwards, Rajputs yielded power to Islamic invaders. Powerful Rajas were wiped out; some dwindled to small rajas and some survived as local chiefs. One such was Captain Balmohinder Singh Toor of Sialkot, husband of Manjit, a daughter of the village. Over the centuries, the Hindu past had slowly yielded to new values but the impact of Hindu history and traditions was quite visible. In particular, the drama of Puran Bhagats life was enacted every year in an open air make shift theatre during the spring celebration of Holian, the festival of colour, reminded everyone of their cultural heritage. Hindu past slowly yielded to new values. A progression of structural changes took root in the village starting in the seventeenth century.

Sikhism: A new wave of ethos gripped the village in 1620

with the regal visit of the sixth Sikh Guru Har Gobind (15951644). The appeal of Sikhism as a non-caste, self-reliant and open society with stress on social freedom and work ethic was magnetic. By 1659, when the seventh Guru Har Rai (16301661) paid a visit to the village, a large part of the population had embraced the new faith. The smooth rise of Sikhism did not cause a cultural disturbance.

Historic Gurdwara Hargobind, the 6th. Sikh Guru visited Chhotian Galotian in 1620, accompanied by a contingent of horsemen and a retinue of ballad singers. He gave spiritual discourses to the people while his entourage sang hymns and ballads. A Sikh nucleolus was established. The Guru bequeathed a signed copy of Guru Granth to the local sangat. The regal visit was repeated in 1659 by the 7th. Guru Har Rai. By that time, a lot more people of the village had embraced Sikhism. Soon thereafter, a 74

Gurdwara was founded on the spot in the centre of the village where the Gurus had camped. Hindu past remained ingrained; colourful murals of deities decorated the mud walls plastered with lime. Construction of a magnificent new Gurdwara replacing the old one was started in 1925 and completed in 1931. Tall windows on three sides, embellished with multi-collared Belgian glass, added colourful presence to the mezzanine level galleries and the spacious hall. Towering above, a two storey marble lined chaukhandi (sanctum), the dome could be seen from miles away. Every Sikh household contributed generously and worked ceaselessly with enthusiasm. Marble was donated by Dhian Singh Pathranwala. Annual contributions were made by the Raja of Nalagarh and Judge Bhagat Singh. The work was initiated by Mangal Singh and Dewan Singh Thekedar and seen to completion by a core group consisting of Thekedar, Bhatia cousins and Mistri Tek Singh.

Islam:

The message of Islam spread slowly and surely in Punjab under the Afghan and Central Asian (Turk) rule starting with the twelfth century. Somehow conversions to Islam skirted Chhotian Galotian. An abrupt but permanent change occurred in the latter part of the seventeenth century. Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb (1618-1707) believed that a single religion (Islam) in the whole of India would unify the country. His rule enforced a geometric increase in conversions to Islam. By 1700, a third of the population of the village had become Muslim. The Islamic order and rituals, including the call to prayers in a foreign language, sexual separation, community smoking by men, and sacrifice of animals, were quite a radical import. The resilient villagers adjusted to the change without turmoil.

Loharan di Masjid The village had three mosques, funded by the State during the Islamic rule. The fourth one was founded during the Raj in the twentieth century by remittances of Lohars. 75

Hard working technicians, the Lohars had done well as iron mongers and locksmiths in Lahore and Aligarh. Their families continued to stay in the village. For them they established a housing complex known as Loharan da Mohalla; they also built an elegant brick mosque known as Loharan di Masjid on the main road.

Ranjit Singh (1780 -1839):

A fierce tribe of Sansis, self governing and practitioners of old time rituals, used to wander in central Punjab. Guru Har Gobind brought them into the Sikh fold, bestowed sword and land to them and settled them in eleven villages in the Gujranwala- Waziranbad belt. In 1700-1800 these Sikh Sansis established their rule in Rachna Doab under the banner of Sukkarchakkia Misal. Chhotian Galotian happened to fall in their domain. The Misal became an engine of the Sikh conquest of Punjab. Their scion, Ranjit Singh extended his empire all the way to the borders with Afghanistan in the North West, to China in the North East, and concluded a border treaty in 1809 with the British who were by then ruling most of India. Ranjit Singhs rule was secular, progressive and disciplined. His Muslim and Hindu wives retained their own faith. He banished capital punishment and befriended his enemies. His Prime Minister was a Hindu and Foreign Minister a Muslim, His army was drawn from all sections of the populace. To train and discipline his soldiery on the European lines, he recruited foreigners, including the former French and Italian Generals of Napoleons army. Security, peace and eradication of crime during the Ranjit period led to flourishing agriculture, diversification into horticulture, and expansion of industry and trade. Maharajas Italian General Avitabile introduced cultivation of oranges in Gujranwala. As the saplings were imported via the port of Malta, the red blood oranges came to be known as malta in Punjabi language. Ranjit Singh was a popular ruler, accessible to the people. He regularly held open Darbar to which any one was welcome to make a plea. The Maharaja had lost an eye in childhood. His 76

adversaries used the derogatory word kana (one eyed) at his back but he held no malice. An often told story was that someone publicly placed a bet with a flamboyant Mirasi if he dared to call the Maharaja kana at his face? No problem! answered the Mirasi. The bet was on The neatly dressed Mirasi showed up at the Darbar in Lahore on the day the Maharaja held his weekly public audience. At the ripe moment, with courtiers and commoners assembled in numbers, the Mirasi stood in the Court holding with folded hands a scarf around his neck, took a deep bow and started singing: ekko ukh sulakhani, jehdi teepan dhale neaon, neaon karn slamaan, do akhian wale (so blessed is the lone, gracious eye the ones with two eyes bow to it) What a marvellous way to turn a shortcoming into a compliment! The Maharaja burst into laughter, and so did the whole court. The Maharaja asked the kneeling Mirasi to rise and bestowed gold coins to him. The epithet became an endearing song throughout the kingdom. Dreams of the Punjabis died with the passing away of Ranjit Singh in 1839. Discipline was the first victim. Internecine fights led to the swift fall of the empire that he had assembled.

Baba Ram Singh (1816-1885):

An event of significant impact on the social history of Chhotian Galotian was the 1863 visit of Namdhari Guru, Baba Ram Singh. He was then leading a potent reform movement in Punjab banishing dowry, drinking and smoking that had penetrated the lives of a large segment of the Sikhs. One of his laudable contributions was restoring Sikh marriage ceremonies back to their original simplicity. However, his movements principal aim was freedom from British rule. He established a parallel Government but it failed because masses were not ready for a rebellion so soon after the Anglo-Sikh and 1857 Wars. He was banished by the British and remained interned in Burma until his death. The Namdharis, strict vegetarians who abstained from drinking, brought with them their exuberant way of singing hymns involving rhythmic jumps while reciting tales of Sikh 77

heroism. Someone often got so carried away in spiritual ecstasy that he swirled his head and hair for hours till the dholki (small drum) beat its last beat. A historic Gurdwara named Damdama Sahib was constructed in his memory at the outskirts of the village. Gurdwara Damdama Sahib A Gurdwara named Damdama Sahib was built at the spot where Baba Ram Singh had camped in1863. It was constructed by Dhian Singh Pathranwala on the land owned by the Babra clan. Marble supplies came from his marble works in Lahore. Dhian was a man of soul who had been inspired by Baba Ram Singh. The story of his rise from rags to riches is inspiring. A mason by profession, Dhian left the village to serve Baba Ram Singh. After Babajis internment, Dhian successfully worked on odd jobs in Lahore. Then, he took a sub-contract in the civil works of the then largest barrage being built in India, the Sukhar Barrage in Sindh Province. The quality of his masonry work and completion of assigned work ahead of schedule caught every eye. Once, as work was progressing, a heavy flood wiped out the embankments. Every contractor filed a claim and was compensated. Dhian did not file any claim. The puzzled British Colonel sent for him and asked: Dhian, why have you not filed a claim? Dhian answered: Claim for what, sir? It was an act of God. Why should humble me file a claim against the Divine Will? The Colonel did not press Dhian but impressed by his ethics and performance, gave him more and more contracts. By the time the Barrage was completed, Dhian had reaped riches. Therafter he opened marble works in Lahore and expanded into other pursuits Famous as a philanthropist, Dhian returned to his native village to build Gurdwara Damdama Sahib. It was completed in 1932 with the help of his nephew Dewan Singh Thekedar. It had a pillarless 60 ft.x40 ft. Hall. Chaukhandi was made of inlaid white marble; flooring was also laid with marble. The Gurdwara had a veranda, a large compound, an entrance foyer, kitchen with a well of its own, rooms for visitors, quarters for the caretaker and another well. Dhian also built in the village centre a large khuhi to supply water to the neighbourhood. It had a covered platform for women to wash their clothes.

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Mission accomplished, he returned to Lahore. Agile at ninety, spiritually content, Dhians soul took leave of this earth in 1938.

Christianity: Soon after the establishment of the British Raj

in Punjab in 1848, Christian Missionaries started traversing Punjab. In particular, they zeroed in on the conversion of the untouchable classes. This clan lived in a separate enclave outside the village and practiced their age old blend of Hindu and pagan beliefs and rituals. Around 1875, all the untouchables in the village quietly embraced Christianity. Foreign contributions built a lovely little Church with a school. However, nothing else changed in their social and economic equation. They remained second class citizens. Christians were a civil community. None of them ever got involved in crimes, quarrels and fights. They were the sole source of household cleaning services and farm labour.

Plural Society:

Three interesting phenomenon concerning religious change over are noteworthy. Sikhism and Islam repudiated the caste system. But in practice, they left the caste groupings intact. Inter-caste marriages were strongly resisted. The social delineation was even more rigid among the Muslims, as their mosques were also caste based. Expediency proved to be stronger than belief. Sikh supremacy in Punjab during 1760-1848 did not lead to reverse conversion of Muslims because the Sikhs strictly adhered to their secular policy of non interference in religious affairs. Another one was that contrary to their own beliefs, the Sikhs as well as the Muslims in the village had stubbornly kept the untouchables or Dalits out of their fold. Caste exalted or demeaned the social status of a person. Caste exalted or demeaned the social status of a person. By 1900, the village had developed into a plural, progressive and liberal society. The four communities lived together, enjoying a stress free life in an ambiance of peace and tranquillity. However, the cultural impact of Hindu history and traditions was quite visible in the new religions. Hindu traditions remained deeply ingrained in every walk of life including names, rituals and secular festivals.

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Secularity of Names: Sikhs and Hindus, enjoying a spiritual

kinship had common first names. But it was interesting that even those who embraced Islam and Christianity, religions with a strict code of their own, took the Hindu names along with them into their new faiths.

The roots of many names among the four communities were the same. Labha was a common name among Hindus, Muslims and Christians; Sikhs made it into Labh Singh. Some Muslim names were literal transformations of Hindu names: Ram Rakhi became Allah Rakhi; Ram Lal became Lal Din, Guran Ditta became Allah Ditta. Ganda Mal (an old Hindu name) was the head of the Christian community. Rahim Bibi, a leading Muslim woman, named her daughter born in 1932 as Balbir after the first born daughter of a leading Sikh of the village. Slowly, visiting mullahs and missionaries started giving distinctive Muslim and Christian names to the newborns.

Western Infusion: Students who went to colleges at Lahore

became laced with revolutionary ideas of varied hues. Some of their contributions were enriching; some of their ideas proved problematic.

Avtar would bring home colourful Punjabi magazines like Panj Darya, Phulwari and Pritam which his mother, sisters and their friends read from cover to cover. After he started contributing his poems to these magazines, the publications started arriving by post on a regular basis. A lasting literary influence took root. Joginder brought home magnesium strips. On a dark summer night he stood on the roof and lit them one after the other. Every roof top was bathed with light. It was a mysterious phenomenon to behold. Lal Singh, a mathematician, became an atheist while at College. During summer vacations, he often sat on a deck chair on the rooftop reading thick books. Kids would stop by to chat. There is no God he would tell them. Yes, there is, they would retort. Once, irritated Lal said: show me where is He? One kid punched him. Lal yelled with pain. Another kid enquired: show me the pain! Lal replied that you can feel it but you cant see it. Same is with God, you can feel Him inside you but you cant see Him, commented the giggling kids. The demonstrative story pleased the villagers.

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Joginder brought magnesium strips from his college laboratory, stood on the roof on a dark summer night and lit them one after the other. Every roof top was bathed with light; a magical phenomenon to behold. Sheri brought the idea of opening a reading room in the village. He and his energetic friends collected funds; got a Gurdwara owned room on the main road beside the school allocated, subscribed to vernacular newspapers and magazines, and opened a Reading Room, naming it Ranjit Club. Literate villagers would read the newspapers from cover to cover; others would come by to listen. Students then hoisted the Congress flag atop the Club. The flag stood for freedom from the British Raj. Government must have questioned their loyalists. After the students went back to their colleges, the flag was gone and the Club name plate was found floating in a well.

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Chapter V

Unique Institutions
The life of every villager man, woman, child the young, the old orbited around the sources of free but treasured water. Enjoyed by them and every beast and bird, these simple fulcrums of life were the irrigation well (khuh), the community well (khuhi) and the pond. They touched every heart and soothed every soul. They represented the best of joint creations of nature and humans. They were indeed unique institutions. Households filled pitchers from an irrigation well or drew water from the community or their own wells. The naturally filtered, sweet and soft underground water was refreshingly cool in summer and delightfully cosy in winter. Daily bathing with well water was an age old ritual. Women flocked to the wells in the wee hours before the lifting of darkness for a refreshing bath and to fill their pitchers to carry water home. It was an accepted custom that men stayed away during the womens hour. Men and children bathed at leisure thereafter. Animals had their turn as well; but flocks usually quenched their thirst at the ponds; buffalos congregated at these soothing spas for a long swim during the summer. Ponds and wells were a home for the frogs. Birds could take a dip any where, including the irrigation arteries and in the watered fields. Building a well was expensive. Kings built them on thoroughfares for thirsty travellers. Philanthropists built them in village and town squares earning blessings of every user. Sometimes, village folks joined hands to build a facility.

Khuh: Literally khuh means the water well. However, the term

stood for the entire farm complex incorporating the animal powered irrigation well, the barn yards and the surrounding farm land. Khuh, figures prominently in the folk lore of Punjab. It was the nerve centre of a farm and the lifeblood of the village economy. It signified the way of life of the peasantry. Men, women and children mingled with animals while birds, bees, flies and pests hovered around feverishly. Life and nature blended together in a picture perfect setting. It was the place for toil, song and romance as also the venue of sexual abuse of female farm workers.

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A khuh was a museum and a zoo in constant action. Smelly sweat of men, disagreeable urine of animals and gratifying door of dirt, dung and fodder was ever present. Sounds of bird and beast ringed the air. Farm implements - yokes, ploughs, scythes, axes, hoes, pitch forks - were pieces of art. Daily use articles - cots, ropes, earthen lamps - were conveniently placed here and there, as were mangers. Everything was arrayed in a beautiful state of natural disorder. Twenty to thirty animals at each khuh included oxen, buffalo bulls, milch buffalos, calves, dogs and cats, not to mention the rats. Sometimes one could see a rabbit, snake or mongoose. The slow crawling do-moohi (two headed snake), with a head at each end was on the verge of extinction. Commonly observed during the day were the chipmunks, pigeons, doves, sparrows, crows, kites, lallies, hoopoes and partridges. Lovely green parrots with biting red beaks and a black circle around their necks were seen but rarely heard; bulbul (cuckoo) was rarely seen but melodiously heard during the monsoon season when mangoes ripened. Birds of prey appeared from nowhere at dusk and retreated to the unknown with their catch. Vultures converged from every direction whenever a dead animal was laid in the fields. There was a constant flow of men, women and children between the village and the khuh from dawn to dusk. The forenoon brought women back to the nearby facilities to wash their clothes. The scene of a young woman dressed in a colourful salwar-kameez and chuni, majestically trotting to the khuh with breakfast or lunch, carrying a bundle of rotian and a pitcher of lassi delicately balanced on top of her head was an endearing sight to behold. It turned many an eye. On return she carried home seasonal vegetables or other produce. At sundown, men went home in relays to have dinner with their families. Married men spent their conjugal nights at home while the rest, six to eight of them returned to the khuh to keep the company of their animals. Khuh was also the nucleus of male activities. During the day gentlemen farmers sat on stringed cots drinking lassi, proudly presiding over their fiefdom. Summer night was the time for some young men to play the flute and sing songs. In autumn afternoons, they massaged their bodies with mustard oil, wrestled, lifted weights and played kabadi in the ploughed fields. Though drinking was rare, sometimes someone would get tipsy on country brew and amuse everyone. 83

Engineering of a Khuh A Khuhs engineering system of efficiently drawing underground water was a technological legacy which had evolved over the centuries. The system was powered by a pair of yoked oxen or buffalo bulls or a camel pulling a wooden shaft round and round around with their eyes covered with leather shields. A seat on the shaft provided a comfortable spot for an old man or a child for a joy ride or even a snooze. It was a perfect seat to poke the hinds of the beast lest they stopped or slowed down. The shaft moved an array of axles and gears to turn a Ferris wheel over which ran a band of pots linked together. As the wheel turned, water laden pots came up, emptied into a tray and moved back into the well in a continuous oval trajectory. From the tray the water rushed through a channel with a spout making a little waterfall into a pool some three feet below. A network of arteries flowing from the pool irrigated the fields. To prevent reverse motion of the wheel, the main gear had a stopper firmly anchored to the ground, As it jumped from tooth to tooth of the gear, the loud tik-tik of the stopper could be heard from a distance. It had music and rhythm to it. If the tik tik stopped, one knew that the whole system had come to a halt.

Art and Technology of Sinking a Khuh The process of sinking a khuh required careful planning, expert implementation and intense labour. At the digging site, a circle nine to ten feet in diameter was marked on the ground. Neatly sawed solid blocs of seasoned hardwood, roughly 1x1`x3` in size, curved tongue and groove, were tightly wedged together and assembled. The heavy frame so prepared was called chukk. The carpenter marvelled at his nail-less creation. Excavation of a circular pit started. The slow and steady progress was carefully monitored against a cave in. Digging was stopped on reaching the water level. Preparations commenced to lower the chukk tethered all around with thick ropes. A troupe of men with strong arms gathered around the 84

chukk, some holding the ropes and some ready to raise it a little with their bare hands. Working as a team and uttering a sound in unison, they gently moved the chukk, inch by inch, to the top of the pit. Ropes were securely tied to wedges all around. The carpenter checked the positioning and the level. A white muslin sheet was spread on it, perhaps to protect it from an evil eye! Now men assembled around, four to a rope, and slowly started lowering the chukk bit by bit till it touched the base. The carpenter went down by ladder and checked the chukk and its level. Satisfied, he came back up and gave the thumbs up sign with both fists. The farmer and everyone around heaved a sigh of relief. A prayer was said and sweets were distributed. The next step was brick lining, the construction of a circular wall atop the chukk with lime and cement. Only an expert mason could do this job because the circle had to be exact and the horizontal and vertical level had to be perfect lest cracks developed later on. Lining and lowering the chukk now moved together in steps. Dirt was gently dug out underneath the chukk up to a gitth, measured from the thumb tip of a stretched palm to the end of the pinky. The chukk was gently lowered by several persons holding the ropes till it came to rest on the dug out rim. Ropes were retied; a few more rounds of bricks were lined. A gitth more dirt was dug from the pit and around the rim and the chukk lowered again. Digging was stopped after the water level reached waist high. Ropes were removed after ensuring that the brick lining was stable and level. An expert toba, a person specialized in sinking and deepening wells was invited. His expertise lay in his ability to dig evenly underneath the immersed chukk. Someone pulled out bucketfuls of dripping dirt. Digging and immersing of the chukk moved hand in hand. As the water level reached shoulder high, the toba had to dive to dig further. Every time he emerged from the water, he would blow his nostrils like a horse, and signal that the bucket be pulled up. Meanwhile, he would rest by the wall and sing, his voice resonating beautifully in the well. Digging was stopped after the chukk touched the hard strata, a water level of eight to twelve feet. The toba took leave after a week to ten days of hard work, adequately compensated with wages and a gift of a colourful bedspread. The sunken well was bricked to the top and a platform built around it. The well was ready for mounting the equipment on the top, another costly and gigantic task. 85

Khuhi:

Female nomenclature of khuh, the khuhi was the household well. Sinking a khuhi was akin to sinking a khuh except that the diameter was smaller, five to seven feet. The engineering system of hand drawing water was simple; the equipment was mostly wooden. Heavy rafters, square in shape, were placed horizontally on top of the brick platform while inverted v-shaped planks were angled vertically on two sides. In the holes at the top end rested a free moving metal axle with a mini Ferris wheel fitted with handles to rotate it. One end of a rope was tied to the axle and wound around the wheel while the loose end was tied to a bucket. As the rope was unwound, the bucket slid into the well and as it was wound clockwise, a full bucket came up. Water was emptied into a pitcher or another bucket. Most households depended on a public khuhi built through common effort or by a philanthropist. Passer-by often stopped here to quench their thirst. Public khuhis were a social institution. Whenever women gathered at a khuhi to fetch water, they took their time to lighten their hearts and exchange their news, views and woes. Slowly, they drew the water, filled their pitcher and carried it home on their heads. Some of them preferred to carry the pot on their hip, with an arm wrapped around it, a la carrying a baby. Seeing a bee line of young women fill their pitchers and help each other raise the pitcher atop the head while ceaselessly chatting, was a sight to behold it figured prominently in art and song.

Ponds: The village was ringed by ponds. These served as a

drinking reservoir for animals, a swimming pool for buffalos and a ghat for washing clothes. For buffalos, a pond was a soothing spa for a long swim during the summer. Ponds were an essential sinew of village life. Children learnt swimming by holding the tail of a buffalo or by putting an inverted earthen pitcher under their belly. Small sized frogs lived in them by the scores and kept the water somewhat clean of insects and mosquitoes. In the premonsoon months, the ponds dried down to a fraction. A thick green scum formed by the algaed spring blossoms blown in by winds covered the surface. Animals needed to push the scum aside with their muzzles to drink.

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Monsoon season was the time of renewal. As torrents poured, ponds filled up to the brim. They became clean lakes for swimming by children, sometimes by men and stealthily by women. Buffaloes never wanted to come out of the ponds until they were hungry or were hit with clods of dirt by children minding them to scare them out and on to their home. With the onset of rains, nature created a colourful and musical display. Large sized yellow frogs appeared from nowhere; they croaked all night. Sometimes, they suddenly fell silent. Then one croaked in one corner, another answered from the distant corner and soon the whole pond would be croaking. As the rains ended, they all disappeared mysteriously.

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Chapter VI

Morning to Morning Life

The daily routine of villagers, eulogized in lore, had not changed much over the centuries. The mode of daily life was such that men worked with vigour and respite, children worked obediently and women worked non-stop. Everyones work was patterned by the natural cycle of the day and the seasons. The heart rendering lyric Heer, the song of Punjabi Romeo and Juliet (Ranjah and Heer) by Warris Shah (1722-1798) aptly portrays the early morning scene as the handsome flute player but deftly idler Ranjha, annoyed by prickly spats from the wives of his hardworking brothers, embarks on a self-imposed exile. With the first chirps of the sparrows the travellers hit the road the women set the churning pots for butter with the sacred morning light as little lallis sang the ploughmen took out their ploughs to furrow their fields women began grinding to make loads of bread for their men the whole world got busy the ladies set the spinning wheels and those who enjoyed conjugal beds ran towards the baths (Heer, Waris Shah) The village of three thousand (1946) was characterized by frugal, happy, peaceful and liberal people, hungry for education and receptive to new ideas. They were ever prepared to chisel themselves to new modes of life. Peasants, skilled workers, professionals, entrepreneurs, shopkeepers and men of leisure with their finger in every pie, enriched the population base. Though accessible only by a dirt road, this village of peasant proprietors reached the threshold of a diversified economy, well before it happened in most parts of rural Punjab. The lead factor was multiplicity of skills in the midst of flourishing agriculture. While farming was the main occupation (42%), a quarter of the population was engaged in rural industries and 88

another quarter in services. These ratios matched those for a developed economy Everybody in the village worked; men, women and children. Laid back attitude was non existent. Children grazed the cattle, took them to the pond for watering and minded the buffalos while they took long dips during the hot months. A task that the children loved was cutting sugar cane into pieces at the time of planting. The farmer had buried for four months piles of cane to seed, unearthing it in early summer for planting. Each child brought a toka (short handled axe) and a chopping board. The task was to cut each cane so that eyed segments remained intact while the alternate middle portions were chopped out. The eyed segments were of course for planting while the middle bits were the reward for the childs labour. Children prized the sweet and juicy treat. This age old model of family working as a pool of labour started to slowly reshape itself with the advent of the twentieth century. Three factors induced the change: spread of education; growth of non-farm employment and speedy transportation. The printing press and the two World Wars also brought the rest of the world nearer to the village. A large population base of inherently diversified skills took full advantage of these potent instruments of change. However, mode of farming and weaving remained unchanged; the whole family worked in tandem. Sikhs were the progressive, leading edge of the population. They were by far the literate group, having aggressively embraced modern education and technology that came with the British. The Sikh way of life hard work and sharing the fruits of ones labour with the needy was a dominant influence on Muslims, Christians and Hindus as well. Sikhs owned 83% of farmland; they ran all but one shop, controlled finance and all of the enterprises. The Hindus, small in numbers, owned one shop, half of the silver smithies and two tongas. The Muslims owned 17% of the land and were the most diverse group in terms of caste based skills. They controlled health, personal care, iron smithy, weaving, oil milling, cultivation of vegetables and transport by donkeys. The Christians were a valued reservoir of unskilled labour. Hindus and Christians did not own any land. Farming was the potent segment. Holdings were small. Acquiring more land was the perpetual dream of a farmer; parting with land was a loss of honour. Land was tilled mostly 89

by the owners. Just four Sikh and three Muslim families farmed as tenants. They shared the produce on a fifty-fifty basis, or paid eight maunds (320 kilos) of wheat as rent per acre. The tenant had to have two yokes of oxen and implements; seed was furnished by the land owner who also maintained the irrigation well and paid the land tax. Rural industry was another vibrant segment of the economy. The village had a hundred hand operated and two animal powered stone grinders; two cotton fluffing set ups, three oil crushers, four gold and silver smithies, five Iron smithies, two wood comb makers, twelve handloom weaving pits, two potteries, a hundred hand operated gins, two hundred spinning wheels, twenty five sewing machines, four tailoring shops, and four kilns for roasting popcorn. The new but important urban type industries were a brick kiln, a wheat mill, a ginnery and the manufacture of gramophone needles. A separate chapter is devoted to the unique role of the rural machines and devices. There was a wide diversity in income and wage levels. Richest were the entrepreneurs followed by owners of large farms of twenty acres or more. Among the wage earners, carpenters and masons earned the most, more per head than the average farmer. At the lowest rung were the weavers, the labourers and the hired farm hands. Non-farm workers and those running the core rural industry were constituted mainly by craftsmen and artisans. They accounted for a third of the total labour force in this village of diversified skills. Most of them worked independently, with needed inputs of materials from the client families. Gold and silver smiths were the independent of all, though women had a definite say in the design of the jewellery that they wished to be crafted. Carpenters and masons were the largest group of craftsmen. They learned the skills while undergoing training as apprentice helpers. They usually built brick houses; labour for building farm structures and mud houses was provided mostly by the farm family. Carpenters also made tool handles, ploughs, yokes, cots and stools. Some master masons specialized in brick lining wells; some carpenters were skilful wood crafters. But the real demand for their skills was in the cities where they commanded a premium wage. Their ability to plan and build complete structures with carved doors, arches and plaster had a thin market in villages. 90

The blacksmith started and finished his day at will, depending on the demand for new tools and the repair of old ones. To make new tools, coal was ignited red-hot in a hearth, iron and steel bits inserted and air blown with bellows until the bits started glowing. A piece was pulled out with tongs and beaten on the anvil into shape, reheated in the hearth and beaten again until it was ready for shaping into tools. Some red hot tools were immersed in water for hardening (annealing). The main tools forged at the smithy were plough blades, sickles, spades, pitchforks, hatchets, axes, and occasionally horse shoes. Spears were fabricated in response to a special request, but only for a person of respect. The busiest people were the weavers who worked as a family team; men, women and children complemented each other in every task. Weaving was their hereditary profession. It was labour intensive, return was low and there were periods of long lull. Therefore, weaver women also worked as household help while the men ran errands as family messengers. Stuck in poverty, the weavers faced the onslaught of the textile industry. The cheaper and longer wearing mill made cloth captured the incremental demand of the professional class, students and womens fashion wear. But the demand for homespun items of daily use strongly imbedded in the culture remained intact. A facet of rural life was that generally everybody walked and worked barefoot. The feet naturally bore the risks involved. A common problem was thorns. In every household, young girls with nimble little fingers and sharp sight dug out the thorns using a sewing needle. If the thorn was buried deep in the skin, salt was rubbed to loosen it by the next day. The long term problem of working barefoot was that means heels became a thick hide as one aged and cracked in winter months causing pain. One could often see an old peasant rubbing his heel with mustard oil to soothe the skin. There was a steady but slow loss of land by non-agriculturist classes. Ramgarhias were once the second largest land owning clan. Some of them opted out of agriculture in favour of more lucrative skilled work in the cities. Lohars duplicated the Ramgarhia pattern of skilled jobs in the cities. Telis were forced out of cultivation by technological displacement. Khatris too parted with land though some still owned bits and pieces here and there. 91

Jats were potent farmers, hardy and assertive. Acquiring more land was their perpetual dream; parting with land was a loss of honour. The pursuit of aggressive Jat acquisition of land is illustrated by the case of Telis who owned a lot of land on which they grew oil seeds and processed the same into mustard oil and oil cake. As they could not match the cheaper oil and oil cake supplied by the newly established oil mills, they were forced into parting with their land. Jat oligarchy aggressively eyed their land. In 1923, Mangal Singh, son of the Lambardar, secretly purchased 4.96 acres of fertile from Allah Baksh Teli for Rs.3000, at just about a half of the going price. The Law stipulated that whenever an owner sold farm land, any person with prima facie interest could file a suit under Haq-shubba (suspected right) to have the sale annulled or to press his first right of purchase. If the person filing the suit won, the sale would be annulled. If the challenger lost, the sale would stand legally confirmed. Mangal was afraid of a challenge to the deal from Allahs relatives acting on behalf of Allahs infant son. Mangal recorded in his Register dated 23-12-1923 i.e. 28 Maghar 1981 that to safeguard the legality of the sale, (his childhood buddy) Dewan filed civil suits challenging Allahs sale. If Dewan lost the suits, Mangals title would be secure. However, if Dewan won, he would later yield the sale in favour of Mangal. Either way, the sale and transfer to Mangal would be legally secure and safe. The basis of Dewans claim to land was pre-dated Promissory Notes of money advanced by Dewan Singh to Allah Bakhsh. Mangal must have coerced Allah into signing these documents which he kept securely in his possession. All went well; the transfer sailed through the Court. By 1946, Sikh Jats owned twenty khuhs; Muslim Jats owned three; Ramgarhias owned two; and Arains one. Land ownership was: Sikh Jats 75%, Muslim Jats 12%, Ramgarhias 7%, Arains 4%; Khatris, Telis and Kashmiris less than 1% each. Land was tilled mostly by the owners. There were just four Sikh and three Muslim landless tenant families. They shared the produce 50:50, or paid 8 maunds (of 40 kilos each) of wheat per acre at the time of harvest. The tenant family had to have two yokes of oxen and implements of their own; seed was furnished by the land owner who also maintained the irrigation well and paid the land tax. 92

Vegetable cultivation was the sole preserve of the Arains. They grew onions, garlic, eggplant, tar (soft Indian cucumber), gourds, methre (fenugreek), leafy methi (fine fenugreek), okra, long radishes (mooli), tomatoes, spinach and winter cantaloupes but there was no ginger. Arain women sold the produce on Sunday mornings along the Gurdwara corner. Patches of watermelons and cantaloupes were grown usually on road side fields. When nearly ready, the whole crop was auctioned to a contractor who stationed a caretaker on the field day and night. Every morning, ripe melons were taken to the town market; some were sold by the roadside as well. Their speedy ripening gave rise to the phrase: kharbuze ko dekh kar, kharbooza rung pakarta heh (copy cats, one cantaloupe changes colour, another follows in quick succession).

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Chapter VII

Farming

Farm life was characterized by the ploughman and his oxen; khuh, the irrigation well, was the hub of the farmer. The farming team included the father, grown up sons, permanent farm hands, two or more yokes of oxen, a buffalo or two, maybe a buffalo bull, possibly a mare, several mutts and a free roaming cat or two. The team was supported by women, children and old men. Feeding the animals was the responsibility of the old men while boys grazed the buffalos. The most demanding periods for a farmer were sowing, weeding and harvesting. He had no time even to scratch his head. Non-farm workers were routinely drawn into the latter two tasks. Monsoon season and the pre-harvest months of February and March when farm work mostly stood still, he had the time for indulgence. To prepare for sowing, the farmer yoked his oxen and started to deep plough before dawn. Two yokes of oxen could plough an acre. Birds followed the plough, looking for their worm breakfast. The next act was smoothing and levelling of the field, followed by spreading of organic manure. After two or three cycles of ploughing and smoothing, the farmer deep watered the field and waited till the moisture content of the top layer was just right. At that time he shallow ploughed, hand broadcasted the seed, and immediately followed with smoothing to cover the seed from the pouncing birds. The next task was to divide the field into beds for even irrigation. After each operation, completed by sun rise, he fed the cattle and waited longingly for his breakfast to arrive from home. The next cycle was irrigating the fields; oxen were yoked early in the morning for non stop merry go round to draw water from the khuh. The channel to the field was cleared of debris and each bed irrigated turn by turn, watching for seepage. The farmer had to periodically walk back and forth between the khuh and the field, ensuring continuous flow of water. Weeds tip toed irrigation with vengeance. An intensive task, weeding involved the whole family as well as part-time help. Each weeding was followed by irrigation. Then came the period of rest and respite when plants had grown tall and the need for irrigation and weeding had ended. The farmer waited and watched until the harvest time. He had time to kill. 94

For a whole month while wheat slowly changed colour from shades of hazel green to gold, most men as well as youngsters ritually gathered to dance bhangra to the beat of a drum from fall of darkness to midnight. It was a boisterous and joyous time. The celebration started on the day of the Marri festival and culminated a month later on the popular and festive day of Vsakhi; reaping started the next day with a mad rush. Harvesting of wheat was a sight to behold. For two weeks, a whole army of men, sharpened sickles in hand, branched in every direction to cut the crop. Holding a fistful of stalks with one hand and sickle in the other, reaping proceeded at a feverish pace. Women baked bundles and bundles of tandoori rotis for breakfast and lunch. Lassi, achar, gurr and thick daal or saag were generously served for lunch. At dusk, the crop was tied into bales, using twines made by twisting the stalks. Bales were piled into a heap called khilara; it swelled by the day. Each daily reaper was given a bale as a wage to carry home for threshing by his wife or mother. Whenever a large area needed to be harvested in a hurry, the farmer resorted to maangi (public request) with the festive beat of a drum. Anybody could join the crusade of reapers marching on to the fields. Everyone sweated together reaping rapidly with the rhythm of the drum. As their wage, the reapers were royally fed in the evening, treated like a wedding party, with rice pilaf, sukkar, pails of ghee, pooris, daal, pudding and crisp jalebis; eat as much as you like but no take home. Privately, country brew was served to some. The next chore was threshing. A phela (square frame of twigs) was assembled. A few bales at a time were spread in a circle, the phela was placed on the top and a buffalo yoked to it. The blindfolded buffalo pulled the phela round after round crushing the stalks while someone turned them over. Wheat settled at the bottom. As the buffalo took a break, the crushed stalks were separated from the wheat mixed with fine chaff. The operation was repeated from morning till night for several days until the entire crop had been threshed. Winnowing to separate the grain from the chaff followed in quick succession. Women with a chhaj (wide and flat reed basket, open on one side) gathered by the threshed wheat, placed a few handfuls in their chhaj, lifted it above their heads and rattled the chhaj with rhythm releasing the contents bit by bit. The golden wheat piled by their feet while the fine chaff 95

flew to the side. The artful operation was repeated until winnowing was complete. Wheat was assembled in a mound and charpoys placed around it as smiling faces milled around. Claimants gathered as the weighing man arrived with his measure of dropa (about two kilos). A tenant farmer usually yielded a half of the crop to the land owner. Even the owner farmer was not always the main claimant; he may have borrowed wheat for seed or for consumption. A part of the remainder was distributed to farmhands as per share yelled out by the farmer. Small portions were dealt to providers of services (blacksmiths, barber et. Al). Sacks were carried away on the head while the larger loads were transported by donkeys. If the harvest was bountiful, everyone was happy. Cultivation of two crops was the norm. Wheat was the principal crop followed by cotton and sugar cane; supplementary crops included tobacco, millet, sorghum, maize and vegetables. Every farmer grew fodder, selling spare patches to nonfarming owners of buffalos. Sugar cane was grown for gurr making with small patches earmarked for chewing. Vegetables for own consumption were usually interplanted with other crops. Vegetables grown for sale included onions, garlic, eggplant, Indian cucumber, gourds, fenugreek, okra, mooli, tomatoes, spinach and winter cantaloupes. Watermelons and cantaloupes were grown in some road side fields. Fruit bearing trees were few and far between. Commercial gardening was still in its infancy. If wheat was king of crops and cotton the queen, the lowly turnip was the promising prince that hob knobbed with every one.

Turnips Prized by man and beast, every farmer planted turnips for fodder and food. The most alluring scene on the farm horizon was the whole field of golden flowers, smiling and fluttering in the spring breeze. Turnips were a unique winter crop in the sense that every bit of the plant was consumed at every stage of its growth. Sweet baby turnips were picked to thin the beds. They were munched like apples, cooked as a vegetable, pickled and sun dried for use in summer when fresh vegetables were scanty. Baby leaves were cooked or chopped and sun dried. As plants 96

matured, tender shoots gloriously sprouted from them. The asparagus like but flavourful shoots, picked just before flowering, made the much relished Punjabi sarsoon da saag (spinach). As the turnips grew big and fibrous, the whole plant was pulled out and chopped for fodder. Buffaloes and bulls loved them. Not a bit of the plant was wasted from its birth to its death. A spindly variety was grown as a source of oilseed. It yielded mustard oil used by every household for lighting lamps, cooking and skin care. It was prized by wrestlers as massage oil. The residual oil cake was much relished by buffaloes. Oil from a toxic variety, tara mira, was used to remove ticks. An hour after the pungent oil was applied to the infested hide, ticks fell off like autumn leaves. What a marvel! An inexpensive, easy to use, environmentally safe, natural, and organic medicine, pleasing for the buffalo! Farming was labour intensive; it required permanent hands of one man year of labour input per acre as well as seasonal help. Christian (Dalit) colony was the only dependable pool of regular farm labour of men, women and children. Meals were provided to full time farm workers but wages were paid in kind only at the time of harvest. The relationship was indentured in the sense that it was difficult for a worker to move from one farmer to another without the agreement of both employers. Another impediment to mobility was that the share of crop distributed to a worker depended on the whim of the farmer; there was no set rule or standard. Dalits did every kind of hard and dirty work for the farmer but they were always kept away from the plough. Deprived of the opportunity to learn the skill and lacking capital to own oxen, they could not upgrade themselves to becoming tenant farmers. Their children grazed the cattle and ran errands. Women cleaned the barns, hauled the trash and helped in the fields; their profession made them easy prey to sexual abuse. Lacking alternative source of livelihood, they bore the abuses sometimes willingly in expectation of a reward and sometimes silently under duress.

97

Chapter VIII

Measurements, Prices and Records

Land was measured by acres, kanals and marlas 1 acre = 4,840 square yards = 8 kanals, 1 kanal = 20 marlas. Informal linear measures were by karam and hand. A karam equaled the step of a man walking at a steady pace. Distance was measured in kos (1.5 miles). Small lengths were measured by using hands, arms, feet and legs. A hand equalled the forearm extended flat on the ground from the end of elbow to the tip of little finger. Wheat harvest was measured by volume at the farm using a daropa (weighing about 4 Kilos). The first dropa was unnumbered by tradition. Called barkat (good omen), it was never counted. For small measures at shops, a half of it called topa and an eighth of it a dropi was used. Weights were measured by maund, ser and chhataki (1 maund = 40 ser (about 40 Kilos); 1 ser = 16 chhatakis. Liquid were measured by a pot which equalled a ser; small quantities of vegetable oils were measured by pali (cup attached to a rod). Years were numbered by Samat Bikrami as well as Christian AD introduced by the British; AD 0=56-57 Bikrami. Cloth was measured by yards; small lengths by gitth. A gitth equalled a hand stretched from the tip of the little finger to the tip of the thumb. Gold was weighed by tolas, further divided into masas and rattis. A tola equaled a little over 11 grams. Money units worked in multiples of four: l rupee = 16 annas; 1 anna = 4 paise. Rupees were coined in silver; use of paper money was uncommon and started with five rupee Notes. Shopkeepers happily accepted payments in kind, usually wheat and cotton. Most services were also paid in kind. Money was scarce; its purchasing power was high. In 1934, one rupee fetched five sers (kilos) of mustard oil, four sers of coconut oil and five sers of sugar. A quarter century earlier, prices in 1900-1910 were about the same. Prices actually softened during 1914-18 because of the deflationary policies of the Government to keep procurement prices low during World War I. In that period, one rupee could buy about 25 sers of wheat or 20 sers of wheat flour. Prices rose again to pre-war levels. The price of gold in 1920 was Rs. 22 per tola (Rs. 20 per 10 grams). A good buffalo could be bought for Rs.100; the best of the breed cost Rs.120. Ghee sold at one rupee per ser; buffalo milk was not sold; the less expensive goat milk was freshly sold on 98

the spot by the lone goat herder at two annas per his own measuring pot. Tonga ride to Gujranwala was four annas per passenger, with as many passengers loaded as the horse could bear. The rent for a solo tonga to ride in style cost Rs. 1 for one way journey. Charge for grinding wheat was one scoop of flour per head load. Cotton was ginned mostly at home with hand operated wooden Velni (hand gin). Market for sale of farm land was kinked. Bits and pieces were sold in strict secrecy. By common reckoning, the price of irrigated land during 1910-40 hovered around Rs.800 per acre. Following the start of WWII, the price rose sharply to Rs. 1,000 per acre. However, there was hardly any land available for sale. First option of the farmers in financial trouble was to pawn the land. Defaults resulted in refinancing and then forced transfers. Kiln baked bricks were sold at Rs 22 per thousand in 1927 when Thekedars DSB brick kiln started operations at Nanoke. The price was reduced in abrupt tranches to one half during the Great Depression of the 1930s; coal prices had dropped as well. Prices rose in the 1940s as coal became scarce; a Permit was needed to hire a railway wagon during WWII. Government rationed Permit system fixed the price at Rs 35 per thousand. The result was that brick housing stood still during the WWII duration. This led to labour surpluses, which helped in the recruitment of soldiers. Deals involving money and materials were mostly oral. An eye contact or the shake of head was more than enough of a firm commitment. Sales and purchases, personal loans and advances against pawned jewellery were all oral. Faith in each other and reputation of the parties involved cemented the mutual understanding. Land transactions were recorded on a Stamp Paper, meticously checked by the Patwari and registered in the court at Daska. Notations in a Vehi (ledger) were another major segment of written records. All shopkeepers and a few families kept a Vehi which served as a memory of personal, family and business dealings. A common notation was Neondra, the reciprocal cash contribution made by the Bradri (brotherhood) and friends to help meet wedding expenses. The Vehis also recorded important family events, personal loans, and cash advances against land. Loan notations were legal provided a Revenue Stamp (which could be purchased from the Post Office) was affixed beside the thumb impression of the borrower and 99

witnessed by the scribe. Houses and vacant plots were not recorded; the de facto ownership was just known to everyone.

100

Chapter IX

Rural Industry

Home based industries processed local produce and catered largely to local needs. Grinding wheat, the staple food, and feed grains for the cattle topped the list. Processing cotton ranked second. It involved a series of operations: ginning, fluffing, spinning, and weaving. Sugar cane and oilseeds ranked third. Shelling rice by hand was sparse; rice was not grown in most villages. Age Old Machines and Devices Among the commonly used ancient devices and machines, the following stood out: chakki and khras to grind wheat and other grains; okhli to shell rice and linseed; velni to gin seed cotton; pinjni to fluff cotton; charkha to spin yarn, khaddi to weave cloth; velna to crush sugar cane; potters wheel to craft a variety of items from little lamps to huge pots; kohlu to mill oilseeds; chattoo-watta to crush spices and rock salt; and kharal to fine grind herbs and medicines. They were an integral part of daily life. But, the most important of these machines were the dexterous hands that put them to good use every day. Chakki: It consisted of two round stones; the moveable top stone rested atop a fixed bottom stone. The top stone was rotated with a handle as grain was fed through a hole in its centre. The finely chiselled stones were about two feet in diameter and nine inches in thickness; they were set in a platter of unbaked clay. A woman sat beside the chakki, rotated the top stone with one hand and steadily poured grain with the other; flour slowly came out from the sides. Fineness depended on the speed with which the top stone was rotated. Sometimes, two women sat across from each other and speedily rotated the stone. About once every two years a mason was called to re-chisel the stone surfaces. Grinding with a chakki was almost a daily chore for young wives; every house had one of these machines. Khrass: Larger quantities of wheat as well as feed grains were ground at a khrass; the village had seven of them. Narain Singh built the best and the last of them around 1900; his young son Bhagat continued to operate it until Partition. The 101

operative system for Khrass was basically the same as that of a Chakki except that the stones were huge and a funnel was fixed atop for automatic feeding of grain. The top stone was anchored to a long wooden shaft to which a pair of oxen or a camel was yoked to rotate it in a merry go round. The space between the two stones was adjusted to set the desired fineness. The stones were re-chiselled once a year. Velni: A hand operated gin, it consisted of two wooden rollers set on a wooden frame and operated by a side handle. A woman sat in the front, rotated the handle with one hand and fed seed cotton between the rollers with the other. The seed dropped towards her while cotton rolled out at the rear. It was an efficient machine, all wooden and easy to operate. It had been in use since ancient times. Ginning was a female household activity; every home had a velni. Pinjni: An intermediate operation between ginning and spinning was fluffing by a professional Penja at his pinjni. A simple device, pinjni was a six foot pole with a taught, sturdy string attached to it. The penja sat in a closed room with a pile of cotton, held the base of the pinjni between his feet and rested it on his shoulder. He took a piece of cotton, held it in front of the string, and strummed the taut string shattering the cotton. Pieces flew into the room. He gathered them and repeated the operation time and again until the desired fluffiness was reached. It was indeed a fluffy operation. When the penja emerged from the room, one could only see a figure covered with white fluff. The operation had music to it. From the outside it seemed as if someone was strumming a sitar. Charkha: Ingenious equipment, Charkha (the spinning wheel) is internationally known, much more than all other ancient machines. It consisted of a pulley wheel set between two wooden legs mounted on one end of a wooden base and rotated with a side handle; three wooden pegs were mounted on the other end of the base through which ran a free moving spindle; a taut string (belt) ran over the wheel to the spindle. As the wheel was rotated with right hand, the spindle swirled at a fast speed. A fluffy puff of cotton held in the left hand was connected to a starter thread on the spindle and steadily but rapidly pulled away shoulder high as the rotation formed and simultaneously twisted the thread. The wheel was stopped and then rotated in the reverse direction in slow motion while the hand was gently lowered to wind the thread around the spindle. Another puff was added to the unused bit of the first 102

puff and rotation of the spindle and spinning of the thread commenced again till the corn reached the standard size. The art lay in spinning a uniform and long thread with smooth, rapid and continuous motion. The thread of a novice broke often and was lumpy in places. Learning to spin was like learning to swim or ride a bike; difficult initially but once grasped, it worked automatically for life time. The art of spinning charkha was a second nature for every woman. Girls learned it from their mothers or grand mothers. Proficiency equaled the length of the strand that a girl could pull with each spin. Productivity was measured in the number of corns a woman could spin in a night or a days session.

Khaddi (Hand Loom): The intricate mechanical system of

weaving, the hand loom, was set in the veranda or another airy part of the house. Its operation required skill and experience learnt as a hereditary profession. Weaving involved a series of preparatory operations. The task was undertaken as per orders received. The family placing the order brought the required supply of corns of home spun yarn. As a first step, the weaver woman transferred the supplied yarn on to larger spools. These were then divided into weft and warp. The weft was carefully rewound onto shuttles. To prepare the warp, a free moving spool was mounted at the end of about three foot long reed or bamboo rod. Two rows of pegs were set in the ground. The length was dictated by the yardage of cloth to be woven. The weaver woman walked round and around the pegs piling the yarn from the mounted spools until the desired count of the warp was reached. Thereafter, the weaver pulled the warp taut between two wooden stands called horses. Here, each thread was separated from the other using a brush with long bristles dipped in starch. The task was tedious because the threads were neither uniform in thickness nor in strength. Often, the broken yarn had to be twisted together with thumb and forefinger to make a tiny knot. Sometimes the threads would entangle so badly that one could hear the weaver cursing before discarding the entangled lump as a last resort. Starched and dried warp was mounted onto the loom. The weaver sat behind the frame and neatly rolled the shuttle from 103

side to side while the thread was pressed tight with a hanging frame. Thread by thread, the cloth was woven. Khaddar was the commonly woven cloth; some weavers specialized in collared patterns. To make patterns in the cloth, shuttles with dyed weft were used intermittently. The patterns were made from memory. Velna: Turning mechanism for sugar cane crushing was a modified version of turning a khuh. Two heavy steel rollers were mounted together; the turning wheel was anchored to a long wooden pole; a single bull or buffalo was yoked to the end of the pole. As the beast moved in a circle, the rollers rotated in slow motion. Cane after cane was fed by hand between the rollers; crushed stalks came out of the other side of the rollers while juice dripped into a tray and then on to a vessel. Crushing took place at the farm. The collected juice was boiled in a large, shallow pan, constantly stirring it and removing the scum. Steam rose from the pan as did the smoke from smouldering fire underneath. After the juice had thickened down to thick syrup, the contents were transferred to a flat wooden vat. It set quickly as it cooled; it was rolled into handy lumps, while still warm. Within minutes, the lumps hardened; gurr was ready. A delight to watch, aromatic smoke attracted onlookers. Children could always get a warm forgetful to lick. A glassful or two of fresh juice was so refreshing that it satisfied the heart and the soul. A potful was taken home for making rice pudding which was eaten cold the next day; some preferred to top it with yogurt.

Kohlu: Oilseeds were milled in a kohlu a giant mortar and

pestle. A huge vat was shaped out of the base of a hardwood tree with a wide girth. The pestle was crafted from a large limb of a sheesham tree. The pestle was placed in the vat at an angle. The heavy end rested in the bottom while the upper end was anchored to the yoke. As the buffalo bull slowly walked round and around, the pestle swirled crushing the seed into pulp. After a while, oil started dripping out from a side hole at the bottom into a pan; more seed was fed as needed; the operation lasted for hours. At the end, the dry seedcake was emptied out of the vat. The common staples milled were mustard and cotton seed. Telis, the professional oil millers, grew choice mustard on their own land but procured cotton seed from the households. Seed cake, a valuable by-product, prized as animal feed had a ready market in the village. In early 1900s, oil milling started 104

yielding to lower cost mill production. Industrial growth in the cities caused technological displacement in the village with a sordid effect, hitting the Telis hard as their old fashioned oil pressers could not compete with the oil mills. As they got eased out of oil milling, their kohlus became largely redundant. Production of mustard seed in the village declined as well. Lacking viable alternatives, Telis faced steady erosion of their wealth; they had to slowly sell their farm land to survive. Proud and unrealistic, they faced difficulties in charting a new professional course.

Potters Wheel: The mechanism consisted of a flat wooden

wheel which moved freely on top of a sturdy post. The post was firmly set in the ground. To fabricate a pot, the potter squatted by the wheel with a supply of prepared clay dough piled on the side. The potter rotated the wheel with one hand and shaped the clay, sometimes using both hands, into a desired shape which could be as small as a bowl and as large as a storage pitcher. Occasionally, he dipped his hands in water. This helped to smooth the clay. When shaped, he would cut the pot at the bottom with a string from the rest of the clay and set it aside to firm up. Watching his arty hands work a magic was joyful. The dough had to be the right quality of clay and thoroughly kneaded for desired smoothness. For porous pots, to keep the water cool, fine washed sand was mixed with the clay. The pots were sun dried; some were colourfully decorated. A bed of dung cakes, dry leaves and twigs was prepared; the ready to bake pots were delicately laid on top and covered with dry biomass. Another layer of pots was laid on top and covered again. The kiln was then lit, making sure it only smouldered, without emitting a flame. It took a week for the fire to die down and another week for the ash to cool down. Baked pots were extracted as needed. (Around major towns, potters also baked tile sized Indian bricks, the same way as the pots.) Pottery suffered a big set back when khuhs started replacing clay canisters with sturdy sheet metal canisters. Another setback came as households started replacing some of the clay pots with metal utensils. Potters usually had a donkey or two for their own work. They overcame technological displacement by breeding donkeys, slowly acquiring a fleet and becoming transporters of bulk materials. A potter was an integral part of the rural set up. Delightful potter stories with donkey as the main character figured 105

prominently. Donkeys were known for their stupidity. A nave donkey carrying a heavy load of rock salt sat down in a stream. On being driven out, he brayed with joy at his cleverness. Next time, he was loaded with bulky raw cotton. He sat down again when fording the stream. On coming out, the weight of soaked cotton nearly broke his back. He wondered why?

D.S.B. Brick Factory:

Seven years after demobilization, World War I veteran Dewan Singh Thekedar ventured into manufacturing coal fired European type (uniform) bricks. He chose Nanoke as the site. Huge investment was sunk into purchase of land, construction of the kiln, fabrication of chimneys, import of coal, contracting specialized labour to mould and fire the bricks, and hiring other staff. The investment was partly financed by Lambardar Takhat Singh, the legendary shahukar of Chhotian Galotian. Munshi Kesho Ram, a stout, lathi wielding, influential Brahman from Waddian Galotian was hired as manager. An oval kiln, 1000 yards long, 6 yards wide and 3 yards deep was excavated leaving an oval island in the centre; walls were lined with mud bricks. An office and store room for coal was constructed in the centre island. Trained blacksmiths from Gujranwala fabricated two huge metal sheet chimneys. In a nearby field, a family team of pather (brick potters) from Ambala region removed the top layer of the earth, dug up and sifted the dirt, prepared mud and treaded it, moving back and forth to knead it into smooth and firm dough. Using special metal moulds, mud bricks were formed one by one and lined up for sun drying, turning them over every day till they were bone dry. Ghumars transported them with their donkeys into the kiln and artfully stacked them, leaving air channels and wind tunnels. The top was covered with bricks and a layer of ashes spread over it to seal air holes. After a quarter length of the oval kiln was so filled, a second team of pathaer experienced in baking arrived. Split hardwood was piled at the mouth, the starting point of the kiln, prayer was said and Mian Sahib shouted a call into the kiln asking any animal hiding therein to leave. Usually, wild cats tended to make a home in such dens. Kerosene poured, logs lit, soon they were all aflame. Would the hot air be sucked in? Every eye gazed at the chimney tops. On sighting the first puff of smoke, everyone clapped. The kiln was operational. Sweets were distributed. 106

Round the clock baking with controlled coal fired heat started. Pathaer poured a measure of coal through the holes on the top which were then covered with steel plates. Coal was fed at measured intervals of one hour. As baking progressed, feed holes were sealed with a brick and new ones opened. Blazing fire travelled forward. Pathaer walking on the top wore thick wooden clogs carefully avoiding the feeding holes. Chimneys were moved forward periodically to ensure proper hot air drag. As the rear end cooled, baked bricks were retrieved, graded and stacked outside. Correspondingly, raw bricks were stacked at the mouth. Continuous trajectory followed until it was time to close down the kiln for the season. Home Made Time Piece Kiln workers could not read the clock or reset the alarm every hour to feed the fuel. Dewan Singh devised an ingenious time piece. He took a kauli, a brass bowl commonly used to serve food, and drilled a minute hole in its centre. He took a large metal canister, filled it three quarter with water and floated the kauli in it. Slowly, water seeped into it, sinking when about half full. He noted the time taken to sink. He enlarged the hole by a hair more, refloated the kauli and again watched the time it took to sink. He adjusted the hole time and again patiently until it took exactly an hour to sink. Given the weight of the metal bowl, it would always sink when about half full. As it hit the bottom, it made a noise but the bigger noise was made by the gurgling bubble as it rose to the top and burst. The workers on duty around the clock loved the simple device. Every time the bowl sank, the worker fed the coal in the kiln holes, came back to the canister, dished out the brass bowl and refloated it. The clock needed no repairs and warranted no maintenance. The device could be used year after year. The kilns coming into operation in 1927 brought unforeseen gains. The enterprise offered sizable employment to skilled and unskilled labour, and to ghumars for transporting coal and bricks on their donkeys. As the trend to brick houses caught on in neighbouring villages, construction industry generated many a new job. The multiplier effect was massive for the rural economy. 107

Dewan Singh earned riches in money and prestige and became known as Thekedar. He was particularly proud of the specially fabricated steel and brass moulds which bore his initials D.S.B., the same that had been engraved on his left forearm while he served in Mesopotamia during WWI.

The Machine:

An industry which brought about a sea change in the life of almost every household was the modern Machine. Narain Singh, who had himself built a new Khras, foresaw the direction of industrial winds. His sister was married to Jewn Singh of Chak 45 in Lyallpur District. They had two enterprising sons; Ladha was a giant of a man and Kishan was a born engineer in love with engines. Jewn had the capital. Narain dreamed of a venture. He convinced Jewn of good prospects; the family moved to Chhotian Galotian and installed a diesel powered Wheat Machine in 1937. The equipment was imported from England. The engine was powerful; the free wheel was huge. A belt from the smaller operating wheel drove the grind stone. The system was so noisy that one could not converse standing next to the engine or the belts. People brought head loads of wheat to the machine as soon as people heard the ghugoo (whistle) blown by the exhaust pipe. The rhythmic ghugoo, which could be heard two miles away, generated its own folk lore. ek do teen, babe budhe di machine ghugoo sach bolda Dulla baeman atta ghut tolda (one, two, three, the old man has a machine ghugoo always whistles the truth the weigh man short changes everyone) The costly venture proved rewarding. The pleased brothers soon added a cotton gin followed by a cotton fluffing machine for filling quilts. The employment offered by the Machine was small while the displacement of labour and competing equipment was large. Chakki, Khras and velni commenced slow descent to a relic, as did the Pinjni. Chakkis were now used mostly to grind specialty items such as dalia (couscous) or maize. The ox- powered khras which used to be busy almost every day was now served only those who cherished the flavour of slow ground flour.

Other Household Industries: The village was the hub for

making wood combs using sheesham, teak and other hard woods. Local sales were supplemented by supplies to shops in 108

towns. Most women sewed their family clothes; others had them sewn by two Bhatia widows who had acquired two sewing machines. They charged four annas per piece. Gurcharan was the first trained tailor to open a shop in the village in 1940. Wedding garments were tailored by specialists in the towns. There was only one washer man in the village; washing heavy linen was his forte. For everyday clothes, women and young girls were the washer men. Garments were washed at the ponds or at the khuhs, sun dried and folded. Ironing had no place except at wedding times. However, men of fashion had their clothes washed and ironed by Qadir of Nanoke, a handsome man with a charming smile. Qadir was proud of the quality of his hot water washing system as well as the neatness of his starching and ironing. When on a delivery routine, he always wore white salwar-kameez and a black jacket which had been meticulously cleaned and precisely ironed. He was an advertisement in himself.

109

Chapter X

Communications and Transportation

Means of communicating messages were ear to ear. Messengers conveyed good as well as bad news to places far and near. This personalized system continued even though the introduction of the cheaper postal system. The common mode of transportation was number eleven bus, ones own two legs. Men, women, children, everybody walked long distances, bare feet. They carried small loads on their heads; little children got a ride on their fathers shoulders. A bride was carried in a decorated palanquin. Men and women of means travelled on horseback; women were led by a courier walking in front. Bullock carts were commonly used. The coming of horse drawn tongas in early 1900s radically changed the mode of travel. They were fast and affordable. Travel between the villages remained by foot because tonga drivers were reluctant to traverse secondary roads with deep muddy ruts. Bicycles made their debut on the scene in early 1900s. They were costly and were owned only by men of distinction. They became a bit more affordable during the 1930s when Raleigh cost fifty five rupees and Hercules fifty, equivalent to two months in wages of a skilled worker. There were no bicycle repair shops in the villages; the cycle had to be dragged for miles to a town. However, simple repairs had to be done by the rider, sometimes there and then when a thorn punctured the tube which happened often on the kacha roads. Not a girl in the village rode a bicycle. Condiments, such as rice crispies, peanut brittle and roasted chickpeas made at leisure in a village were carried for sale to towns and fares by a vehngi, baskets hanging at each end of a pole balanced on a shoulder. Farm produce was usually transported by bullock and horse carts. But donkeys proved to be by far the most efficient vehicle for carrying grain. They could walk cross country, delivering heavy loads from point to point. The village potters owned 60 donkeys and transported a wide variety of goods. Slowly, they eclipsed the bullock carts. Once a year, a donkey caravan journeyed in May to the remote little hamlets in the foothills of the Himalayas. The region abounded in wild jujube; women and children picked the berries, sun dried them and waited for the buyers to come. Potters carried rock salt to exchange for berries. On return to 110

the village, potter women bartered the nutritious snack for wheat, measure for measure, customarily giving a bit extra. While basking in the winter sun, the potters delighted in telling riveting tales of their travel through the ravines and encounters with the panthers.

Panthers Fording the numerous streams and rivers was not a serious problem; winter rains had ended three months earlier and monsoons were still two months ahead. The only thing that they had to watch was that the donkey carrying the salt did not sit in the stream to lighten its burden. Donkeys had ample grass to graze in the jungles and men could easily gather wood and twigs to cook their food. The danger was that the wild hills abounded in panthers. Constant vigil was needed as the donkey was as precious to them as their own lives. To keep the panthers at bay, men had to make a constant din during the day and keep a flaming fire burning around their camp at night. The beauty of these fierce and cunning mountain lions, their fiery eyes which glowed in the dark, their stealth movement like thieves, the frightening power of their paws which could pull a donkey down in a matter of seconds and drag it away, were breath taking. Children listened to them with gaped mouths. All the more so, as no one in the village had ever seen the picture of a panther, let alone a real one. Bicycles came on the scene starting in 1915 but they were costly and were owned only by men of distinction. Availability increased after WWI; they became a bit more affordable during the late 1930s when Raleigh cost fifty five rupees and Hercules fifty, equivalent to two months in wages of a skilled worker. By 1940, the village had eighteen bicycles with a half of them used by students. There was no bicycle repair shop; the cycle had to be dragged for miles to at Daska. However, simple repairs had to be done by the rider, sometimes there and then when a thorn punctured the tube which happened often on the kacha roads. Not a girl in the village rode a bicycle. Buses connecting Gujranwala to Sialkot via DaskaSambhrewal started a short while before World War I but the 111

bypassed the village.. To catch a bus one had to walk to the pucka road and wait for ones good luck; buses were few and far between and may not always stop. The advent of railways for travel to distant places was a big leap forward. From the time the first line was laid in 1853 from Bombay to Thana, the net work connecting major ports to the hinterland spread rapidly. The track connecting Lahore to Peshawar traversing many a town on the way opened in 1883. Even then one had to allow oneself plenty of time. For example, train journey of about 1200 miles from Gujranwala to Calcutta took five days and four nights non-stop by Express train.

Postal System: Persistent petitions and influence peddling

led to the extension of the postal system to the village in 1914. Duties of the Postmaster were performed by the teacher (Munshi) at the boys school. For this side job during school recess, he received seven rupees a month, a hefty supplement to a teachers salary of twenty rupees.

Precisely as the recess bell rang, the mail carrier walked into the school with the mail bag hanging from a stick balanced on his shoulder. Starting from the main post office at Daska, his route connected school stops at three villages. Swift, bare feet, leggy walker, he covered his twelve mile route in half a day. The teacher opened the seal and emptied the canvas bag while the boys watched with curiosity. It usually contained five or six letters. Once in a while the bag included a sealed leather pouch containing cash remittance from a soldier or a worker from far away. Kids clapped and the teacher smiled at the sight of the pouch. Home delivery of letters was performed by ever eager students who took pride in doing this chore. The teacher also acted as a free scribe for the illiterate families. A woman asking a Munshi for favour of writing a confidential love letter became part of the Punjabi lore: munshi khat likh dae.... (munshi, please write a letter for me I will give you five sugar puffs)

112

Chapter XI

HEALTH CARE

Children were born at home, delivered by a mid-wife. The village had two of them. The art had been passed on from mother to daughter-in-law. In the month preceding the birth, the mid-wife started visiting the house on a daily basis, examining and conferring with the mother-to-be in the privacy of a closed room. Usually a family woman or two, some quite knowledgeable, would be present. If ever complications arose, proper medical help was not available. Infant mortality was high. Once too often, a mother too died from excessive bleeding during childbirth. Peasant women were exceptionally hardy. Once, a very much pregnant peasant woman went cotton picking with a group. During mid day her water broke unexpectedly and she gave birth right in the fields. Other women took care of her. At the end of the day she walked back to the village along with her co-workers with her baby in her arms. Pleased Maya, the farm owners wife, gave the hardy peasant added extra handfuls of cotton to her earned share, and had the load carried to her house. Men died of fever more frequently than women. The average life span was perhaps 45, higher than the national average of low forties. But some lived long, going on beyond 60. A person in 70s was regarded as having stepped into the senile phase. Dreaded illnesses among all ages were typhoid, jaundice, cholera and malaria. Common ailments among children were sore eyes, boils, gastric problems, and colds and coughs. People had good Punjabi teeth. For the old, teeth were left to fall out or were pulled out at country fairs by a hawking expert who used his thumb and two fingers as pliers. Common ailments among the children were sore eyes and boils. Dreaded ailments common to all ages were typhoid, jaundice, cholera and malaria. Gastric problems, and colds and coughs were regarded as transitory. People had good Punjabi teeth. For the old, teeth were left to fall out or were pulled out at fairs by a hawking expert who used his thumb and two fingers as pliers. There was no doctor or dispensary in the village. People knew how to deal with measles but smallpox was feared; there was no cure until vaccinators started coming to the village in the 1920s by visiting doctors. As children and mothers with 113

babies lined up, three sets of scratches were made with a sharp, shiny knife on the left biceps or the forearm. As little blood oozed out, vaccine was applied. The scratches did not hurt much but the incubation period was trying. The child had to be careful until a scab formed. Vaccination left three permanent marks.

Herbal

Inexpensive and effective, people believed in herbal treatment to the point that it generated folk satire. For a quick, sure cure: padh, bherae, amalae te chauthi pa gloe bundch oongle 114a eke te dhoopae rhau khlo (blend the four herbs put the potion on your finger patiently stand in the sun with the finger in your bum) Purification of blood was routinely practiced before the start of the rainy season. A bunch of budding leaves of neem or dhrek were crushed, adding water slowly. The potion was sifted and the bitter green drink swallowed in a gulp or two. A piece of roti was eaten immediately to absorb the bitter taste. One weeks treatment purified the blood. It helped to ward off infections caused by insect bites. Even then skin infections were common. Skin infections were common. Youngsters developed boils during the hot and humid months. Some boils just ripened, oozed and healed themselves. Sometimes there developed a large painful boil, usually around one limb or the other. The skin turned red as growth progressed. A paste was applied to let it ripen till it formed a head. Another paste was then applied to induce the head to bleed. Usually it took a week to ripen and another week to bleed and form an itchy scab. Some trained barbers (jarahas) performed minor surgeries and dispensed their own herbal oils and other potions to cure skin problems. Sometimes, large, painful and swollen boils failed to form a head. Mendicants carrying leeches in a wet earthen pitcher often walked the streets shouting their arrival. As someone with a big boil came out and children and women gathered around, the mendicant placed leeches around the boil to suck bad blood. Except for the initial bite, it was painless and immediately relieved the pressure. With bad blood sucked all around, the boil died down. Though unsightly, it was an effective cure without surgery. 114

Medicines:

Once, Avtar developed a rash, badly affecting his hands. Wherever the oozing touched, an itchy rash appeared. He self treated it with a process he learnt from a hermit. He mixed ground sulphur with ghee, put it in a bottle, corked it and put the bottle in the sun, shaking it everyday. The potion melted in the sun but granulated at night. After a couple of weeks, sulphur got fully absorbed in the ghee. Two spoonfuls were eaten four times a day. His body smelled of sulphur but he was cured after two weeks. Once, he had a bowl of sulphured ghee under his cot. A street dog suffering from an itchy rash ate the whole bowl much to the annoyance of Avtar. But the dog too was cured. Tehl Singh, a young mason, contracted jaundice. He bought ten doses of grey tonic powder wrapped in small paper pouches from a hakim in a distant village. He took one each morning with a lump of freshly churned butter and a large glass of lassi. He was fully cured by the tenth day. Everyone in the village took note of his remedy. Next year, Kalu contracted serious jaundice. He pleaded with Tehl to get him the medicine. Tehl procrastinated as he could not afford to miss a days work. Pressed by Kalu, he promised to travel overnight to see the hakim. Instead, he stayed at home, wrapped bits of white ash from the hearth and gave the pouches to Kalu and told him to take one each morning with an ample helping of fresh butter and two glasses of lassi. Kalu had no buffalo, so he pleaded with a neighbour Santo to give him butter and lassi for ten days to save his life. Kalu was cured. Sure proof that freshly churned butter and drinking a few glasses of lassi every day did the trick. Parkash was fourteen when one winter in 1936 her knees froze. She could not walk and her legs became skinnier and skinnier. When nothing worked, her father called on Nirman (blind) Sant at his Dera in Amritsar. He had visited him before. Santji was quite abusive whenever somebody came in with a personal request but simmered down if the person was persistent. Perhaps he wished to be certain that the person had genuine faith in his medicines that he dispensed free. Santji asked what is the problem, Dewan Singh? He recognized his visitors by their voice. Santji asked him to come back and next day gave him dark brown pills, each the size of a grain of mustard seed. He instructed that one pill should be taken each morning with half a kauli (small bowl) of warm ghee. The medicine was just too potent. She was also to eat spoonfuls of fresh almond oil with a meal. After five days, Parkashs knees started moving, after ten days she could walk 115

and in two weeks, she was her old self. Parkash never ever had a problem with her knees. In her late 80s, she walks around like a young woman. She tells her story with delight, never knowing what the medicine was. Turmeric was an all-purpose cure for internal and external infections. Commonly, it was mixed with milk and drank. Turmeric was gently roasted in ghee and applied on serious cuts. In the case of a dog bite, turmeric was roasted together with a dried red chilli, applied to the wound and bandaged. Harar, an oblong nut from the myrobalan tree available dry or preserved in syrup, was a sure shot remedy for constipation. Some varieties were reportedly so potent that if held in the palm for an hour, a motion was bound to be induced. A mild soothing laxative was Ispagnla, the husk of fleawort seed. Take afew spoonfuls with warm milk; the motion next morning will come with comforting ease. Sinuses were cleared by gargling with warm salt water; sniffing the salt water through each nostril and spitting it out even more effective. A remedy for treating excessive phlegm was to eat a spoonful of ground black pepper for a few days; swallowing is easy if eaten with a banana or a piece of roti. Surma (eye-black) was a common household item used by married women for beautification. Easily available at village shops and country fairs, it was dispensed in little brass containers or a glass vial with its own surmchoo (rod) for gently rolling between the eyelids. The fancy surmchoos were made of pure silver. Medicated varieties of surma soothed the eyes. Some women made their own surma, using burnt almonds crushed with cardamom seed as a base. Sore eyes in the summer months were a common problem.Sore eyes were treated with medicinal powders called daru. Contents or the formula were a secret preserve of each mendicant. Vaieties varied a great deal; some were gentle, some very sharp. Peddlers sold daru at bus stops, at country fairs, by the road side and in trains. Some knowledgable and experienced women dispensed their own daru from home, free of cost. A daru in popular demand was Mayas jungali daru, so called because of its turquoise colour. A sure but a stinging cure; dispensing it was a spectacle to watch. The child had to lie down; someone held the hands tightly; the lower eyelid was opened and daru was applied with the tip of a forefinger over the sore area ensuring that the eyeball was not touched. Honey was also used as daru, though less commonly. 116

Mayas Jungli Daru The ingredient which gave it the name and the colour was the rust of silver rupees (silver oxide). It was mixed with ammonium chloride and two other ingreients which no one can recall. Mixture of the four items was slowly ground in an oblong stone bowl with a stone pestle. The grinding was repeated for days till the powder became very fine. A cot was placed upside down on the roof and a clean muslin sheet was tied to the four inverted legs. It looked like a baby cot. The powder was put in the centre and a bowl placed underneath. It was left there for a couple of nights. As the powder absorbed the dew; the solution slowly dripped into the bowl. It was then dried in the sun and ground again into a fine powder. It took several days to make a small quantity. Good things take time.

Daru Talk Show Salesmanship was eye catching, effective and demonstrative. The salesman invited people to the roadside show by clapping his hands. As a crowd gathered around him in a circle, the salesman loudly told everyone how sore eyes developed. Talking all the time, he placed a glass jar in the middle and filled it with clear water. He then took a pinch of soil from the ground and added it to the water. Dirt gets in your eye; it itches; and you naturally rub it. He stirred the water. As you rub the itching eye, it turns pink; you rub it more, it turns red; then it becomes sore. To the amazement of onlookers, the water turned pink as he stirred it. As everyone watched in fixation, water turned red and then deep red as he stirred it rapidly. He then demonstrated the worth of his daru by putting a pinch of it in the glass. Lo and behold, slowly the water became colourless again. Application of the daru for three days will restore your sore eyes. Vials of daru were sold by the dozen to those standing around. The crowd dispersed; a while later the salesman started ringing his bell for another round of his talk show.

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118

Chapter XII

Birth to Death Cycle

chhotian hundian dungar charae, whudian ho hull wahia budhian ho ke mala pheri, te Rab da ulama lahia Dhanna Bhagat (Grazed cattle in childhood, ploughed in adulthood prayed in old age, repaid God for His blessings) For ages there had been little deviation from the traditional cycle of life: birth growing up marriage parenthood marriage of children grand children - old age -- death. Hopefully, transition from one phase to the other was smooth. If someones cycle got cut short, the pain was accepted as Hukam (Divine Will). Family circle was three tiered: grand parents, parents, grandchildren. Grandfathers job was peripheral: a guard, tending cattle, making rope and staying out of the house. Grandmother was welcome to do anything in the house so long as she stayed out of the kitchen and kept her mouth shut. The family forum had facets of its own. Fathers talked to sons; mothers conversed with daughters; at times husbands and wives chatted privately. Mothers routinely talked to children sitting around and eating while she cooked. Fathers were the family heads. Mothers were the blissful keepers of the household, its values, and the faith. A woman was the symbol of honour and dignity for the family. Children were born at home; once young, they grew up in their own separate worlds: girls with girls, boys with boys. Families tended to be large; joint family was the norm; brothers and their families lived in the same establishment. An event of personal importance for a woman was the separation of her household from the joint family. Women always found time to meet in small numbers to share and air their hearts. Men gathered for idle talk while basking in the winter sun or sitting under a shade tree in summer. Young girls enjoyed intimate comradeship amongst them, as did the boys. The bifurcated companionship was untarnished by pressures of life and unadulterated by the prejudices of the older generation. 119

Mothers and grandmothers insured that girls stayed in their shadow. Girls grew up in the company of other girls but they were always within a mothers eye or a grandmothers ear. Mother was their primary teacher; from early on they learned from her the art of housekeeping. Spinning was as essential as cooking. Girls loved to spin, often organizing group sessions at homes. These night long meets were a pyjama party with a productive purpose. Girls never went alone anywhere, always moving in twos and fours, including the fun outing of getting popcorn roasted at a nearby bhathi. If ever they went to fetch water alone, they had the pitcher as their company. Girls were minutely watched and fiercely protected from a possible molester. There could be no greater dishonour for a family than to see such a thing to happen. Young girls were taught to keep their eyes low, looking towards the ground when passing a man. Punjabi men had the rude tendency to stare. Raising girls was a social and a moral obligation: a match had to be searched; dowry had to be provided; the grooms marriage party had to be entertained. Families felt that their emotional burden had been lightened with the marriage of a girl; they had fulfilled their duty. But a daughter was badly missed after she left home for a new nest. She too yearned for a call to visit her parental home. kankaan nisrian nee mae, dhian keon visrian nee mae (wheat is sprouting, spring has come, have you forgotten me oh mother!) Boys were the strength of a family, a source of social assertion. Physical power was measured in the number of arms that a family possessed. Feasting took place when a boy was born, not so for a girl. moonda jamian jaga lia diwa te kurri wari tel mukian (oil lamps are lit at sons birth at girls turn, the oil can is empty) Unblossomed Bud p. 59 Fear of a boy dying or being killed was pervasive. Lament of a mother who lost her only son is aptly portrayed in the famous folk song about Jagga, the legendary robber: jey maen jaandi Jagge mar janaan taan ek dae do jamdi (had I an inkling that Jagga was going to die young 120

I would have given birth to two, instead of one) Boys grew up running around enjoying the freedom of the neighbourhood. Free of fear; free to walk into any house at any time; hop from roof to roof; roam the streets; visit any farm, bathe at any khuh; climb any tree, wade into a pond; play anything, anywhere. It was heavenly. But, the big But was that they were not free to pick produce from anybody elses farm; stealing was unthinkable and was severely and instantly punished. Every adult knew who the child belonged to. If there were any complaints, they were lodged with the father who invariably beat or slapped the child often with his shoe, less to hurt the child but more to assure the others. Family life remained centred around the house and everyone died at home. Most of the celebrations from birth to death took place at home. However, the Sikhs generally celebrated the start and the end of life at the Gurdwara. The newborn baby was taken to the Gurdwara for Amrit ceremony, seeking divine blessings. At death, the body was at home or at the Gurdwara khuhi. A wooden platform with bamboo poles on each side to carry the body to the cremation grounds was permanently kept there. Pyre was lit by the eldest son or by the father in the case of a child. Thereafter, every one assembled at the Gurdwara for prayers. Marriage of an offspring was the prime aspiration of parents; no effort or expense was spared in celebrating this gratifying event. The common mode was arranged marriages. Parents searched for a bride or a groom from a family of compatible means and good reputation through the network of family and friends. Girls were usually married between the ages of early teens to late teens while the boys between their late teens and early twenties. Some men married whenever they could find a wife, sometimes as late as mid thirties. Men of means had two wives. Widowed men and women usually remarried except the Hindu women.

Mating of Animals: Observing mating by sparrows, pigeons

and street dogs was a common phenomenon. If a bitch was in heat, dogs from all around swarmed around her. They fought with each other for the first right. She ran dodging them. The strongest got the chance. But not every mounting was successful. This went on for some days and nights. Finally some one got the penetration. The battle ended for other dogs; they left voluntarily. The dog dismounted but the two could not unhook. They stood around for a long time, back to 121

back, sometimes one dragging the other. Sometimes, some annoyed person hit them with a stick. The pain and scare helped them separate fast. Mating of buffalos was an arranged affair. When a buffalo was in heat, she signalled it with long and loud mows. She was taken out in the open and tied to tree trunk. Fodder was put in the front to keep her calm. A buffalo bull was brought and taken around her a few times, sniffing. If he became interested, an errection followed. The bull mounted while a couple of men held the buffalo steady. Sometimes, a couple of tries were needed to complete the mating. Mare or jenny had to taken to a stable. Watching the mating in action was a titillating education in animal husbandry. Government stable in the town had two circular arenas, neat and clean, each with a manger in the centre. Usually it had a stud horse and two stud donkeys. Villagers brought their mare or jenny for mating, tethering it to the manger filled with appetizing fresh fodder. The trainer walked the stud around a couple of times to smell the hind. Is she in heat? The process was repeated until the stud got interested and a very obvious erection followed. The expectant owner gently held the females head and patted her neck so that she would stay steady. The mating over, the delighted owner offered a bucket of grain to the stud and a rupee to thank the trainer. There was no mating fee. Sometimes the mating did not work; the female kicked her hind legs whenever the stud tried to smell her. Repeat performance had to be attempted on a more auspicious day.

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Chapter XIII

Knowledge is a wealth that no one can steal Cultural emphasis on learning was deep rooted but opportunities were constrained. Hindu Temples and Universities pursued education with vigour but only Brahmin boys had the right to learning. Shopkeepers and merchants taught book keeping in Landa notation to their sons. Islam brought Farsi (Persian); it became the language of the men of learning. Urdu was born out of interaction between Hindi and Farsi. Islam broadened the education base through Madrassas but solely for boys. Sikhs were the first to open up teaching to women as well. In Chhotian Galotian, more women knew reading and writing Punjabi (Gurmukhi) than men. The British brought English and revolutionized education. Soon after the conquest of Punjab in 1848, they started opening schools here and there. People responded with enthusiasm, particularly the Hindus and Sikhs. Literacy started expanding rapidly. The new system embodied a tiered approach: Primary up to Grade IV, Middle up to Grade VIII, High School up to Grade X. Matriculation Diploma was awarded by the University of Punjab founded in 1882, paving the way for college education. Urdu was the medium of instruction until Class VIII; English thereafter. High Schools were located in towns and cities; Colleges were located only in major cities, principally Lahore. With few exceptions here and there, education was the privilege afforded by only the comparatively rich. Travel and cost were serious impediments for rural students. Few villages had a school. Walking miles to a village with a school discouraged the boys and barred the girls. For a village to have a school, people had to demonstrate their ability and willingness to afford a school. This is illustrated by the case of Chhotian Galotian. Government opened boys Primary School in the village in1902. Under a cost sharing arrangement, Government assigned a teacher while Gurdwara provided the building and playgrounds and parents agreed to meet the cost of supplies and maintenance. Medium of instruction was Urdu. Girls Primary School opened in 1918. Cost sharing between the 123

EDUCATION

Gurdwara and the Government was the same as was for the boys school. Medium of instruction was Punjabi. Only Sikh parents allowed their daughters to go to school. In 1919, a second boys primary school was established by the Missionaries adjacent to the Christian enclave. It was managed by the Archdiocese of Lahore which met all costs except that it was built on public (common) land. Government school was made co-educational in 1937; Christian school in 1942. The schools had a long hall with windows, with an attached small room which served as the teachers office. Each class was assigned a portion of the hall; students sat on the floor while the teacher stood. In good weather, and usually it was good, classes were held in the open grounds. On enrolment of a boy to the primary school, a well-to-do father took sugar puffs for distribution to students and a silver rupee for the teacher. No such ceremony took place for girls. Girls were escorted to the school; everyone brought their own lunch but invariably girls exchanged bits and pieces. Boys always ran home for lunch during recess. Every student carried a takhti (wooden board) on the head with a satchel resting on top. The home made satchel contained books, note books, slate, ink pot, pens and pieces of milkstone and yellow mud cake called gachi. Writing was learnt and practiced on the takhti coated with gachi, using reed pen and black ink. Washing off the old coating and putting a new coat was a daily ritual. The girls performed this task inside the school compound whereas the boys went to the pond nearby. Takhties lined for sun drying made an arty spectacle. Arithmetic was practiced on slates using milkstone to write. The slate was wiped clean by spitting on it and rubbing it with the bottom of the fist or with ones own shirt. Paper notebooks and pens with a nib started in Class III. Since notebooks were expensive, takhties also remained in vogue because they could be used again and again. Extraordinary emphasis was placed on learning time tables. A student in Class I could recite tables up to ten; in class III he could sing 16x16 tables like a parrot before moving on to learn 1/2, 3/4, 1 1/4, 1 1/2 and 2 1/2 time tables one half, three quarter, one and a quarter, one and a half and two and a half time tables. Tables were recited loudly day in and day out until they became embedded in memory. Rote it was, but it enhanced mental arithmetic and helped to solve complex 124

mathematical problems quickly. Geometry making three dimensional figurines with clay.

was

learnt

by

Punishment for not doing homework or for being disorderly was common in the boys school. A really harsh punishment was kanh pakarna, making the boy half squat on his haunches, stretch his arms through his legs, and hold each ear. Anyone who did not hold his bum high up was slapped on the bum. Class monitors assisted the teacher in the Boys school. They had the authority to punish a classmate by slapping the face while holding the boy by the nose (not caring about the unsightly snot ran up and down the nose of the nervous derelict). The following stories by students of the day illustrate the problems, the distractions and the challenges.

Girls Primary School I joined the school in 1924. It was passing through a difficult phase. The mud roof leaked during the rains. I had just completed Class II when the frustrated teacher left. With no replacement, the school was closed. During the forced closure of the school, Sardar Shivdev Singh, a philanthropist from Daska and member of the District Board, funded an adult education school at the Gurdwara. Retired Munshi Hakam Singh was appointed at R.10 per month to teach reading and writing Punjabi. He ran two shifts; 10-12 a.m. for girls; mid day for boys. He was an excellent teacher: strict, knowledgeable, devoted and disciplined. He dedicated the afternoons to reading and explaining Sikh scriptures to older men and women. He was the only one in the village who had studied at Amritsar and obtained Giani diploma from the University of Punjab. Learned in Sikh scriptures, he was highly respected in the village for his ethics. Concerned about lack of formal schooling for girls, young Judge Bhagat Singh came to the rescue. He paid for the new two room brick building and boundary walls, and egged the Government to post a teacher. After a break of four years, Veer Kaur from Sialkot reopened the school in 1931. Respectfully called Behnji Veero, she was a trained, experienced and enthusiastic teacher. I went back to School and completed Class IV. 125

Girls school had a natural discipline; students respected and obeyed the teacher, treating her as their mother. The school had an Ayya (Maid) who escorted the students between their respective homes and the school, affectionately serving them cool water all day from earthen pitchers. Her salary was Rs.5 per month. The teacher received Rs.20 per month and lived in a rented room, paying just one rupee per month. There were 20-25 girls in the school. The curriculum focused on time tables, algebra, reading and writing Punjabi (Gurmukhi) and singing. Parkash Kaur Sindhu (b:1925 )

Co-education The medium of instruction in the Girls school was Punjabi in Gurmukhi script. The medium in High Schools was Urdu and English. Therefore, girls who completed Class IV had no where to go for further education. Responding to public demand, the boys school was made coeducational in 1937. Nevertheless, the pursuit of education by girls was riddled with practical difficulties at every step. My father transferred me from the girls school to the boys school so that I could learn Urdu and then go on to High School. Though we were only three girls in the school, we did not feel out of place because we knew every boy and their families. The school had four teachers, one for each class. The same teacher covered every subject. There was greater emphasis on arithmetic than in the girls school. Morning Prayer in both places was secular and started with songs. Girls school had a variety of games such as catching someone blindfolded, but no sports. Even in the co-educational school, sports were the domain of the boys; girls just watched. Class IV Board examination was held at Daska, a great deterrent for girls. Conditions were such that not a single girl living in the village made it to High School. Mohinder Kaur (1930-2008) Pathankot Four Years at Mission School 1942-46 126

For four Years, 1942-46, I studied at the one room Mission primary school. My father put me in Mission school because it had strict discipline and good academic results. However, it was crowded, one room, uproarious and smoky with no play grounds. At recess time, boys ran amok around the school and the nearby pond. There were only three girls in the school, all from the Christian colony. A few Muslim boys from Ranjai also attended the school. Several boys were much older and taller than me, having been in and out of the school at will. Waryam Chand, the senior Master, had been a fixture since the school was founded. He was a non-stop hookah smoker; bubbles were as audible as the din made by the students. He punctuated each sentence with a puff but he also watched every student like a hawk. He was very strict; either you learned or you ran away from the school. When wanting to punish a student, he would ask him to bring him a present the next day, a shooshak, freshly cut shoot of a tree. He would then beat the boy with the same shooshak. He also dispensed odd punishments. Murad Ali was my classmate, a very tall fellow. To punish Murad, Waryam Chand would tell me that you are a doctor and Murad is your patient. Murad needs medicine. He would then take an inkpot, tell me that it is a medicine, and ask me to pour it into the patients mouth. I would cry because I was afraid that Murad would beat me after the school. Amir Bakhsh was the assistant teacher. Having been posted by the Lahore archdiocese, he would behave as if the school belonged to him, annoying the locally hired non-Christian Waryam Chand. Amirs daughter Amel, an endearing little girl, attended the school. Amel, having been raised in Lahore, addressed her parents in English mannerism as Papa and Mama. In Punjabi, Papa means leaf and Mama stands for breast. Waryam Chand would tease the innocent girl through a silly pun on the two words. Is your Papa, a peeple da papa or bohr da papa? Arguments between the two teachers would flare up. Despite all the ring ding, teaching was strictly good; we were made to learn. Parents appreciated the outcome. (1937-2000) Surrinder Singh 127

PS After fourth grade I joined the newly founded Khalsa High School. It was a dramatic change; the free ranging atmosphere imbued cultural freedom. One of my handsome classmates (Gama~Ghulam Ali) was a natural singer; his voice lit us all. The School had a sports coach and a regular sports period held under the trees in the courtyard. Sadly, Partition came within the year.

Washington DC

High School: Church of Scotland pioneered a remarkable era

in the region when it opened Boys Mission High School in 1915 at Daska. A well disciplined institution producing excellent academic results, the School became a respected cradle of modern education within a short span. The resonating sound of the Bag Pipe Band leading the morning procession around the foot ball ground could be heard a mile away. Late comers speeded up on hearing the first beat of the drum. After the processional march, each class lined up in the flowered courtyard; teachers took the roll call by names. The Headmaster read a passage from the Bible and recited the prayer. Thereafter, students quietly dispersed to their respective class rooms. The Principal was always a Missionary from Scotland; the all male faculty and staff was Punjabi. Once, the English teacher Mr. James was quite ill; his younger sister, a teacher in Lahore came to see him. She volunteered to take his class as a substitute teacher. Dressed in a blue silk sari with a silver border, she walked into the class room unannounced. Stunned students were at their best behaviour, though too shy to look at her face when she asked questions, boys respected her mannerism. Sadly, she returned to Lahore after a week. English poetry in Class IX was taught by the Principal. Whenever a student nodded off in the hot weather, he would pinch him. Boys always blamed drowsiness on the bright, hot sun. He would say: Dont complain; in Scotland we rarely see the sun. His remark puzzled the students because the sun is always there in the sky for all to see. The Headmaster was not happy with his way of teaching because the polite Scot spoiled the lot by not punishing them. When they advanced to 128

Class X in which English was taught by the Headmaster, he used the cane liberally in to pull them up. To enforce discipline, corporal punishment was in vogue. Negligent students were pinched hard at the waist, made to stand on their desk seats or slapped. Only the Headmaster had the authority to use the cane. Those who reached the school after the morning prayers were caned by the Headmaster at the entrance gate. Some fearing caning, missed the school altogether. The drop out rate was low among the town students but not so among those from villages, a half of whom never finished High School. By 1945, the School had grown to its optimum strength of 300350; about 25-30 students Matriculated each year. The proportion of graduating students was roughly 42% Hindu, 32% Sikh, 16% Muslim and 10% Christian. A third of the students went on to College; the rest sought employment. Daska was a three mile walk; longer if the canal was running. Few boys had bicycles. Girls had no where to go after primary school. A high school in the village itself was the obvious solution. After concerted efforts, co-educational Khalsa High School financed entirely by Sikhs opened in 1946. Dewan Singh Thekedar was named President. He recruited an able teacher and an energetic sportsman, Kartar Singh from Gurjakh, as Headmaster. The two jointly attracted experienced teachers from all around; faculty was provided rented housing and a fair salary of twenty-five to thirty rupees per month. The school showed quick progress. Students from every community and the neighbouring villages poured in. Within a year, the number grew to a hundred. Partition closed the chapter in 1947.

College: Lahore was the centre of higher education though

there were colleges in some other cities as well. Only a few students from the villages went to college because the cost of board, lodging and tuition was beyond the means of most families. Hidden from the eyes of parents, life in colleges for students of rural origin was a far cry from the environment of their villages. They rushed back to their villages even during the short vacations. Mothers never visited their sons; some fathers went once in a while to deliver money, ghee and nourishing eats.

129

The rewards of education were high. To become a soldier or become an unskilled worker did not require any schooling. But all other jobs required schooling. A Middle pass qualified to become a school teacher, a policeman or a clerk. High School diploma holders vied for clerical positions in civil and military ranks. College education ruled the roost in the creamy layer of life. Those college graduates who did not go to Medical and Engineering colleges, cherished selection to Administrative ranks, commissions in the defence and police forces and positions in the Railways.

130

Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI

TRAIL BLAZERS

Every village had leading families whose vision and actions impacted the direction and goals of the people. The source of genealogy and events in the lives of such persons were the bards who came by at regular intervals and sang at their door step. Their stops were the houses which stood out in the socioeconomic life of the village. These included the Babra clan of Ramgarhias and the Dhillon clan of Jats. The Babra Clan were among the oldest inhabitants of the village. Bards could quote their genealogy back to early 1600s. Once they owned seven khuhs; they cultivated a variety of crops. Some of them were masters of brick lining water wells as also adept in carpentry. Hindus by ancestry, they embraced Sikhism during the visits of the 6 th Sikh Guru Hargobind in 1620 and 7 th Guru Har Rai in 1659. In 1863, the visit of Namdhari Guru Baba Ram Singh further influenced their way of life. Those in farming who commonly smoked hooky, a hand held conical pipe, discarded the practice. They aggressively embraced modern education and new technology that came with the British. In the process they gained name and fame and contributed enormously to the cultural and economic enrichment of the village. The Dhillon Clan was attracted to the village by the availability of irrigated farm land. First wave of Dhillons migrated to the village from Amritsar region soon after the visit of Guru Hargobind in 1620. Hardy, skilful and frugal farmers, they slowly expanded their land holdings. One of their elders became a Lambardar of the village. Their success encouraged more Dhillons from Amritsar to move to the village during the Sikh reign. By 1800, they had become numerically the largest and dominant land owners in the village. Trail blazers of these clans rooted as ones among the common people with modest means set a process in motion which triggered a rapid transformation in 1900-1946 in the economic life of the village. This is illustrated by the ingenuity, tenacity and idealism of the Houses of Kahan Singh and Takhat Singh

House of Kahan Singh

131

Kahan Singh (18381934): Kahan Sinh was the scion of the

Babra clan in the village. His life was a panorama of industrious childhood, struggle for survival in youth, supreme suffering in mid-life, soul filled satisfaction in grey years and a stately send off in 1934 at the age of around a hundred years. His character was fused with grit, perseverance and an iron will to overcome adversity. Small built, he weathered storms in his life like a Solid Rock.

Kahans childhood coincided with the waning days of the Sikh Raj but he never talked about it. May be he did not know much about the fall of the Sikhs or may be it was too painful a subject. He learned farming from his father and uncles, who jointly owned Hassnewalla Khuh (later named Damdama Sahib). He also mastered the clans own craft of carpentry. British policy in early years of their conquest of Punjab focused on demolishing the power and pride of Sikh peasantry by squeezing agriculture. Depression in farm prices forced his cousins to seek opportunities in new civil works that the British were developing. Kahan was the only one left to cultivate the farm. Adversities soon took over; woes followed in quick succession. One woe doth tread upon anothers heel so fast they follow .. (Shakespeare) Kahans wife died in l895 leaving behind a sixteen year old daughter (Eesro) and four young sons (Dula, Khazan, Ganga and two year old Dewan). He inducted Dula and Khazan into farming. To fill the need for women in the house, he married off Dula in 1896 and Khazan in 1897. But Dulas wife died in l899 during childbirth leaving behind a two year old son Jagat. The tragedy was repeated in l900, when Khazan lost his expectant wife leaving behind a two year old son, Bhagat. Another devastating blow followed in 1902 when Dula and Khazan were claimed by the dreadful India-wide plague which had spread from abroad through ships. He abandoned the mice infested old house and moved to the haveli where normally the buffalo, fodder and fuel were kept. After the marriage of Eesro, no woman was left in the household until his third son, Ganga, a young mason, was married in 1907. The tragedies, five deaths in 7 years, did not break Kahan. He struggled ceaselessly to raise his young family, cultivating 132

land and earning supplementary income from carpentry during lull in farm work. To lay the foundations for a better future Kahan, the working man, chose for his motherless children and grandchildren, the path of education and technology. But, there was no school in the village until l902. Instead of putting them into farm work, as was the custom, he sent Dewan and Jagat to the nearest primary school at Waddian Galotian. For High School they would have to go far away to a boarding school which Kahan could not afford. So he sent Jagat and Dewan to Gujranwala as apprentices in the rapidly flourishing industry of manufacturing harmoniums. Meantime, his second grandson Bhagat, who was in the first batch when the school opened in the village in 1902, won a scholarship to go to High School. Fourteen year old Dewan was so enthused by his academic success that he took on a job to support him and stayed with him for the six years of his high school at Khalsa High School, Gujranwala. After twenty two tough years which tested his grit to the utmost, drained him emotionally and bled him economically, dark clouds parted and Kahans stars started shining. Bhagat topped the Panjab University Matriculation rolls in 1913 and went on to College on a scholarship. The same year, Dewan was married to Maya. As WWI broke out, Dewan enlisted in the Army and was assigned to Sappers and Miners Regiment in Mesopotamia. Jagat emerged as the best tuner of harmoniums. He became king in the trade and came to be known as King Sahib. Bhagat won a scholarship at every step on the academic ladder on to Law College. He became a Judge in 1917at the young age of 22, bringing name and fame not only to Kahan but also to the entire village. His dreams fulfilled, eighty year old could retire now as a gentleman farmer, but not Kahan. A new worry started nibbling his heart. His successful offspring will move away from the village for good. The ancestral farm would be grabbed by land vultures, constantly hovering around, as had happened with his clan in the previous century. But his fears evaporated when Dewan started remitting money from Mesopotamia for purchase of additional land around their khuh. It was a concrete assurance to Kahan that Dewan would return to the village. This good feeling was further reinforced when Dewan started a brick kiln at Nanoke in 1927. It was a prestigious as well as a lucrative venture. With one grandson as kingof harmoniums, another as a venerable Judge and a son as a prosperous Thekedar, Kahans heart blossomed. 133

Kahan often had the urge to visit Judge Sahib at Lahore. Tonga to Gujranwala, a train to Lahore and then again a tonga from the station. It was a days journey; the cost one rupee (equivalent to a days wage). Eager, hardy and frugal Kahan would instead rely on his own power. He would go to bed at sunset. His daughter-in-law Maya would prepare pranthas, put achar between the folds, wrapped some gurr, assembled a change of clothes and his good juti and put them beside his charpoy. He would rise at midnight, sling his clothes and meal over his shoulder, tuck the juti under his armpit and start walking cross-country, bare feet. Covering about 20 miles by day break, Kahan would stop at a khuh, take a bath, eat his meal and lie down for an hour. The next stop would be river Ravi. He would take a boat across if the river was in spate, each passenger paying one anna to the boatman. In dry months, he waded through at marked crossings where the water level was below shoulders, holding his belongings in hands held high. On the other bank he would wash himself, dress up, take a tonga paying four annas and by sunset reach his grandsons gate. His proud face radiated with joy as Judge Sahib touched his feet and the two embraced while servants watched. A week away from the village was enough; the cosier environment at home, his crops and buffalo beckoned him to return. No walking back Bapuji (grand pa)! Judge Sahib had reserved a second class seat in the train to Gujranwala and a waiting tonga to take him back to the village. The last decade of Kahans life was sublime. Approaching hundred years and blessed with peace and happiness, he breathed his last in 1934. A stately send-off was given by his surviving son, Dewan and his grandchildren, who all wore marigold garlands. Two black horses ridden by young grandsons Avtar and Joginder on one, and Kartar and Sheri on the other, led the procession to the cremation grounds. The eldest grandson Jagat walked behind showering hard candy and coins over the coffin. After prayers, his surviving son Dewan lit the wood pyre. Bhagat was missed by everyone as he could not reach in time for the cremation from his far away duty station. Bhog followed thirteen days later when the entire clan and friends gathered to celebrate Kahns enviable life. Maunds of karah and jalebian were fed to every villager who stopped by. A month later, Kahns ashes were taken to Hardwar for immersion in the Ganges. The old fighter had merged with the elements. 134

Dewan Singh Thekedar (1893-1977): Having witnessed

the tribulations and the perseverance of his father Kahan, Dewan inherited the ever surging energy, relentless devotion to work, value of sacrifice and guts to face odds. He was also psyched by his fathers hard knowledge that respect in rural society was directly proportional to the number of acres one owned. A trait that Dewan cultivated was versatility in gainful pursuits and steadfast devotion to expansion of education. Dewans formative years were dotted with five family deaths, each at their prime. His mother died when he was just two; one bhabi (older brothers wife) after the other died in childbirth; and two brothers were claimed by plague in 1905. He never reconciled himself to these losses. His body would always cringe and he would hold his head between his palms whenever he talked of his dying and delirious brother Khazan, hitting his head on the ground because of the intolerable pain. No cure and no pain killers; the helpless family simply watched and wept. He lamented not having known mothers love even though his older sister Eesro drenched him with motherly affection throughout her life. These losses forged in his heart the worth of family life; he used to say that the strength of a family lies in the number of arms that they have. Dewan studied up to Class IV at Waddian Galotian; further education at a Boarding High School in a city was beyond family means. His father sent him to Gujranwala to learn harmonium manufacturing. But the flame for education remained so imbedded in his heart that after his four years younger nephew Bhagat finished Class IV with a scholarship, Dewan worked in Gujranwala for six years so that Bhagat could finish High School. He took upon himself to be a father to him. A deep, life long personal bond ~father and son~ took root. Bhagat Matriculated in 1913, First Class First, earning a College scholarship. Dewan was married to Maya soon thereafter. World War I broke out in 1914; Dewan enlisted in the Army and was assigned to Sappers and Miners Regiment. He served in Mesopotamia for four years until the general disbandment at the end of the war in 1918. He earned two silver medals. (see Veterans). This was his first personal contact with the British, the Arabs, the Turks and the non-Punjabi Indians. It was here that he discovered himself. He mastered the art of getting things done. 135

From Mesopotamia, Dewan regularly remitted his earnings to Mangal, his childhood friend, to purchase any parcel of land that became available at his fathers khuh. That was his way of strengthening his fathers hand. On his return after the war, he consolidated the family holdings, built a second khuh to economically irrigate the land lying across the road, introduced cultivation of American cotton and planting it in rows as opposed to customary broadcasting of seed. But his heart lay in doing something challenging, something new. Dewan worked feverishly to enhance his income. He undertook building contracts, liquor vending, ventured into whatever came his way. He delved into satta (bullion futures), in which he lost as much money, if not more, as he made out of it. In 1927, Dewan embarked on a large investment project. He started a modern brick kiln; none existed in that part of the countryside. The venture was risky; the market was untested. The massive undertaking involved acquiring land, constructing the huge oval kiln, hiring expert labour from the Ambala region to cast the mud bricks, importing coal from Bihar, commissioning sheet metal chimneys and hiring experts in coal firing a brick kiln. Ghumars with a contingent of donkeys were his standby transporters the year round. They brought coal from the Gujranwala railway dock, stacked dried bricks in the kiln and delivered baked bricks to the construction sites. The brick venture, partly financed by Takhat Singh Lambardar, paid off handsomely, in money as well as in prestige. Two chimneys, smoke bellowing out, stood proudly tall, visible from as far as the eye could see. Every brick had DSB initials, the same as were tattooed on his forearm since the war days. The venture paid off handsomely, in money as well as in prestige. He became the largest employer in the village and came to be known as Thekedar Sahib. The onslaught of global depression in the 1930s led to steep fall in the stock market and heavy business losses. Seeking an additional source of income, he won in auction a Government license in 1937 to sell liquor from an authorized shop in Waddian Galotian. The margin was not large but sales were brisk at the time of Vsakhi and also whenever a group of Bhatras returned home from England. With World War II on the horizon, stock market started edging up. Money again poured into his pockets. With these profits, he demolished the mud house and built in 1938-39 a mansion with concrete linters, polished pillars and superbly carved entrance door. His records showed that the construction work 136

cost Rs. 48,000 in wages (~ 64,000 man days of skilled and unskilled labour), Rs. 50,000 in cement, lime, sand, steel, timber and other materials, besides using bricks from his own kiln valued at Rs. 40,000. Excavating and lining the khuhi cost Rs.1000. He had a room in his house dedicated to Granth Sahib. In 1941, he laid the foundations of a large complex on the main road to eventually provide separate housing for his sons. The base walls were 3 feet wide and 4 feet deep. But there was a downside to the war as well. Brick manufacturing cooled down as the supply of coal ceased. Railway wagons had been commandeered to shuttle soldiers and supplies to war fronts. Thekedar believed that his ambitions were curtailed by his inability to converse in English. Academic and professional success of Bhagat reinforced his belief that the road to advancement lay in higher education. He often repeated the Punjabi clich that education is a wealth which no one can steal. Wanting his children to reach the highest academic level, he promised that if one of them qualifies for higher education in England, he will sell his land to finance it. In the days of Raj, the few Indian students who went to Oxford or Cambridge usually got selected into the prestigious Indian Civil Service (ICS cadre). Macaulay Plan had fomented the Indianization of the civil service opening plum positions. Thekedars life was multi faceted. A schemer with a sharp mind, never ever to sit idle he had all along feverishly engaged himself in public pursuits. Having nurtured spiritual values since studying Gurmukhi at the Gurdwara, he recited the morning, evening and bed time prayers where ever he may be. He kept Granth Sahib at home and read the scriptures on a regular basis. He was a prime mover for building a magnificent new Gurdwara with galleries at the mezzanine level. He supported his illustrious uncle Dhian Singh Pathranwala in building the Damdama Sahib Gurdwara. He patronized the spread of education in the village as founder of the Khalsa High School in 1946 and President of its Managing Committee. Helped by Judge Sahib, he also planned to upgrade the Girls Primary School. He whiled his time playing cards (sweep) with his close friends and children. He delved into satta (bullion futures), in which he lost as much money, if not more, as he made out of it. He fell in love with an influential woman, formerly daughter of an Honorary Magistrate and land owner in the Lyallpur canal colonies and widowed daughter-in-law of the village Lambardar. He defied the cultural norms and secretly married her. But to preserve clannish peace in the 137

village, he set up a second home in the city. Ishars mastery of Sikh scriptures reinforced Dewans spiritual life. Thekedar was energetic and resourceful self at 54 when Partition made him homeless, drowning his dreams. He walked out of his village on September 1, 1947 with just Rs. 90 in his pocket, never ever to go back.

Judge Sahib Bhagat Singh (1897-1977):

Whenever Judge Sahib came for a visit, practically the entire village would come out to affectionately greet him. Until then no peasant had ever shaken hands, let alone hugged, a Judge. Every home he stopped at to pay respects to elders, women offered him a glass of warm milk to sip as an affectionate gesture of welcome. Bhagat had lost his grandmother three years before his own birth. He was only two when his mother passed away while expecting a second child. His aunt had passed away a year earlier. He was just five when his father was claimed by Plague at the prime of his life. Subdued by the losses, mild manners and humility became his life long trait. In 1902 primary school opened in Chhotian Galotian; eager grandfather enrolled the five year old Bhagat in the very first batch. He became so keyed to learning that he won a scholarship in Class IV in a step by step knock out competition among the Sialkot District schools. He joined Khalsa High School, Gujranwala; the scholarship of Rs. 4 per month paid for his tuition and books. His fourteen year old uncle Dewan supported him and stayed with him until he finished High School in 1913. Bhagat topped the Panjab University rolls in Matriculation, again topped the University in Fellow of Arts and then again in Bachelor of Arts with Honours winning a scholarship at every step. He did his law degree (LLB), handily won the competitive examination and joined the Punjab Judicial Service. No one in the entire region surrounding Chhotian Galotian had so far become a Judge under the British judicial system. Bhagat never forgot his grandfather. Every month Judge Sahib would send five rupees to his grandfather for his pocket expenses. Bapuji kept the silver rupees in his wooden tool box, dishing one out when ever it pleased him. He also never forgot or forsook the depth of love and support bestowed by his uncle 1/. 138

1/ .motherless in infancy, fatherless at five, but encouraged by a loving uncle p vi, Bhagat Singh, Punjab Superior Judicial Cadre: Thoughts on Some Problems (Social and Ethical), The Anand Sarovar Trust, 1969. Not to be coloured in his court judgments, he had opted out of postings in the Districts of Sialkot and Gujranwala. He was honest to the bone; he never accepted even the traditional box of Diwali sweets. In 1930s, the Tiwana cousins, the powerful land owning dynasty of Punjab, were locked in a land dispute. The case was assigned to Judge Bhagat Singh; the Chief Justice knew for sure that Bhagat could not be swayed. One of the Tiwanas was the Premier of Punjab and had discreetly sent a word to Bhagat. He acted as if he had never heard the message. Both parties respected his judgment to the point that the losing party did not appeal the case. Living simply and frugally, Judge Sahib kept aside ten percent of his salary for charities, giving much more to meet essential public needs. He became the largest benefactor of the village. He replaced the leaking old mud rooms of the Girls school with a new brick building and granted scholarships to deserving students. He built a lovely brick house in 1927, which was used as a guest house for the visiting Sants and other dignitaries. He patronized the famous Pind da Mela, paying year after year for all the dal served at the three-day langar. A keen professional obsever, Judge Sahib fathomed that most junior Judges could not grasp the nuances of the laws framed in Oxford-Cambrige style of English. He published a Treatise in Urdu to help such Judges to understand legal issues and past judgements. Advancing professionally, he became a Sessions Judge in 1946, one of few Indians to rise to the high office during the Raj. By then his only son Ardaman had become a Civil Engineer, having received B.Sc. (Eng.) from the prestigious Maclagan Engineering College, Lahore. Ardaman was the first engineer with roots in the historic village.

Avtar Singh Babra: Amazed by the unique style of young

Avtars handwriting, a noted Punjabi poet urged him to change his signatures from English to Gurmukhi script. Avtar did so throughout his life, signing official documents and Bank checks as well in Punjabi. He invented the art writing English in Punjabi style, with most English letters appearing under a straight line, as in Punjabi and Hindi. 139

First four years at the village Primary School, and Matric from Church of Scotland Mission High School, Daska, Avtar joined Dayal College, Lahore, in 1935. He excelled in gymnastics and became secretary of the Gymnastic Club in 1936. Photographs in the College magazine showing him on parallel bars took rounds of the village. Later that year, he became editor of the Punjabi section of the College magazine. His poems and articles brought him into contact with the Punjabi writers in Lahore. Avtar joined the literary league and started sending Punjabi magazines to the village. This gesture put his family members in contact with the writings of day. Avtar also became immersed in leftist student movement. His studies faltered. His concerned father moved him to Delhi where he learned dentistry in l937-39, as an apprentice of Dr. Udham Singh. Writing remained his love; his other love was unusual hair styles and rainbow collared tie-dye turbans. Two years passed; all that Avtar grasped was casting dentures which he proudly showed around on visits to the village. He did not make much headway in dentistry. His father brought him back and offered that Avtar take charge of the brick kiln. He declined the offer; instead he joined a private distillery at Khasa in 1940. Educated, employed, he was soon married to foreign raised Herbans from Kenya. In search of new horizons, he sailed for Kenya in 1943. War was at its peak; all shipping lanes were closed; he had to travel the hard way by a dhow along the coastal route. His wife followed a year later. With Partition in 1947 and forced migration of his family from Pakistan to India, he never again returned to see his beloved village or College in Lahore. A humane and gentle soul from childhood, social service was embedded in the psyche of Avtar from early on. One of his routines in the village was to cut a bundle of acacia shoots (datan) after school and place at the bathing sites to encourage people to brush their teeth every morning. His younger brothers carried on the tradition after he went on to College. Compassion was another of Avtars traits. Ghulam Nabi, a promising child of the Syads of Nwan Mohalla, and Avtar were classmates. One afternoon, playing cricket in the street using a wooden ball, Ghulam departed from the routine and threw the ball straight at eye level hitting Avtar in the face. Avtars two front upper teeth were broken; Ghulam could not face the stream of blood from Avtars mouth and his cries. He ran home. Avtar returned to school after four days of home 140

treatment but Ghulam did not. Was he scared of retaliatory beating? A second week went by and Nabi was still not in the school. He fell behind in studies; the danger was that he may drop out altogether. Encouraged by his mother, Avtar went to Ghulams house but could not find him as he was hiding. Then, Ghulams younger sister quietly pointed towards the hideout. Avtar found him holed up behind a pile of cotton under a palang, a pedestal bed. Avtar convinced him to return to school. Ghulam Nabi became the first Muslim High School graduate from the village.

Other Babra Trailblazers Dhian Singh Pathranwala (1848-1938): Dhian was born
at a time when there were no schools around; he learnt reading and writing Punjabi at the village Gurdwara. He achieved phenomenal success from the building works at Sukhar barrage to marble enterprises at Lahore. He became rich and famous. A peoples man, he built many a lasting institution for public well being in his native village and in Lahore.

Dhians grandfather Bishna, his brothers and cousins farmed the ancestral land at Hussenewala Khuh. Bishna was a hooki smoker, as were some of his cousins. While on a whirlwind tour of the region, the Namdhari Guru Baba Ram Singh came to the Khuh in 1863, and stopped them from smoking, breaking their hookies there and then. He gave a stern discourse on Sikh values to a large assembly at the khuh and implored them to rise to the challenges ahead. Bishna and his son Buta (Dhians father) embraced the Namdhari ethics. Once, Buta took young Dhian to Lahore for darshan of Baba Ram Singh. Dhian listened to Babaji with intent. The impressionable youth was won over for life; he became an ardent Namdhari adherent. A new world opened up for him. He was the first Youngman to move out of the village to the city. After a few initial construction jobs in Lahore, Dhian took a sub-contract in the civil works of the then largest barrage being built in India, the Sukhar Barrage in Sindh Province. The quality of his masonry work and its completion ahead of schedule caught every eye. Once, as work was progressing, a heavy flood wiped out the whole embankment. Every contractor filed a claim and was compensated. Dhian did not file any claim. The puzzled British Colonel, who had all along 141

taken note of the neatness of Dhians work, sent for him and asked: Dhian, why have you not filed a claim? Dhian answered: claim for what, sir? Flood was an act of God. Why should humble me file a claim against the Divine Will? The Colonel was touched by Dhians ethics on top of his performance. He started giving him more and more contracts. By the time the Barrage was completed, Dhian had reaped riches. Returning to Lahore, Dhian leaped into marble business. Proficient and skilful, he became the sole supplier of intricately carved memorial stones for the British graveyards. He was commissioned by the British to undertake laying marble for the Cathedral of Chiefs College and the Statue of Queen Victoria. Though uneducated, Dhian Singhs mind leaped far and wide. He started importing Italian marble and sent his son Kartar to learn sculpture in Italy. Kartar returned as a specialist in marble fountains. The large Fountain by the Lahore Fort and another one in Lyallpur were his proud creations. The family became famous as Dhian Singh Pathranwala. Dhian kept a horse buggy as well as three Rolls Royce Limos. He would travel to meetings in royal style. Wanting to further expand his horizons, Dhian Singh built a Cinema named Minerva, though he himself never ever went to see a show. He lived simply but with regal dignity. He built a fort like mansion for his family in the Bhati Gate area. He designated the ground floor for the use of the Namdhari Guru, his horses and his entourage, keeping the rotunda for his own Rolls Royce. Upper floors were his family quarters; a section was reserved for guests. His hospitality was legendary. Any one from Chhotian Galotian visiting Lahore could stay at his mansion and see movies free. Dhian Singhs heart lay in serving the public. He took on the Langar Seva for all major Sikh and Congress Party conclaves in Lahore, running a meticulous kitchen and an orderly round the clock serving of free meals. These events included massive gatherings at the Sikh Education Conference in 1912 and the All India Congress session in 1929 when the famous resolution for the freedom of India was passed. Apart from bearing the entire expense, he himself participated in cooking as well as the serving of meals to the thousands and thousands.

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To devote his old but active years entirely to public service, Dhian Singh yielded charge of the marble works to his sons, Narain and Gurdit. His third son Kartar moved into political life becoming the first Sikh elected Member of the Lahore Municipal Corporation. Dhian Singh returned to his native village to fulfil another dream; the building of Gurdwara Damdama Sahib at the historic site where Baba Ram Singh had camped in 1863. He also built a large khuhi in the village centre to meet the needs of the people for fresh water. The well had a covered platform for women to wash their clothes. Mission accomplished, he returned to Lahore. Agile at 90, spiritually content, his soul took leave of this earth in 1938.

Hakam Singh Harnam Singh: The terms of trade were

such that many of the Babras abandoned agriculture in favour of lucrative openings in construction in the cities. Young Hakam and Harnam moved to Lahore. They did well as masons and carpenters. In time, they became noted building contractors. One of their celebrated projects was building a residential enclave in Dharampura, the new satellite town of Lahore. Pakistan authorities have since named the street as Hakam Singh di Gali. Hakam Singhs younger son Mehar joined the Military Engineering Services and became an assertive community leader in Dharapura town. Harnams younger son Tarlok received B.Sc. (Eng.) degree in 1942 from the prestigious Maclagan Engineering College, Lahore.

Gian Singh Contractor (1892-1944):

Dula Singh was a small farmer in Chhotian Galotian. His sons Man and Gian gave their farm land to a tenant and opted for the more lucrative profession of masonry. The two moved to Kenya where the British were building a railway line using Indian technicians and labour force. After a while, Man became homesick and returned to the village. Gian stayed on and became a successful building contractor. Financially comfortable, he returned home in 1930, and bought a house in the historic village of Gurjakh for the schooling of his children in nearby Gujranwala. A short while before WWII, the British embarked on construction of barracks and military facilities in Port Blair. Gian was invited to by his childhood friend Dr. Diwan Singh Kalepani to avail of the lucrative opportunity. Gian left his family in Gurjakh, recruited a group of masons and carpenters 143

and took on construction contracts in Port Blair. His excellence earned a good name among the British officials. He also devoted his time and resources to build the Gurdwara in Port Blair in association with Dr. Kalepani. At the start of World War II, the fear grew that Japan, an Axis power, might also enter the war. The British decided to build a wireless station just outside Port Blair. They needed a trustworthy contractor. Dr. Kalepani persuaded Gian Singh to undertake the hush hush job. Gian built the station and made it operational well ahead of schedule. As the British withdrew from the Andamans in early 1943, they left Kalepani in charge. Gian too stayed put in Port Blair. He was executed by the Japanese in January 1944 along with Dr. Diwan Singh Kalepani and others, on espionage charges.

Execution of Two Distinguished Sons of the Village World War II was going through a bloody phase. The sad news reached Chhotian Galotian in January 1944 that Dr. Diwan Singh Kalepani and Gian Singh Contractor had been executed (by shooting) by the Japanese. The two were principal suspects among the group charged with spying for the British. The following information was current in Chhotian Galotian, though no one including the next of kin knew the details. Japan conquered Singapore in early 1943, and soon occupied Andaman Islands. The only mode of transport to the Islands open for the Japanese was air flights from Singapore to Port Blair. The surrounding Indian Ocean was ruled by the British navy. After a while, it became a norm that a Japanese plane would successfully land in Port Blair but on departure, it was often shot down. The Japanese took flight precautions but losses remained unduly high. The Japanese feared that the take off information was being relayed precisely and promptly to British vessels positioned around the Islands. The wireless transmitter had been moved to a secret hideout before the Japanese occupation. Searches to trace it proved futile for a while. The Japanese arrested a number of suspects including Dr. Diwan Singh, whom the British had left in full charge of Port Blair, and Gian Singh, who had built the transmission station. A military court sentenced the suspects to death by execution on charges of conspiracy and spying. 144

House of Takhat Simgh Takhat Singh (1865-1927): Thirty five year old Takhat
Singh inherited the position of Lambardar (Headman) in 1900. Broad built, stout and energetic farmer, Takhat was well liked and well respected because of his civility, humility and simplicity. Unlike other well to do farmers, he neither drank nor entertained drinking. Both his wives died while they were young in years, each leaving behind a son, Sulakhan from the first one and Mangal from the second. He stayed away from women thereafter. Though well established socially and economically, he had the innate longing to do something different. Opportunity came his way following the enactment of the Land Alienation Act of 1911 whereby non-agriculturists could not take title to the land of farmers. With no legal security to offer any more, the traditional source of farm loans from money lenders who were all non-farmers, dried up. Takhats astute mind took full advantage of the situation. He was the first Jat to fill the lending void. He started lending money to fellow farmers holding jewellery and title to their land as security. Mutual trust played a big role and that is where a Jat lender enjoyed an advantage over the merchant class money lenders even though the terms of lending were hardly any different. Takhat did well as shahukar; his initiative paid off handsomely. Success enabled him to acquire land from insolvent farmers in and around the village. One of his periodic routines was to mount his mare after breakfast of roti, fresh butter and lassi and ask the mare in which direction shall we go today? He had clients in every direction. His mud store rooms became filled with wheat at harvest time in April, slowly depleting during the year as grain was consumed, sold or lent to peasants. As time went on, his steel trunks and gunny sacks brimming with silver rupees and pawned jewellery multiplied. Takhat happily married off both his sons, without excessive pomp. Busy with money lending, Takhat transferred his land to his sons after his second wife died in 1915. He gave half of his big house to Salukhan and himself started living in the other half with Mangals family. In 1925, he obtained Government approval to install Sulakhan as Lambardar. Middle pass and diligent Mangal became his fathers aide. He quickly acquired 145

a good handle on the financial records of his father and soon mastered the intricacies of land deals. Takhat was hawkish in land acquisitions but gentle with his clients. Mangal fitted right into his grooves. It pleased Takhat to no end. Takhat had led an enviable life, without trials and tribulations. He was a happy rich old man, his offspring flourishing. Suddenly the day darkened for the House of Takhat Singh. Handsome and successful young man, Mangal suddenly contracted high fever and passed away in l926 at the young age of 35. Family wailed and wept. Takhat could not take the loss; his loose motions would not stop. Heart broken, he remained cot-ridden, wasting away. An insight raised deep fears in his heart that family intrigues will follow his death. Handing over the keys of the metal trunks to Mangals wife Ishar, he cautioned her to keep the door to the dark room securely locked at all times, to never part with the keys, to dearly guard the records of his operations and to remain bold and strong. Then he ceased to be in l927. The two followed each other so fast that the family, friends and villagers were left bewildered. Rudderless, direction and values of the family took a spin.

Mangal Singh (1891-1926): Remembering little of his

mother who died when he was just four, Mangal grew up under the caring eye of his father, the Lambardar, in a comfortable home. He studied at Waddian Galotian up to the 4 th.grade and finished Middle School from Daska. At age19, Mangal was married to Ishar, daughter of a Sfaid Posh (Honorary Magistrate) and land owner from Lyallpur District. He was spiritually oriented; from early age he sang shabads in the Gurdwara with his own harmonium. Any day that he did not go to the Gurdwara, he would impose a fine on himself and give the money to the Gurdwara. Believing in early marriage, as most people did at that time, he performed engagements of three of his children while they were still very young. Eldest Rajinder was engaged before reaching his teens and ready to be married! Second son Avtar and daughter Kartar were engaged at ages ten and nine. The younger three were yet too little to be in line. Mangal believed in being mobile but unlike his father, he did not take to horse riding. In 1915, he purchased the first bicycle in the village for Rs. 60, sold it next year, and purchased an 146

expensive three speed Swift model for Rs. 247 in 1917. An unusual character, he was the only one in the village who kept a personal diary in which he inscribed his land deals, travels, family matters and social events. (This historic manuscript is intact in the possession of his grandson Iqbal Jang). Mangal acquired a good handle on the financial records of his father and soon mastered the intricacies of land deals. He struck his own first land deal in 1923 when he purchased 4.96 acres of land at Korpur Khuh from Allah Baksh Teli for Rs. 3,000. The profitable deal made his father proud. The strategy in Mangals mind was to slowly acquire most of the Korpur Khuh for himself and his sons, separately from the Cheemianwala jointly owned by the extended family. Mangal also made quite a bit of money in satta (futures market). He lured his friend Dewan into bullion trading as well. The two also planned the new Gurdwara building which was started in 1925. Mangal suddenly contracted high fever in 1926. No treatment readily available could bring the temperature down. Within a week, he passed away at the young age of thirty-five. Mangals widow Ishar was traumatized. Soon thereafter a family feud in the House of Takhat that had simmered for sometime came to the fore. Sulakhans second wife Cheemi believed that in distributing assets, Takhat had grossly favoured Ishar. Unable to do anything about it, Cheemi hit upon an idea. Under customary law, Sulakhan had the right marry his deceased brothers wife. The assets would then merge. Mild mannered Sulakhan accepted the idea but Ishar would have none of it. She abhorred the idea. Coercion started; altercations between the two strong willed women became common. No one in the family had the power or the will to intervene beyond stopping physical fights. Chips were loaded against Ishar. She rightly feared that her minor sons will lose out in any such deal. Ishar approached Thekedar for help. He was gutsy, a man of power with connections in the judiciary. After due legal consultations about Ishar being forced into marriage per custom, he advised her that If you dont want to, you dont have to. If you are firm in yourself, I will support you. As this became known in the village, the power equation changed. Ishar was happy and grateful. In the process, Thekedar and Ishar fell in love. There could not be a juicier story in the village than an affair between an influential woman of the Lambardar family and the villages largest entrepreneur. 147

Impediments to their union were too many. Established cultural norms of the rural society could not be defied; clannish peace in the village had to be preserved. Thekedar secretly set up a second home in the city away from the hovering eyes of everybody in the village.

Rajinder Singh (1913-1984): Grand son of village headman

and money lender, son of cultured parents, Rajinder was a man of his own. Handsome with large spell casting eyes which could rain terror and love in quick succession, the Rajinder was an enigma. He loved common people but kept his distance from them; he loved money but spent it as fast as he made it; he loved women but never shared his heart with any one of them; he loved farming but never ever held even a sickle in his hand; he kept hunting dogs but never hunted; he loved his children but never sat down to share time with them. Rajinders teens were traumatic. His illustrious father and rich grandfather passed away when he was thirteen. Money came too easily into his young palms. He dropped out of middle school; his life went astray. He started frequenting mujras, the musical revelries performed by women singers who were dubbed in popular parlance as kanjarian (prostitutes). Entertainment and sexuality led to the need for more money which led to more stealing from home. Rajinders mother did everything to turn him around. She prayed endlessly at the Gurdwara, she got him to wear tweets (charms blessed by Muslim fakirs); she invited a revered Sant to her house, washed Santjis feet and bathed Rajinder with the water. Nothing worked. Persistent as a mother can be, she turned to the reclusive but sublime saint of the village, the aging Sant Chet Singh. As an offering, she took new bedding, pressed Santjis feet and wept her woes silently. Santji kept his eyes closed in deep meditation and then broke the silence, pointed his forefinger towards the heavens, uttering the divine will you are going to be blessed with another son. Nonpulsed by the unthinkable prophesy, she returned home depressed. People used to say that prophesies of Santji always came true. As destiny would have it, the prophecy became a reality. (Santji often said that one day streams of blood will flow in Punjab. That too came true at the time of Partition in 1947.) Rajinder was mired deep in pursuit of sensual enjoyment and illusionary happiness. His mothers sudden departure from the 148

scene when he was a budding young man jolted him. Another staggering blow followed; his charming sister Kartaran humbled him by defiantly choosing her own course in marital life. These jolts implored Rajinder to swim out of his dissipating lifestyle. He took command of himself. His senior wife Harbans, a stout woman with endless energy, managed the harvest, ran the house and kept the kitchen going to feed the workers as well as visitors who ever poured in. His second wife Sohinder (Bawi), a delicate decorator, added a silent touch of cultural values. Bawi, a soft spoken, tender doll and a cultured beauty was deeply worried that the bad ways of her husband will utterly ruin the distinguished House. She re-traced the steps of Rajinders mother to veer him on to the right track. Bawi invited Sant Harnam Quillewale to a kirtan at their new mansion Rajinder Niwas and begged Santji to change the course of her husbands life. The kirtan over, just before departing, Santji stroked the back of Rajinders shoulder and blessed that toon raj karenga (you will rise and shine). Raj he did from 1936 until Partition in 1947. Fitting into feudal ways, surrounded by trusted loyalists, Rajinder created a formidable aura around himself. Posh lifestyle and a nexus with the officialdom enhanced his image. He became the governments man on the spot. He lavishly entertained visiting police officials. Treating people with fearsome toughness, he came to be known as Sardar of the village. Those in trouble with police or civildom flocked to him for help. Criminals always top such a list. Sardar of the village also became a sardar of the small time mafia. Rajinder and police got their cut. The Sardars closest aides were all Muslims. Issah (Ismail), his cyse of Marasi clan virtually lived in his house. Eeda, the village watchman, attended on him while his wife Saidan was a fixture in his house. Saidan was the confidante and advisor who brought the village intelligence to him, as did Rahim, the barber. These four along with his two younger brothers, Avtar and Tarlok, tall and muscular who could out drink anyone in the village, were his kitchen cabinet. He trusted them and noone else; they were ever ready to trouble shoot for him. Together they busted the social fabric, defying established norms: openly drinking, openly trimming beards, Muslims in the Sikh kitchen, and molesting women was just a tip of their doings. 149

Sardars pompous life style was a source of annoyance even for some of his own cousins. His home front had cracks that were hard to mend. The past would not leave him. His relations with Thekedar were on a defined plane. They played cards together, and travelled to towns and courts together. But, there was never a mention of the word mother. Dramatic change occurred in 1945. Inder Kaur, known as doctorani, young at thirty five, attractive, daring and spicy had returned from Port Blair to the village in December 1942. She lost her reputed husband in 1944. As time went by, she attracted many a suitor. By 1946, her heart was all set on the Sardar as she aspired to be crowned as the queen of the village. The Sardar, a man of women scrupulously shied away from her overtures. She could not palate the rejection. A woman scorned, she touched Sardars raw nerve by airing the hitherto secret news about his mothers liason with Thekedar. Serious cleavages developed but the power balance in the village remained intact. Most people minded their own business; doctorani moved away to a friends village near Amritsar. The Sardar had lofty political ambitions. He successfully contested the election to the District Board in 1944, becoming the first elected official from the village. Eying the future, he met with the Punjab Premier, Sir Khizar Hayat Khan Tiwana in 1946. His long term goal was to contest an election to the Punjab Legislative Assembly. But the political map changed rapidly thereafter; Punjab was partitioned in 1947.

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Chapter XVII

Money Lenders
(SHAHUKARS)

Many a household incurred debt, some periodically and some perennially. Money was borrowed for marriages, birth of first son, to cope with prolonged illnesses, to tide over crop failures, to purchase seed, to build a house or construct a well. If a household ran out of food before the next harvest, housewives borrowed wheat and repaid one and a half times the quantity as soon as the crop came in. Lacking banking facilities, money was borrowed from shahukars, a long established informal institution. Sethis of Ghokal and Waddian Galotian were the big financiers. The Bhatias of Chhotian Galotian ran well organized operations from their shops. Lending was unregulated; Interest rates were exorbitant, varying between one anna per rupee (6 %) per month for short-term unsecured borrowing and one paisa per rupee (1/64th. ~1.56%) per month for longer term secured loans. As debts piled up, land was rapidly passing into the hands of money lenders. Concerned with farm unrest and brewing social and political upheavals, the Government of Punjab enacted Land Alienation Act of 1911 whereby most farm debts were scrapped and non-agriculturists were henceforth barred from taking title to the land of agriculturists. With one stroke, the equation changed. Debt relief and protection of their land from moneylenders worked wonders for the farmers. Following the grant of Provincial autonomy in 1935, farmers became the largest vote bank and acquired a strong political clout. Already, Jats were prone to taking the law into their own hands. This included murder of money lenders. Faced with sharp increase in risk, traditional lenders diversified into other professions. The void had somehow to be bridged. A new class of lenders with refreshing ways and new ideas was born, the Jats. Being illiterate, the Jat lenders relied on the shop keepers as their accountants. The impact of the success of the farmers turned money lenders was far reaching. There was a shift in rural economic and social power away from the merchant class to the peasantry, enhancing their stature in the village.

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Headman of the village, moneyed Takhat Singh was the first farmer to emerge as a money lender. Small farmers, the main borrowers, flocked to him as they had a trust of kinship with him and could culturally relate to him. He also had the advantage that he could legally take title to land as collateral. He soon came to love being a money lender, more than being a Lambardar. Day after day on horseback, he would go from farm to farm and village to village negotiating deals. He would make periodic forays to ascertain the state of the borrowers crop and to exchange pleasantries. To collect interest and possibly some principal, he would show up at the harvest time with a train of donkeys to carry back his share of the crop. Grain poured in from all directions. Takhat doubled his money every one to three years. Lending with land as collateral, a scribe would make a notation of the loan and its terms in Takhats ledger. As a testament, the scribe would affix a one anna revenue stamp at the end of the notation, sign it himself and have the borrower put his thumb impression. The land was pawned at barely a third of the market value. The borrower had no documentation; the courts recognized the notation as sufficient evidence. If unpaid, Takhat could take title to the land following a quick law suit. Many a farmer was unable to redeem his land; Takhat cheaply acquired acreage in many a village. Takhat Singh doubled his money every one to three years. The land was pawned for Rs. 200 per acre, barely one third of the market value. Many a farmer was unable to redeem his land; Takhat Singh cheaply acquired land in many a village. He soon became rich and famous. Takhat Singh also practiced lending against jewellery. His record keeping was simple. He would write a note on a scrap of paper stating the month and the amount lent, wrap the jewellery and the note in a piece of rag, make a double knot and put it in a gunny bag. The sacks were stored in a steel trunk in the dungeon-like rear room of his house. Whenever anyone wished to reclaim their pawned jewellery, he would retrieve the package from the trunk, figure out the interest and complete the exchange. It was the borrowers worry to redeem or forfeit the pawned jewellery. One day heavens fell on Thakhat Singh. His son Mangal, heir apparent to his banking operations, died suddenly in 1926 at the young age of 35. Takhat Singh could not bear the loss and died heart broken within a year. Mangals son Rajinder was 152

just too young to take over. The family vehemently opposed Mangals wife Ishar managing the operations. Thakhat Singhs banking empire collapsed.

Bhag: During Takhats hay day, Bhag started emulating him.

Initially, the simple looking but wily small farmer would borrow money from a money lender from a nearby town and on-lend to needy farmers. Soon, he accumulated his own capital. This was easy because Bhag Singh was worriless on the home front. His wife had passed away and he did not take on a second wife. His four youthful sons took care of the farm while his spinster sister guarded day and night his money, buried in the mud rooms of the house. An idea hit Bhag. He introduced the easy concept of lending grain for grain. His shrewdly conceived system was welcomed by illiterate farmers. He tirelessly pursued this seemingly narrow but lucrative new field. He would deliver wheat for seed or for consumption to those who had run out of the staff of their life. At harvest time, he would collect l times the quantity lent. Harvesting over, the nightly din was the tumultuous noise of mules and donkeys laden with grain, bells ringing around their beaded necks, trotting through the village streets to unload the booty. A defaulter had to sign off a parcel of land which he contracted back to the farmer at the standard rent of fifty percent share of the harvest. As some farmers became insolvent, he steadily acquired considerable land in the surrounding villages. His money started growing like a vine. Bhag emerged as the richest man in the village. Bhag was a tightly fisted man who would not entertain social causes and had no interest in enjoyments of life. He never harmed anyone. He never competed to acquire even the smallest parcel of land in his own village. Nor would he ever lend even a rupee to anyone in the village. If Bhag had no real friends in the village, he had no enemies either.

Travelling Bank for Women: Women had needs for small

bits of money but there was not a source for them to turn to. They could neither walk to see and confide in a money lender nor could one come to their house. Bhagtu saw the need and took it on his shoulders to fill it. He did it with such tact, devotion, honesty and sincerity that had he been born a century later and been educated, he would have earned national and international recognition and commendations.

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Bhagtu emerged as a respectable travelling banker for women; his new idea blossomed. Bhagtu emerged as a respectable travelling banker for women; his own new idea blossomed. Women had needs for small bits of money but there was not a source for them to turn to. They could neither walk to see and confide in a money lender nor could one come to their house. Bhagtu saw the need and took it on his shoulders to fill it. Walking from house to house and village to village, he picked up jewellery from housewives and delivered the needed cash or vice versa. His safety boxes were the umpteen pockets of his dirty old waist coat. His clients were solely women. His personal reputation was so clean that no man or woman minded his walking into their house unannounced. Women loved to pawn their jewellery with him because they were confident that he would never cheat. He was honest to the bone and reliable. Bhagtus record keeping was all oral; never did he write anything on paper. Blessed with rare mental faculties, he figured out the interest mentally which meant that he remembered the month and the year in which the jewellery was pawned. He kept each clients jewellery in specific places in the dark of his snake infested house. He always retrieved it without mistake when settling an account. Bhagtu would not lend to men, even to those with whom he enjoyed good personal relations. Once, Dewan Singh Thekedar fell short of cash to secure the release of coal wagons for his brick kiln. Payment had to be made fast, lest demurrage charges by Railway multiplied. He sent for Bhagtu. Having guessed the purpose, Bhagtu arrived at the kiln, with Rs.200 on his body. When asked by Thekedar if he could lend him Rs.200, Bhagtu replied point blank: No, no money! Thekedar felt insulted and got so angry that he slapped Bhagtu. As Bhagtus turban fell off, twenty ten rupee notes flew around. He had brought the money as a special favour, but his mind wavered all along. Thekedar got the only loan that Bhagtu ever extended to a man.

Jindan: The voluptuous Jindan was the only woman lender to

other women. She would lend against jewellery to any needy woman who knocked at her door step. Jindan made her mark in a short span. Rich and generous, lending was her hobby. Her charges were low and she always forgave the interest to poor women. Only once did she lend to a man on the 154

recommendation of another woman. Her operations came to a quick halt after she became pregnant following an amorous affair with the client.

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Chapter XVIII

Joys of Life

kanh russ; jeebh russ; phullu russ (russ of ears; russ of tongue; russ of phallus) The three words surmised the paramount russ (nectar) of life. Kanh russ, enjoyment of the ears: listening to music, gossip, praise, maligning, rumours and tales. Jeebh russ, enjoyment of the tongue, lure of food, drink and lips. Phullu russ, sensual pleasure; this treat was meant to be enjoyed unseen, in strict privacy. No one ever saw a couple hugging and kissing, let alone having sex. Emotional intensity of secondary pleasures smell, sight, touch was no less impregnating. These were exhibited to the fullest. Women always found time to meet in small numbers to share and air their hearts. Men gathered for idle talk while basking in the winter sun or sitting under a shade tree in summer. Untarnished by pressures of life and unadulterated by the prejudices of the older generation, girls enjoyed comradeship amongst themselves, as did the boys.

Pastimes: The best of pastimes was gup-shup, idle chit chat.

Men talked with men audibly, women talked with women in whispered tones, and strangers talked to strangers with candour and openness. A small pleasure was mischief mongering through youthful pranks; some caused annoyance, some were relished. They all brought laughter. Many a pastime varied with seasons. Winter was the time for spinning by women. Young girls held night long spinning meets. These were productive pyjama parties. Hide and seek and tag games were played the year round by boys as well as girls. Rainy season was the time for swings. All games for boys and young men were outdoors, mostly in the ploughed fields. Spring was the time for tug of war and autumn for physical bouts. Young men played kabadi, wrestled and lifted sohaga, a heavy wood plank, to display their physical strength. Sometimes, someone organized a wrestling meet. Winter afternoons were for massaging each other with mustard oil and doing push ups. Gulli-danda was a perennial activity. It was a game bouncing and hitting a six inch stick with trimmed edges, with a two foot long stick. 156

Hockey was played during cool months on the roadside using home made balls and angled sticks chopped from roadside sheesham trees. Winter afternoons were for massaging each other with mustard oil and doing push ups. Landed aristocrats had two distinctive pastimes. They hosted mujras, song and dance performances by professional women. They also went on shikar (hunting). Since there were no open lands around the village but a rabbit was pursued here and there. Aristocratic youth had a club of their own and participated in shikar meets in the wilds of Gujranwala and Sheikhupura. They reinforced their net working at these meets. Quail hunting was a popular pursuit.

Quail Camps Partridges (quails) are a migratory bird and were commonly found in the month of September. They were prized as a delicacy; chosen ones were kept as pets for quail fights. Some individuals caught them for a living but for most, it was a pastime. The method of catching quails was simple but it required artful proficiency. A novice may not be able to catch any, like a novice fisherman. One method was using bularas (callers). Small cages were made with fine muslin and hung on poles in a field. At night a bulara was placed in each cage. Netting was installed from ground up beside the pole. Early in the morning, a lovesick bulara would start calling, uttering a series of musical notes which could be heard all around. Mating calls attracted other quails. They came for a love meet but instead got entangled in the nets. The second method was to install a net at one end of a millet field, the popular habitat of quails. A rope line stretching across the width of the field was held by two men. As they slowly and quietly moved the rope forward, innocent quails kept moving forward until they got caught in the netting. The beautiful little birds were never shot with a gun. In the quail season, hunters would hold a camp out for three nights. Each one caught about five quails a day. Together, 157

they roasted them over twigs and enjoyed them drinking, talking and making new friends. Pritam Singh Bhinder Kotli Arbanga

Country Fairs: A joy shared by the young and the old, the

rich and the poor, was attending country fairs. These annual events were the cutting edge of the culture, the togetherness of everyone. Here men, women and children mingled and indulged in celebrating an enjoyable time away from routines. Cattle fairs were a men only affair and a serious business. Many a thing happened at these fairs than meets the eye. Three of these fairs were intertwined with the cultural life of the village.

Pind da Mela: Village Fair was a three day Sikh festival of

spiritual and cultural heritage observed in early February, timed with the birth anniversary of Guru Har Rai the fair was started in 1891.The annual celebrations commenced with a festive two hour processional requiem which started from the Gurdwara. Panj Piaras, the five beloved ones, with naked swords in hand walked in front of an open palanquin carrying Granth Sahib (the Sikh Holy Book) decorated with strings of marigolds and jasmine. Groups sang as the procession wound through the narrow lanes and ended at the school grounds where Granth Sahib was decoratively and royally set up on a platform under a huge canopy. Prayer recited, round the clock program of music, songs of valour, lectures, and a poetic symposium commenced. Free kitchen ran round the clock serving meals to one and all. Preparations were as exciting as the Mela itself. Streets and drains were cleaned; women aired the quilts for house guests; everybody did anything that needed to be done to spruce up the village. People generously contributed money, materials and labour. Youth cut reams of paper blue, red, yellow, magenta, orange, green - into triangles and pasted them randomly on hemp strings using cooked flour as glue. These streamers were tied crisscross at the roof level to decorate the entire venue. People brought head loads of firewood; farmers delivered wheat; tonga wallas brought tea, sugar, rock salt and spices from Gujranwala; women cleaned the dal and wheat; men carried sacks of wheat to the mill; women sifted the flour; men chopped wood; farmers from rice growing villages brought cart loads of golden rice stalks; carpenters 158

built the platforms; workers installed the tents; children delightfully spread stalks on the ground while rolling in it; strong arms laid durries over the cushion of stalks; generous donations of ghee, milk, onions and green chillies poured in from every direction throughout the three days of Mela. Preventive measures were needed to guard against shoe lifting. This difficult task was left in the hands of students. Apart from danger of a genuine mix up, school kids had to contend with fast cookies. Pointing to a new pair on the shelf, some insisted that it was their pair, not the one given to them, precipitating arguments. An elder had to be called. He would look at the person, the persons feet, the shoe and ask the person to take the offered pair or leave bare feet! Once in a while a rupee had to be paid. Langar (community meal) for thousands of ravenous persons who had walked from far and near was a laborious undertaking; it was always meticulously managed. Huge pots of daal were cooked on slow fire day and night; women made piles of rotian on hot griddles, undeterred by the smoke which usually got into their eyes. Food was served to rows of people squatting on the bare ground. Breakfast on those wintry mornings was hot milky spiced sugary tea served in metal tumblers along with pieces of leftover rotian from the night before. Daal-roti was politely served at mid day and in the evenings. As a person held the rotian on hands cupped together, thick daal was poured on the top, followed by a serving of raw onions and green chillies. The art of eating was not to let the daal spill from the top roti while breaking bits from the lower roti to scoop the daal. It was munched with hungry enthusiasm. People ate at least three or four big rotian at a time; some ate as many as they could get; a few men came back to join the second or third sitting. Peasants have great capacity to eat, matching their capacity to work! The roadside scene was one of a country fair. Caterers made sweets on the site and displayed them on eye catching tiered shelves. Vendors brought their wares by head, cart, bicycle and tonga loads. Rice crispies, peanut brittle, roasted peanuts and chickpeas were majestically brought in baskets hanging at each end of a pole balanced on a shoulder. Multi-collared glass bangles, calendars and toys were spread on a sheet while some one with balloons stood nearby. Entertainment included display of martial arts. Any one drinking had to stay out of range to avoid rough humiliation. 159

Marri da Mela: A fair of the humble, it was a prelude to

Vsakhi, the big harvest festival. Held in mid March at no mans barren land amidst several villages, it was attended only by males, young and old. It marked the start of a month long Bhangra lasting until Vsakhi. Men danced heartily. Quail and cock fights were the popular feature of this fair. Quail fights A relatively tame affair, two bird owners set their cages across a sheet spread in the middle. Small circles formed around to witness the bout. As onlookers threw coins for one or the other, the fight was set. Each bird was patted with assuring whispers and then released in the centre to face the opponent, beak to beak. To the shame of the owner and boos from the crowd, some birds retreated fast after a couple of sharp pecks. Most pairs fought hard, constantly going after each other with wings spread, necks extended and beaks ajar. Pecking was bloody and merciless. Hushed silence was broken when a bird ran back towards its cage conceding defeat. A net was held high over the fight area; even then sometimes, a free spirited quail escaped skywards.

Cock fights These were a bloody and noisy affair. Masters of fatted cocks with colourfully dazzling feathers and bright red plumes, held them under their arm and paraded around proudly until someone organized a bout. A circle of onlookers formed in no time as the challengers sat down. Each praised his own fighter, loudly proclaiming that you are son of a lion, grandson of a champion, a defender of honour, while demeaning the opponent as a kabutri (female pigeon), a mouse, a khusra (eunuch). Bets placed, people threw coins towards their favourite or in the middle for the winner. The duel started. Expectant crowd leaned over to watch intensely. Cocks always fought 160

tenaciously; stretching their legs, elongating their necks, heaving their bodies, persistently pecking the opponents neck and plume. Restless crowd took sides as each coach egged his fighter. Blood oozed out and neck feathers fell like autumn leaves. Fight raged on till a bird staggered and the owner could not bear anymore the agony of bloody beating being inflicted on his beloved. The winner always threw a coin or two into the crowd for the health of his brave bird. All day long, as one bout ended, another started nearby. As the sun turned into a red balloon, drums beat the retreat. People headed home. Drunkards rested by tree trunks. But all hearts were set to dance every evening for a whole month until the Vsakhi fair.

Vsakhi: the jubilant harvest fair, was an exhausting affair.

Hot season had started; mid-day temperature reached 100 F (39 C). Golden wheat was ripe; there was happiness all around. The fair was held in the vast fair grounds of the twin village. Under the aged canopy of a bunyan tree spread over an acre. As the tree mature, beard from its old limbs slowly reaches out to the ground, took root, fattened and formed new trunk. Steadily, it had spread and spread into an awesome, dense roof supported by a series of natural pillars. Gods gift, it was a cool auditorium for the stalls, hawkers, entertainers, perspiring crowds and sweating dancers. Entertainment included a hand operated wooden Ferris wheel, jugglers, near naked acrobats, wrestling, kabadi and day long bhangra. Damsels milling around in bright clothes were a fair sight to ogle. Bhangra group after bhangra group of happy young men lead by a drummer marched from their villages to the fair grounds. Many had country brew rolled up in their loin cloths; some blew bakra, the traditional Punjabi challenge of placing lips on the back of the hand and letting out powerful spurts of breath deep from their lungs. Some groups danced in the village square before moving on to the fairground. The square was noted for an English liquor shop and freshly fried pakoras. Bhang (marijuana) pakoras were fried on demand. Drinking was common among men; few drank to excess. Scuffles among men took place here and there. Most people just watched as someone tried to separate the warring lords.

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Business was brisk. Main items sold were colourful glass bangles, artificial jewellery, walnut bark for reddening lips, herbal oils, natural medicines, toys, and lots of food along with carbonated drinks and sweets. Many a villager saw for the first time, a carbonating soda machine. Bottles filled with a spoonful of syrup and water, were loaded on to a wheel connected with a gas cylinder. As the wheel rotated, injecting carbonated gas in bottle after bottle, the glass marble inside arose with pressure and sealed the bottle. These were removed, cooled in an iced tub and sold to thirsty onlookers. Permanent tattoos with an electric drill type machine attracted many young men and newly married women. Young men loved to have flowers on their shoulders or biceps, names on their forearms and symbols or religious signs drawn on the back of their hand and foreheads. Women loved a beauty dot on their cheek or chin. Fast salesmen talked women into getting a tooth or two covered with gold to make their smile inviting! Actually, the shell was made of polished brass. Fortune tellers had a field day. Begging and pick pocketing was rare; if a pickpocket got caught, he was beaten to pulp right there and then. Fists and shoes flew from every direction. No mercy, no arguments, no police report!

Youthful Pranks:

What did the teenagers do when bored with their environment? What would a muscular youth do when his pride was seemingly challenged in his own den? They all resorted to pranks, some silly and some not so silly. Five episodes, each with a degree of spice and thrill, are recalled: 1. Policeman on ant hole: Once a policeman showed up at a khuh for no apparent purpose. He was welcome to walk around the khuh and be comfortable like other people who come and go to drink water or bathe. But this visitor had the haughty attitude of a uniformed officer. Ladhu, a young farmer, got annoyed beyond measure. At an opportune moment, Ladhu locked his arms around the policemans neck, pushed him down and swiftly tied his hands and feet together into a bundle, using the policemans own turban. The unsuspecting policeman was totally non-plussed. Ladhu did not stop there. He put the bundle in the sun on top of an ant hole! The helpless policeman yelled and begged. But there was no one around; Ladhu had quietly vanished. Finally, he was let go in the afternoon by a passer-by. 162

2. Impersonators: Tarlok and Keema Teli went together to see

a famous and huge cattle fair. They found the week long fair boring and thought of creating an excitement. They stole uniforms from an unguarded police tent. Tarlok dressed up as a Sergeant while Keema donned the uniform of a constable. The two toured the fair pompously, beating people with sticks here and there and eating free sweets from shops. They behaved like clowns in a circus; They had good time till the afternoon when the real police caught them. Some acquaintance had to intercede and get them released.

3. Breast Grabbers:

Breasts are the most visible symbol of sex; the eroticism that they evoke has been portrayed in art and sculpture since ancient times. Men craved for a touch. Current flowed when a young mans elbow accidentally touched a breast at a crowded fair or at a temple. Since bras were not in vogue, nipples of young women stood out unless covered by a scarf. Two breast-grabbing incidents known to everyone in the village are shared here. Recently married to a goat herder, Santi lived in a hut two hundred winding paces from the Gurdwara. She was conscious of her being a purchased bride but quite oblivious of her physical beauty. Young and shy, Santi had the body of a film actress cast in bronze. Every man ogled her breasts if he happened to chance upon her in the lane. Her first task early in the still lingering darkness was to fetch large earthen pots of water, one after the other, for the goats and for drinking and cooking. Like other women, Santi too would fill her pot, lift it and carefully steady it on her head. Naturally some water spilled over; the wet shirt revealed her contours. With both arms raised to hold the heavy pot, her bosom became even more taut. Waiting around the corner would be the young man who had stalked her for some days to ensure that other women did not pass by at that time. He would grab her bosom, have a good feel, and quickly run away muttering something. Santi could not react as her hands were not free. Neither she ever submitted to him nor did she ever complain aloud. 4. The Doctor: Two fast friends, high school dropouts, made many a mischief together. One day, cycling back from Daska to the village, Amar and Tarlok took the longer route, crossing the Daska canal from the eastern bridge, located away from the town. It was used sparsely, mostly by farmers and 163

herders. As they cycled by, they saw a teenage mother leaning on the bridge parapet, her baby crying uncontrollably. They stopped at the end of the bridge as an idea hit them. Amar cycled back and asked why was the baby crying so much? She said tearfully that she had done everything to quieten him, fed him, patted him, swung him in her arms but nothing seemed to work. He said to her that his friend was a doctor; if she so wished, he will have him examine the baby. She agreed. He cycled back and promptly sent Tarlok. The doctor looked at the baby, examined his tongue and gently felt his tummy. He told the young mother that milk seemed to be the problem, so he wished to examine her breast. She readily popped one out of her button less shirt. He smelled the nipple and asked to see the other. Trusting the doctor, she popped the other one out as well. He smoothly licked one; then he licked the other. He patted the baby assuring that your Mamas milk will become alright. The doctor started sucking her breast rolling his hands all over. Excited he became. When she realized what was going on, she yelled the loudest yell to her husband ploughing a nearby field. He came running with a lathi in his hand. The two cycled away as fast they could. Amar told every friend in the village that henceforth his buddy should be addressed as doctor sahib. 5. Dhoota: A simple hand held instrument, dhoota was used by town criers. Once, Kartar made one at his Engineering College shop and brought it home to the village. His young brother, Surrinder was so impressed by how it magnified the voice that he thought of putting the instrument to some good use. Amar was a popular cloth merchant. He would sell colourful mill made prints at a cut price. Whenever he brought new materials, women flocked to his shop. Once he brought a tonga load of bolts; everyone saw them being carried to his house. Anticipation of trendy new prints was in the air. The next morning Surrinder picked up the dhoota and went around the village announcing that every material in the shop will be on sale at 2 and 1/2 annas (2 cents) per yard. The shop will open within the hour. The news spread like wild fire. The front room of his house in a narrow lane served as his shop. Women gathered in numbers, blocking the lane. Amar was still asleep in the courtyard. On hearing excited voices, he came out of his house and enquired as to what had happened. They 164

all asked him to open the shop quickly. He told them that he will not be ready until the next day. Annoyed, they all yelled at him as to why had he made the announcement. Amar was shocked beyond measure when told of the proclamation all over the village. The price quoted was even below his cost. He had to pacify his customers, begging their forgiveness. Surrinders mother had to answer for the prank.

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Chapter XIX

Quarrels and Crime

zar, zoru, zamin (money, woman, land)

Money, women and land were the three precious possessions of men. They toiled, fought and gambled over them, stole and schemed to acquire them, and protected them with their lives. The spell of zar, zoru and zamin, with ego and jealousy implicit in them, motivated crime - fights, murders, squabbles, thefts, rapes and swindling. Blood letting by men, though common in villages of Punjab, was minimal in Chhotian Galotian because strains of violence in character had been smoothening by culture and education. Only one murder took place and two bloody battles were fought by first cousins. Quarrels among women reflected territorial assertion. Loud verbosity, yes; scuffles, rarely. Spats between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, unpleasant rivalry between the two wives and tirades between wives of two brothers sharing a compound, were seen sometimes but heard often

Nihang Battles: Nihang cousins fought over a vacant plot

which was not precisely settled when the ancestral assets were divided. Houses of three Mangal brothers shared a compound; the fourth lived in a shed on a large plot opposite them. Baba, their uncle, and his strong armed sons lived cramped in the old quarters; they argued their right to the disputed plot. Mangal brothers refused to yield. Legal recourse was not possible because only the ownership of farm land was recorded. Baba decided to take possession by force, and announced the day on which they will demolish the shed to assert their right. This led to the first pitched battle fought in 1929.

The two sides assembled early in the morning at the plot. Arguments led to a scuffle; the parties picked up their lathis stashed nearby and the battle started. Men of the village were quietly absent; youngsters and women watched in awe from the rooftops. Mangal brothers were no match and got severely beaten up with metal tipped lathis. Police from Daska arrived in the afternoon and arrested several of them; the injured were carried to the hospital at Daska. Court sentenced two of 166

Babas sons to six months in jail, releasing the rest. Plot ownership being a civil case remained unresolved. Taking advantage of the jail terms, Mangal brothers fenced the plot, constructed a hut and bought goats for the lamed brother to earn a livelihood. After nursing of wounds, arguments revived and blood started boiling. Events led to the second battle of the Nihangs in 1932. One bright sunny winter Sunday morning, Baba and his sons arrived in force with spiked lathis. Promptly, they started to pull down the hut. Mangal brothers emerged from their houses across the lane, spiked lathis in hand. Their women stood on their roof tops, yelling with ferocity. Helpless crowds gathered in the nearby streets. No one had the inclination or the power to intervene. This battle was so fierce that every one of them was bludgeoned. Babas sons had a clear upper hand when a Mangal brother pulled out a fodder axe and smashed Babas skull. Aware that the use of a sharp weapon was a culpable murderous act, he pulled out the axe from the skull, wrapped it in a piece of cloth and threw it to his wife across the lane. She promptly washed it and hid it in a pile of fodder. Battle stopped after the four Mangal brothers, Baba and two of his sons lay here and there, badly mauled and bleeding. Mangal managed to stagger into the safety of a hideout but one of Baba sons hunted him down. Hours later when police arrived by horseback and tonga, bodies were laid on cots in the boys school compound. Sobbing women gave them water and nursed their wounds until they were carried away on cots to the hospital by helpful hands. The battles left a deep wound on the psyche of the two families. They were forced to pawn their land to meet legal expenses and care for lamed Bhatto, the youngest of Mangal brothers, for life. Nihang blood letting was rendered into two poems narrating vivid details of the battle scenes: the crackle of lathis, the hits and misses, the yelling, the falling down, the axe, the merciless blows and red streams of blood. How a man in his prime would lift his lathi with both hands all the way to his back, rise on his toes and hit with all the power he could muster breaking the lathi and bones of his adversary. The poems became a part of the village lore. Sadly, the poet could not read and write; he was illiterate as were most of the 167

village folks. No one else ever thought of putting the poems down on paper.

Brink of Bloodshed: In March 1937, a brawl took place at

Marri da Mela between Rajinder, the Sardar of Chhotian Galotian, and Guryia, a powerful Jat of Ghokul. Rumour had it that one side tried to steal a pure bred puppy belonging to the other. Fight was avoided but the two threw a challenge to square it out next month at Vsakhi da Mela. Guryia made open preparations to lead his armed gang to the venue. Unsure of his ranks, the Sardar hired professional fighters from Jandu, a village of fierce Sansis, the tribe of Maharaja Ranjit Singh. They camped in Chhotian Galotian, wining and dining. On Vsakhi day, each side marched towards Waddian Galotian, the venue of the Mela. Lathis in hand, drums beating, wine bottles tugged in their loin cloths, both sides were worked up, intoxicated. Fearing bloodshed, Dewan Singh Thekedar rushed to Waddian Galotian, taking along Mangal Singh, Lambardar of Nanoke. They met with community leaders from both sides in the plaza where Thekedar happened to own a liquor shop. Thet quickly worked out a plan which called for the two sides to dance Bhangra at separate spots, enjoy themselves but avoid contact. The small posse of Police routinely present at large fairs supported the idea. The peace plan was hurriedly conveyed to the two camps. Wisely, the two leaders agreed but there was no certainty that someone in their ranks will not spoil for a fight. Riding his horse, Rajinder led his troupe to the plaza, dancing and abusing Guryia. The force headed by Guryia gathered at the eastern edge of the bunyan canopied fair grounds, drinking, dancing and daring their adversaries to come forward. Police constables, sticks in hand but relaxed, stood around unworried because the two sides had agreed not to attack each other. As the sun melted, the soldiers who had gone high in sprits, staggered home high with spirits.

The Never

Cried Murder: The sole murder was thoughtlessly perpetrated by a young man in 1946. He chopped his wife in cold blood with the connivance of his mother. For some reason, the mother could not tolerate the sight of her young daughter-in-law and wanted to throw her out. She pumped the ears of her son to no end. The daughter168

in-law refused to return to her parents to clear the way for a second marriage. The quickest way to resolve the tussle was to do away with her. The son acquiesced. One late night, the mother expressed the urge to go the fields and asked the daughter-in-law to escort her. It was a usual request from one woman to another. They chose a dark shady spot in a nearby cotton field. Lurking behind the acacia tree was the young son with a sharp sword. People whispered that one of his cousins was an accomplice. The deed done, the young man tied the body parts in a fodder blanket, carried the bundle on horseback and dumped it before day break in the full flowing Daska canal. The family heaved sighs of relief but nothing ever remains unobserved and uncommented in a village, not for long. The act, the blood trail, the missing woman, all became known but no one spoke up. It was the relentless pursuit by the victims distraught father that forced the police to investigate. Villagers shielded the culprit; people pretended to know nothing when questioned. Powerful connections helped to prevent arrests. Thanedar (Police Inspector) was given a mare and a colossal sum of one thousand rupees. Case was pending; Partition saved the day.

Rapes: Young women working on the farms were abused; how

often it happened is hard to say. Sometimes they submitted to rapes of consent on the promise of a reward; sometimes the fear of losing the only source of livelihood kept their lips sealed. These workers were all the poorest of the poor, the Christian Dalits.

An awesome episode involved two beautiful girls in their late teens and two young men from a powerful family. The girls and their mother regularly cleaned the barns where buffalos were kept. The affair may have gone on for a while as the girls were sometimes colourfully dressed even while carrying garbage. Obviously, the clothes had been gifted. Notoriety came when the girls were kept in the barn for three days and nights at a stretch on the pretext that the owners thumb was injured and help was needed to milk the buffalos morning and evening. The young men also invited a couple of their fellow travellers, drank the country brew and gang raped the girls. Fourteen year old Mohni had a fry shop nearby selling crisp and spicy pakoras and stuffed eggs. He was persuaded to keep his shop open day and night. As the gang orgy continued, 169

Mohni served them eggs by the dozens and onion pakoras. One night the drunkards invited Mohni to have a turn as well; perhaps more than one turn! The youngster caught the deadly infection but never breathed a word to anyone until the pain became unbearable. His father took him to Gujranwala but it was too late; effective treatment for an advanced venereal disease was not available short of cutting the penis and hoping for the best. Mohnis parents lost their only offspring. Often, on summer nights the whole village could hear the father crying aloud from his rooftop. Two rapes involving Sikh girls were widely known to young and old. Both episodes were perverted retribution for acts of affront shown by the parents to a powerful person. Molesting the innocent young girls was an inviting option as compared to beating up the fathers. In view of the wide disparity in the power equation, the victims parents had to swallow their pride, ever denying that rape ever occurred. Secrets had to be guarded because after all, the daughters had to be married off one fine day.

Coin making: Moola Singh Bauddy landed a job in engraving

and die casting at Gujranwala, making seals and fabricating silver figurines for a famous jeweller. One day he hit upon the idea of casting rupee coins; making easy money like the Government. He made a die, almost perfectly duplicating both sides of the Queen Victoria silver rupee. Now to melt silver, he needed expert help; he talked his silversmith neighbour into joining him. The two cast silver rupees, adding a little lead to the silver with a view to lower their cost. The next step was to wash the coins in ample water. They opted to do that at Dumanwala khuh in full public view. In the process they took on a third associate, the neighbourhood barber. The trio passed some of the coins around. They were happy with the profit. The titillating venture became a talk of the village. Someone wanting a cut spilled the beans; police raid netted the three. Two of them struck a plea bargaining deal with the police and turned into approvers. Moola, the mastermind, served seven years in jail. Nobody in the village looked down on what he had done. On the contrary, the episode brought out their nationalistic feelings; some people admired that in his own small way, Moola had the courage to take on the mighty British Empire. Children loved the coin story, feeling sorry that the conspiracy had been exposed. 170

Thievery:

Thieves were feared, more so because no thief had ever been caught. Stories of their looks, their ways and means, were in constant circulation. It was said that they wore only tight briefs and oiled their bodies so much that if ever one was cornered, he could not be caught. Too slippery! House breaking took place during summer nights while the family slept on the roof top. It was rumoured that some thieves would put a medicated handkerchief over the noses of family members sending them into deep sleep. The thieves unlocked the house door with a universal key allegedly supplied by a master blacksmith. Alternately, a small opening was made in the wall from the street. For some reason the watchman never passed through the street during the hours when the theft was in progress. Articles commonly stolen were the easy to carry away linen, blankets and womens clothing. Jewellery and cash was hard to find as it was always hidden at a secret place. Thieves did not always succeed. Five flavourful stories of failed attempts were popularly told, year after year. 1. Once, a novice broke into the house of a weaver. He searched and searched but could not find anything of value; even the utensils were not worth taking as they were all earthenware. The weaver sleeping in the courtyard feigned snoring all the time. As the frustrated thief was about to jump over the compound wall, the weaver caught hold of his loin cloth and held it tightly, yelling at the top of his voice: wait, wait my dear friend in need, wait, I will give you something. The commotion woke up the neighbours sleeping on rooftops. They saw a naked man streaking in the moon lit street. Next morning the weaver showed to one and all the colourful chequered loin cloth that he had woven during his sleep! 2. A village headman turned moneylender, Takhats haveli was located on an isolated lane leading to his farm. Courtyard and rooms at the rear housed the animals and the caretaker. The two rooms to the left of the entrance were used for stocking fodder and as sleeping quarters during winter while the two to the right were used to store wheat in bulk. His granary was usually full to the ceiling from April onwards till the year end. One summer night two thieves in desperate need of food came to steal wheat. They made a knee-level hole in the outer mud wall for wheat to pour out. Sleeping on the rooftop, Takhat 171

detected sounds of activity in the alley. He came barefoot, tiptoe to the parapet and saw two strangers filling sacks as wheat flowed out slowly. Takhat quietly emptied his bladder over their heads. Bravo! Not a word said. The thieves took to their heels and he went back to sleep. Instead of losing some grain, he gained two sacks worth a rupee. Year in and year out, the tale was narrated by the villagers basking in the winter sun for idle chit chat.

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Chapter XX

WOMANHOOD of the VILLAGE

Daughters were ever a part of their mother, an appendage until about age five, a pupil and helper until their marriage and a companion and confidante thereafter. The two poured their hearts out whenever the married daughter returned to visit home. Other long breaks that women got was when they went back to their maiden homes or visited close relations at the time of weddings and deaths. It was an opportunity to share their emotions, experiences and aspirations with other women; they were great communicators. When did a girl become a woman? Sometime in her youth, the period between her marriage and the time when she bore her first child. Initial spell of marriage was the most difficult period of her life; adjusting to the new environment and coming to terms with her mother-in-law. If the husband had a younger sister, the two quickly became companions. Dealing with the wife(s) of husbands older brother(s) was a sensitive matter. Creating a niche among established domains in the joint family environment needed careful treading. Dealing with the men in the new family was rarely a problem. In fact, the devar (husbands younger brother) became her brother in residence and a protector. Devar was a proverbial favourite of young wives, sharing a romance as hinted in this popular couplet: chandi, chandi chandi, deura mera dhidh mal deh meri jan nikaldi jandi (oh! come to me devar, gently rub my belly I am experiencing an excruciating ache) Women were a socially respected asset. They were ever available sex companions for their husbands and served as their eyes and ears in the village. A few strong women ruled the roost. Mostly they accepted whatever the husband decided. His displeasure uncalled for or not, was feared; wife beating was not uncommon. They often paid the price for raising their eyebrows for his inexplicable actions. Women were the last resort of a mans own frustrations. Verbal fights among women were frequent in some families. When their ovens were hot, it was risky for anyone to offer council. Sometimes their spats were entertaining. If one woman hurled the accusation that so and so jumped on your bed, the immediate retort was that Tom, Dick and Harry 173

jumped on your bed. Children used to jumping on beds, wondered so what? They heard but never comprehended the insinuations. All women knew cooking, processing milk, cleaning, washing, cotton-picking, ginning, spinning, and quilt making. Only some of them specialized in making achar (pickles), knew milking a buffalo, hand sewing, knitting and crocheting. Every girl learnt the art of making mats and baskets, encasing elephant grass in collared khaga (cut palm leaf). Invariably, women woke up in the pre-dawn darkness, hurried to the fields in ones or twos to answer the call of nature, and had a wash or a quick bath. Between dawn and sun up, 300 women would be busy churning the yogurt, making butter and lassi; another 50 would be swirling the chakki to grind wheat; others spinned. Every household hummed with activity. Milking and Milk Processing Delivery was watched with expectation; sometimes the calf just dropped to the floor; sometimes a helping hand was needed. The female calf got up within two hours but the male calf took twice as long, needing aid at times. Instinctively, the calf rushed towards the mother and started cudding. The milk came down; the udder filled up; teats lengthened and firmed up. Protesting calf was taken away, a pot was steadied under the udder and buffalo was milked with both hands by squeezing the four teats, two at a time. At the end, the calf was again allowed to suck the remaining little milk. If a calf died in infancy, mother had to be cajoled to lower the milk by gently squeezing her teats. Sometimes, children were allowed to milk the teats into their mouths. The enjoyable stream tickled as it hit their palate. Initially, for three days or so, the milk curdled on boiling. Called baoli, the curdled milk was much relished and was shared with friends. Regular milk followed thereafter. Buffalo was milked once early in the morning and again in early evening. Morning milk was processed while the evening milk was consumed at bed time, boiled and sweetened. Processing milk involved several steps from morning to the next morning. Fresh milk was immediately transferred to a thick clay pot with a wide mouth. A fire was started in the bharoli using dung 174

cake as fuel. The pot was placed gently on top of the dung cakes and covered with a slightly tilted lid to allow escape of steam. The top of the bharoli was covered, allowing a hole for smoke to escape. The dung smouldered for hours, smoky milk heated gently, it boiled slowly, malai (fat rich crust) formed on top, and milk cooled down slowly after the dung had turned into ashes. The day long operation required no monitoring. After dinner, the still slightly warm milk was transferred to a large, fat, narrow necked clay churning pot. Its warmth was tested by dipping the forefinger. Jaag, a small bowl of yogurt from the morning, was mixed with the milk, lid put on top, and the pot wrapped up to keep its warmth steady and intact. By early morning, the contents had all jelled into yogurt. Some of the yogurt was taken out for eating; the rest was churned for making butter and lassi (butter milk). Churning the yogurt in the wee hours of the morning was the next operation. The equipment consisted of the wooden churner, a rope wrapped around the churner, and a wooden gadget to hold the churner in place. The churner was lowered into the pot and the see-saw operation started. As the rope was pulled with right hand, the rope uncoiled at the bottom but coiled at the top; as it was pulled with the left hand the reverse happened. The churner twirled in one direction and then in the opposite direction. As the arms moved back and forth by turn in rhythmic motion, the churner followed at the same pace. Women sang with the rhythm of the musical splashes in the pot. After about half an hour of churning, water was added as churning continued. More water was added on the way. Slowly butter started floating on the top. Churning was slowed to insure that butter did not get remixed. A change in the resistance to the motion indicated that all the butter had floated to the top. Churning was stopped and equipment pulled out. Butter was taken out by handfuls; fresh, creamy, sweet and pure white, a delight. The rest was the refreshing lassi which was diluted with a lot more water. The chatti and the churning equipment were washed and sun dried for the next morning. Lassi was drank day long; it was liberally shared with the needy. Butter was consumed at breakfast and lunch; children ate it by fingerfuls. In the evening the left over butter was saved in a separate pot, adding more to it everyday. After a week, when the butter had partly become rancid, it was 175

heated in a deep pan, periodically removing the foam as it floated on the top. Finally, clear, fragrant ghee was left. The daily grind of a woman, her all embracing role and her chatting time outs are best illustrated by a cross section of women. Together, they portray the womanhood of the village.

Jiwan: An Arain (cultivators of vegetables) by profession,

Jiwan had a disarming charm. She had chubby rose petalled cheeks, a glint in her brown eyes and an ever present smile. She dressed simply in three pieces of clothing, as did most peasant women: loin cloth, kurta and dupatta. At dawn Jiwan churned the yogurt making butter and lassi. She had swept the house, kneaded the dough, started the fire and baked loads of paranthas. By then, her husband hurriedly dropped a large narrow necked metal pot of fresh milk. She put the milk in a kadni for slow boiling and got ready to leave for the khuh. She placed a pot of lassi with butter floating in it on her head using her own duppata as a cushion, topped the pot with wrapped paranthas, yogurt and a dish of achar. Off she went to the khuh to the waiting eyes of her sons, husband and farm hands. They sat together to eat and drink bowl after bowl of lassi. She returned home with produce, and started cooking dal or a vegetable and made bundles of rotian in the tandoor. She returned to the khuh with lunch, took a hurried bath while the men ate and drank another potful of lassi. She then walked around the fields, checking the vegetable beds. On Sunday mornings, she picked a head load of vegetables and hurried to the bazaar, setting herself up by the Gurdwara wall. Her crisp, fresh vegetables sold quickly. As per tradition, she dished out a generous jhoonga (extra bit free) of green chilies, dhania, spring onions or methi to every customer. She carefully tied the coins in one of the top ends of her lungi and hurried home, putting away the money for the weddings of her sons. Jiwan was compassionate; if she saw a child longingly eyeing her basket of freshly picked tar, she always parted with one without hesitation. She often shared some produce with her neighbours, the potter and weaver women. In the afternoon, Jiwan joined the mohalla women at the platform in front of Thekedars house, sunny in winter and cool in summer. Shukar Din would not permit his beautiful wife 176

Fatima to join them. They all chatted while someone twisted noodles. After a rejuvenating break, she had the dinner ready in time for her husband and sons return home at sun down with a large pot of milk and possibly some vegetables. They ate together, relishing some malai on top of a roti. The father returned to the khuh while the sons spent the night at home. Jiwan transferred the boiled milk from the kadni to a chaatti, added jaag to it, wrapped the chaatti with cloth and set it aside for the night. She then cleaned the pots and pans. Before retiring, she did some spinning or ground the wheat. The rainy season was the time for the family to be together, time off for the father, while the sons made short trips to the khuh to milk the buffalo and chat with the farm workers. Often one of them spent the night at the khuh. Celebration of Eid was the busiest time for Jiwan. Men gone to the mosque for prayers wearing new clothes, she cooked special dishes to entertain friends who stopped by during the day. The family had a sumptuous feast in the evening: the joy of it wiped out her body fatigue. Her mid-day break came in the month of Ramadan when they all ate at dawn and then again in the evening; she did not have to go to the farm with breakfast or lunch. Jiwan had two sons, born eighteen months apart. They grew up to be hardworking, handsome young men. Both were married at the same time to two first cousins. It was a wedding of its own kind. One wedding party with two grooms travelled with pomp and show to the same house. Two palanquins carried the brides back, one following the other. Jiwan welcomed both the brides with customary rituals. Mohalla women and children watched the ceremony with delight. The brides were beautiful, tall and slim with radiant wheatish complexion. Some feared the fall of an evil eye on them. Within months, the younger one, Nwab Bibi became the target of an evil spirit. Whenever the spirit was in turmoil, Nwab Bibi was uncontrollable; whenever the spirit was tranquil, it seemed as if nothing had happened to her. She was her usual beautiful self. Slowly her body yielded and Nwab Bibi passed away. Heartbroken Jiwan wept her heart out. It took time for her smile and charm to return but often women could detect a tinge of sadness in her beautiful eyes. Life had to go on and it did go on for the warm hearted Jiwan.

Maya: Urban raised, Maya was the only example of a city girl

perfectly adopting life in a village. Normally, it was the other 177

way around; village girls dreamt of living in the freer social environment of cities just with their husbands, away from the joint family. Mayas father, Jewn Singh from Sandhanwala, had been banished and his land confiscated for participating as a young man in a plot to overthrow British rule when Maharaja Dalip Singh was trying to redeem his Sikh kingdom of Lahore Darbar. Settled in distant Rawalpindi, working as a carpenter, Jewn often narrated stories of his village. Maya had never set foot in one until she was married at thirteen. Every girl was taught early on that when you get married, you sink or swim but you never look back. The real influence that shaped Mayas adoption to the village was the discovery that peasant women were awfully charming, extremely generous in sharing their time and resources, truthful and straight. Their hearts had magnetic warmth. They conveyed their sisterhood feelings with their eyes and embrace, not with words. Body language! Circumstances toughened Maya like other peasant women. She had joined a household which had been shrunken by five tragic deaths in quick succession. It now consisted of her father-in-law, his two sons, her sister-in-law, two parentless grandsons and a single buffalo. Maya had not yet adjusted to the village life when World War II broke out in 1914. Her husband enlisted and was shipped out to Mesopotamia, returning in 1918 when the war ended, except for a brief furlough in between. Alone for four years, Maya learned the arts of village life from her sister-in-law and the neighbourhood women - milking the buffalo, churning milk, making butter and lassi, slow cooking with dung, baking rotian in the tandoor, picking cotton at the family farm, ginning and spinning. She enjoyed the village life with verve. Rising early, as other peasant women but better endowed with household facilities, Maya visited the fields, drew water from her own khuhi, took a hurried bath and started churning the yogurt while reciting Japji, the morning Sikh prayer. Lassi and butter made, she kneaded the dough, gave water to the buffalo, put fodder in the manger, swept the kitchen and veranda and woke up the children at sunrise. They bathed and dressed themselves or each other while Maya made paranthas; she fed them with a parantha, fresh butter and a glass of lassi. She wrapped lunch (rotian, subzi and achar) in a cloth napkin 178

for those going to the high school at Daska. Off they went to school, one by one. Maya put more fodder in the manger, milked the buffalo, put the milk in the kadni and placed it in the bharoli over smouldering dung cakes for slow heating. It was time to feed her husband before he departed for the farm or the brick kiln he owned, or to the town as the case might be. In these chores Maya was helped by her sister-in-law Nihal, and by her children, particularly by her daughters. Maya prepared the lunch as younger children rushed home during recess. Sometimes, her husband would be home for lunch as well, requiring extra attention. On Sunday mornings, she would go to the Gurdwara and then stop to buy vegetables from Jiwan. Meeting other women at the vegetable corner was a ritual she enjoyed. Around breakfast time, Daulte arrived to sweep up and carry the trash and dung to the dump. The two chatted briefly, Maya gave Daulte the left over food and a pail of fresh lassi, asking her sometimes to return in the afternoon to clean the wheat for sending it to the Machine for grinding. Soon Ganda Mal, a handsome grey haired man who loved chatting with children, showed up with a head load of fodder. After reporting the goings on at the farm, he washed his hands, brought out his utensils from the fodder room (Dalits were not served from family utensils by other communities) and sat down on a gunny sack to enjoy a hearty breakfast. He would gulp down a whole glass of lassi in one go. He cleaned his utensils, carefully put them away, chopped the fodder, tied the buffalo in the street and left for the day, tending to his next job. Afternoons were for crocheting, sewing, and teaching reading and writing Gurmukhi to her sons. A particular delight was chatting with women who congregated at the cool and airy platform under the balcony in front of her house. Coping with the boys was a trying affair. She often complained that they rarely listened and that her head was being eaten by their din. If they were home, they would be noisy, fighting, or wrestling with each other and when they went out to play, they would forget to return by sundown, the dinnertime. Sundays were particularly trying because the boys long hair had to be washed, scalps massaged with mustard oil and hair combed and braided. Sometimes the nain (hair dresser) came by to help and chat. Precisely at four p.m., Bhai Sahib rang the 179

gharial (brass gong). It was time for snacks. Girls took maize to the bhathi for sand roasting into popcorn. Gently roasted milky maize, fresh off the ear was a seasonal delicacy. So were the green chickpeas fresh from the pods. Once a week Saidan showed up in the afternoon to squeeze her legs and massage her back while chatting and chatting. Normally, boys avoided household chores. The one they particularly detested was mixing the overnight soaked mustard cake with chaff. It was a dreadful task as the mustard emitted nasty gas which attacked the nose and eyes. But some chores they performed with pleasure; bringing the sugarcane from the farm, taking the buffalo to the pond for a swim and helping with milking. The pleasure of squirting the sweet milk straight from the teat into the mouth was heavenly. A departure from the days routine came during cotton picking, a time for comradeship among women. As soon as the dew was chased away by the morning sun, Maya put lassi in a pot large enough for six, packed buttered rotian, met the womens troupe and off they went to the cotton fields. The white cotton pods were smiling and so were the women. Chatting and exchanging juicy tit bits, they finished picking when Bhai Sahibs gong struck four and brought their head loads to the house. Maya weighed each womans picking and gave each a share as a wage, always adding jhoonga a little bit extra. The tradition of the shopkeepers was practiced even at the household level. Mayas daughters started dinner preparations while she milked the buffalo. Dinner was served at sunset, to be eaten in natural light. Everyone was seated on the floor around her; the boys ate before the girls. On hot days, it was served on the roof top. Adult male members were served while they sat on a charpoy separately. She put the milk to boil and cleaned the utensils. Hot milk with sugar at bedtime was a routine, a glass to the boys and half a glass to the girls. She then started preparations for the next morning: transferring the days slow boiled milk into the chaatti adding jaag to it to make yogurt for the next day. In the long winter evenings, she would spin until she was sleepy. It was a time for her to be herself.

Daulte:

Tall and rugged with Himalayan strength, Daulte was a sharp featured woman. She walked erect at a fast pace, her hands worked furtively and she was meticulous and efficient in whatever she did. A winding narrow path led to 180

her two room mud house at the edge of the Christian colony, overlooking a pond. Trees beside the pond gave a garden look and an air of serenity to her neat open courtyard. Two dogs usually hovered around. Daulte was quick with her household chores and gave breakfast to her husband Summa by sunrise. A dark complexioned, medium built, stout and muscular man, Summa, worked as a farmhand and sang hymns at Sunday mass at Ganda Mals house which doubled as a church. He was the only Dalit who could read; he had a Bible in Gurmukhi script. Leaving the children to feed themselves, Daulte placed her cloth lined wicker basket on her head and off she went to a round of cleaning courtyards of various houses. The main doors of the houses tended by her were always open in anticipation of her well timed visit.

Saidan: A Barwali (weaver) woman with a remarkable public

relations talent, Saidan played a pivotal role in the social network of upper echelons. Slim trim, bold, chin up, Saidan never hesitated to talk to any man anywhere in the village. Saidan helped her husband Eeda sometimes but weaving was more of a hobby for them and not a profession. Eedas job as the village watchman entailed promptly informing the police of any shadowy events and reporting births and deaths to civil authorities in Daska. However, Saidan was the first one to receive the briefings. Sought after by women of influential households, Saidan gathered and shared pertinent news and gossip of interest to them. She routinely gave them massage and chatted in confidence. They were generous to her, giving grain and other commodities. She shared these with her sisters-in-law who looked after her young children, freeing her for her varied pursuits. Saidans real liaison was with the Sardar of the village. She was a permanent fixture in his house and had more of an access to the Sardar than his wives. The two trusted each other; she would do anything for him. She connived with him to ensure his supremacy, advised him, and enabled his sexual whims. She did not always succeed. The Sardar had a crush on a beautiful young Brahmin widow; despite her best efforts, Saidan failed to entice her into his camp. Eeda and Saidan rarely went to the mosque. For them Allah was in every heart and every home. Saidan knew more 181

household secrets than all the men and women in the village put together. Partition resulted in a devastating loss of her unique imperial role. She must have left this world with all the juicy secrets buried deep within. A book died along with her death.

Bawi, reminisces of the Delicate Doll: Our ancestors

had been given the title of Baba by the fourth Guru Ram Das (1531-1581). In time, the word was distorted to Bawa, its female version being Bawi. My father, Fauja Singh Bawa, owned lands scattered over seven villages bestowed to his elders by Guru Hargobind (1595-1644). A gentleman farmer and a social reformer, his love was music and poetry. He was a master of classical ragas. My engagement to an already married man (Rajinder) caused a stir. Every friend and relative raised their eyebrows but my father honoured his commitment; I was married at age fourteen/fifteen in 1934. Only one of (Rajinders) first cousins, Arjan, supported the marriage but that too on the condition that the Sardar breakup his (illicit) relationship with Khurshaidan. After our marriage, the Sardar slowly mended his way of life.

My childhood name was Ranbir; the in-laws changed it to Sohinder, a common social practice in those days. In my maiden village, I was a free soul, moving about everywhere, sometimes riding a horse. I was slim, trim and agile. But life was totally restricted at my in-laws. I could not go anywhere. A daughter-in-law was treated harshly. About twenty families lived in our compound; every daughter-in-law had to bow and touch the feet of every elder. Women always gathered in the compound but I stayed by myself in the upstairs portion of the house. The senior wife Harbans lived in the lower portion; she took care of all household responsibilities. I would change clothes every day; women would gossip about it. Others dressed in home spun khaddar, but I liked to dress up in silk. My husband appreciated it. People usually remarked that Bawi is Evening in Paris. I was able outside the half of the never took wife. to convince my husband to build a new house mohalla, which he did with delight. I decorated my mansion in the fashionable way that I wanted. I to cooking; this was always done by the senior

182

Not long after my marriage, we celebrated the wedding of my brother-in-law Tarlok with great pomp and show. My husband invited Rasheeda to entertain and sing to the village crowd. Women were not invited; only men. A lot of Muslim friends were invited. Meals were cooked separately and served separately to Sikhs and to Muslims. Women were always supportive of each other; they always treated me kindly. Two mischief mongers were Mand (an uncles first wife) and Doctorani (Inder Kaur). I stayed away from both of them. Sometimes Sardar faced trouble in the village. He was summoned a couple of times to the Gurdwara by Sant Sundar Singh (regarding trimming his beard). He also had a quarrel with Manna Machhi who had humiliated him. The Sardar wanted Manna to leave the village for good. Some people demanded forgiveness if Manna touched Sardars feet. Manna was equally adamant. He said that he would rather leave the village than seek forgiveness. Public intervention led to forgive and forget on both sides.

183

Chapter XXI

Punjabi Rituals common to all Religions Marriage involved a series of colourful and extravagant ceremonies and rituals. The journey to the conjugal night had to go through measured steps spread over several months. Timing and mode of the actual wedding ceremony varied widely among religions as per prescribed codes. But, the rituals practiced by every religion were just about the same. Tradition prevailed over religion in the conduct of age old customs. The significance of some rituals was known; the origin of others was hidden in antiquity. Throughout the hum drum of the wedding, a strict line defined the respective roles of men and women. An important ritual was tel chona. Ladies poured mustard oil on the threshold of their house to welcome the first visit of new relatives. It was a must before the bride or grooms parents, the groom and the bride entered the house. Such courtesy was extended to senior relatives as well. Another common practice was laag dena, the giving of token sum called laag to the laagis, the persons who served as messengers and aides at each and every ceremony. Usually, these women and men were the mirasi (songsters) and the nai, the hairdressers. Network of family and friends was used to search for the groom or the bride. Informal visits and enquiries were made by the father of the girl to see a boy and the mother of the boy to see the girl. Sometimes, the boy also had an opportunity to see the girl. The two never came from the same village. Choice made, thaakka was the initial ritual. The girls father casually placed a silver rupee on the palm of the boy. Marriage preparations commenced thereafter. The scale and expense of the ceremonies varied widely, from the simplest to the most ridiculous. Marriage was a union of the boy and the girl but it was also a union of two families. Mangani, the engagement was the first of the formal ceremonies. It was performed by the girls father at the house of the boy. He was accompanied by a brother or two carrying a tray of crystallized sugar and dried dates and baskets of laddoos, the traditional north Indian sweet. Chunni ceremony, the presentation of a colourfully embroidered scarf to the girl by the boys mother, followed a few days later. Gaun, evenings of folk songs in the respective houses were 184

Marriage Celebrations

joyfully observed by women for a week to ten days before the wedding. After the last gaun, a quiet mehndi evening marked the application of henna on the palm of the boy and decoration of the palms and feet of the girl. Family women and children had their hands tattooed as well. Ritual bathing called khaare panna took place a day or two before the wedding. One day during this period, the father invited his brotherhood in the village and close friends to seek niondra, contributions of money to help meet the marriage expenses. These were recorded in a ledger and reciprocated at the time of a marriage in the corresponding family. The sum contributed varied from one rupee to twenty five rupees, depending on the status of the family. Baraat (wedding party) was the most notable of all events. Band started playing at the grooms house early in the morning. Father tied the sehra, a veil of flower strings attached to a headband around the head of his son, a protection against the evil eye. Women sang songs as they escorted him out of the house to a waiting horse. Sisters braided colourful threads around the reins of the horse. As the baraat led by the band departed, father threw coins over the head of the groom. The men only baraat gone, women danced kikli and gidha, sang songs and had fun. Preparations were feverishly afoot at the brides house to receive the wedding party. Baraat arrived at the girls village with pomp and show. They were greeted and entertained overnight. Bride was adorned with choorra, red and white ivory bangles. Viah (wedding ceremony) was conducted privately or publically in accordance with religious rites and practices. The bride was given a tearful send off Doli in a decorated palanquin carried by four men known as kahaars. She was accompanied by a lady-in-waiting, usually the mirasan. Daaj (dowry) followed in tow. The bride was ceremoniously welcomed into her new home by her mother-inlaw. Bride and groom sat together for a while. Women came in droves to see (meet) the bride. There was no intimate contact between the bride and the groom. At night the lady-inwaiting kept the company of the bride; the two returned to the maiden village the next morning. The groom came a day or two later to fetch her back in maklaava, the conjugal return home. Maklaava 185

Married life actually commenced after the groom went on a second visit to his brides house to formally bring her back to his house to live permanently together. The brides family gave them more clothes, more money and loads of laddoos for distribution in the grooms village. The couple was received back home as husband and wife, not just bride and groom. Numerous songs portray the ecstatic conjugal night. The new daughter-in-law was not allowed to do any work in the house for about two weeks so that she may spend all the time with her husband. Thereafter, she was initiated into the kitchen, free to cook and burn her fingers.

Chaddar Panni: The marriage of a young widow to the brother of her deceased husband was an internal family arrangement popularly known as chaddar panni (lit. spreading the sheet over someone). It was a simple but old (pagan) ceremony in vogue in villages. A consenting widow and her late husbands brother, who may already have a wife, sat on low stools placed beside each other. Family women would hold a sheet over them, sing songs, sprinkle rice over their heads, and accept them as married. There was no feasting involved. Sometimes widows welcomed the security of such alliances but sometimes they were coerced into it. Such marriages were recognized by the society as well as the Courts under the unwritten Customary Law.

The Dowry System: Three systems of dowry were in

vogue: daaj, watta and reverse dowry. Daaj, the traditional dowry, the parting gifts given to the bride was the norm. It included gold and silver jewellery, wedding suits, bed sets, large brass pitchers, and sets of clothes for the groom and his close family members. The bride also took with her the articles that she had made for her dowry since her preteens. The size of the dowry reflected the affluence of the girls family and had to be compatible with the status of the boys family. Dowry was an expectation, not a demand; the idea was to help set up the household of the daughter but also to appease her in-laws. There may be taunts but a bride was not punished if the dowry was deemed to be inadequate. During initial visits home, the bride always took a lot of gifts, mostly clothing and 186

bed linen, back to her new home. (Pointed demands for Daaj commenced with the spread of higher education among the boys). Watta (even exchange), was the second system of dowry and marriage. Low income families finding it difficult to secure a match for their son, offered their daughter in reciprocity. The fair exchange so negotiated served well for both families, unless the give and take was grossly uneven. Reverse dowry was the third system common among the needy. The boys family had to pay money to the girls family. By the same token, men who could not find a wife had to buy one. There were several cases of reverse dowry in the village; brides bought by someone and brides sold by someone. The most talked about case of reverse dowry was that of a Nihang family. Sohan had five daughters and one son. He had run into bad times stemming from land feuds; he was in heavy debt, on the brink of losing all his land. He started marrying off his five daughters for up to one thousand rupees each and thus got rid of his debts. He was happy even though the community pointed fingers at him. He stayed in close touch with every son-in-law and treated them well; the girls were happily settled. Slowly, he regained his standing in the clan.

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Chapter XXII

Marital Crisis

kwari taan chaao, viahi taan maamlae Farid (longing to be married, then troubles begin) Women were on the receiving end of marital difficulties. Usually, a crisis simmered secretly. A mature woman stayed put when faced with mistreatment or was struck by a tragedy. If the husband with means took a second wife, she accepted it as a norm; sometimes she even helped to contain the damage by facilitating a proposal with someone from her own family. If the husband died young, she remained busy raising her children, looking forward to the day when they would be able to fly on their own. An issueless widow could choose to stay in the in-laws household or return to her brothers. As a useful member needed by either of the two families, she made the choice dictated by her psychological comfort level. A young woman turned out by her husband, often at the behest of his mother, returned to the fold of her parents. A young widow faced a dilemma. If a brother of her deceased husband married her by mutual consent, the matter was resolved quickly. Otherwise, she too returned to her parents. In both cases, the family had to search for a new husband. The poorer a young woman was, the simpler were the issues surrounding her remarriage. The choice for a young Muslim woman was automatic; someone simply took her as a wife or as an additional wife. Hindu women were rarely free to remarry. Christian and low income Sikh women willingly married whosoever was willing to clasp their wrist, committing to bear their responsibility. Complexities arose for a young Sikh woman of means. If she decided to go back to her parental house, she had to forego all her assets. If she stayed at the in-laws, there was pressure on her to marry a brother of her late husband as per custom. If he was single, it did not pose a problem. But what if he had a wife! She had to be on guard. The hidden interest of the brother-in-law and his wife may not really be the young woman so much as grabbing her inherited share of the land. Counsel and help was available all around, but ultimately a woman had to deal with her particular situation, lone and alone. Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches. 188

Following episodes give a flavour of the problems and the issues.

Fazal Bibi (Fazlaan):

Every now and then during the summer nights, the whole mohalla would wake up to shouts of chor, chor! (thief, thief!). Squeals by Fazlaan standing by the parapet fell on every ear. Her husband Chirag would rush home from the nearby stable where he slept guarding his precious donkeys. She calmed down the moment she saw him. The mohalla took little notice of the shouting, no one rushed to catch the thieves. Everyone knew the underlying current. Fazlaan was crisp and spicy, an actress. She was Chirags idol; she loved the devoted attention given to her by Chirag. The mohalla women liked her too; she was chatty, jovial and dramatic. The comfort level for Fazlaan was high all around. Fazlaans marriage had been arranged in Watta (even exchange). Chirags first cousin was married to one of Fazlaans three handsome brothers. In exchange, Fazlaan was simultaneously married to Chirag. Her native village was a long ten miles away. The brothers felt that the deal was unequal. They had not received a fair exchange. Moreover, the marriage had broken down; Chirags cousin had returned to her parents and was soon remarried. The brothers wanted their sister back. Having failed to talk her into returning home, her chor brothers tried to kidnap her, time and again. They would have then been able to exchange her for a bride for the unmarried third brother. The drama was repeated many a time over the years. Fazlaans yells were a proclamation of defiance. She was happy with her situation and did not wish to be traded again. Finally, the brothers gave up.

Romantic Ending:

Daughter of a cultured rich man, Kartaraan was engaged in 1925 at nine to the son of a police Inspector. Unfortunately, her father passed away in the same year. She grew up to be a beautiful young lass blessed with mesmerizing eyes and an over powering personality. She was married at fifteen and bore a son at seventeen. The prospects for as rosy a future as the past turned sour. The groom was an idler, lacked ambition and lived off his fathers money. The mother-in-law was the police officer in the house. She treated the strong willed Kartaraan like a maid. Whenever angry with Kartaraan, she would make her grind the grain for their horses. Kartaraan did everything to appease her short of 189

becoming subservient. The marriage did not last long; the family kept the valued son. Kartaraan returned to the cosy environment of her parental home and assumed the role of a big sister for her siblings. Bold and generous, like her stalwart older brother, she was ready to stand up and be counted in any situation. Confident of herself and her bearings, she loved to play the role of an ordinary peasant woman. She started tending to farm chores as well. Eighteen year old Kartaraan carrying a pitcher of lassi and a bundle of rotian balanced on her head to the khuh for the farmhands was a sight to behold. She was so voluptuous that one could not help ogling her. It so happened that at a spiritual gathering attended by people from all around, electrifying eyes of Kartaraan and handsome Tara exchanged emotion laden looks. There was an instantaneous falling in love. Secret communications followed. The affair became the hottest gossip on every lip in the village. The twice married and separated Tara was a practitioner of ayurvedic system of medicine. The fiery eyed, sword wielding doctor was a dare devil, much feared by people. His hand would be on his hilt in a flash to decimate any adversary who happened to cross him. But he was also magnetic, kind and trustworthy. He stood by his friends. Kartaraan admired these traits. Kartaraans powerful brother dreaded the thought of her marriage to a ruffian. But she stuck to her resolve in spite of the heavy handedness of her brother. Her indomitable will and boldness were part of her character. She decided to elope. At the appointed hour, Tara came in his buggy with reins in his own hands and waited just outside the village. Nineteen year old Kartaraan joined him carrying almost nothing. The two rode off in a fairy tale fashion. Villagers pretended to see nothing. There were no public goodbyes, no sobs and no tears of joy or sorrow. The union of the lovebirds proved to be one of the happiest marriages. An awful start ended in bliss. . Twice Sold: A farmer eked out good living from his five acre farm. He had a house with a large courtyard on which he planned to build separate houses for his three sons. His eldest married son Mangal took to farming diligently. But worried he was because his farm, when divided between the sons would 190

not be able to sustain three families. The old mans prayers were answered when the middle one received enlistment as a soldier. Army contacts led to his marriage to an educated girl, a teacher in the cantonment primary school. The soldier invited his younger brother to live with him. The old man breathed his last happily and peacefully. The young brother learned driving and got a job as a truck driver with a goods transport company. He was always on the road plying from town to town. Since he had no house of his own and his temporary job was precarious, prospects for his marriage looked dim. The brothers and the teacher wife pooled their money, made a small addition in their native family compound and found him a wife, paying four hundred rupees. She adjusted well in the new environment and got along well with Mangals wife. Shuttling between his driving assignments, her husband always returned to his nest. She was happy and bore a son. The family gathered in the village to celebrate. A few months later, the teacher and her husband came to the village for another visit. The teacher being the only educated person in the household was looked up to with respect. Somehow, the teacher felt slighted by the purchased wife. The relations between them soured to the point that the teacher vowed to throw her out of the family. She promised the three brothers that she will arrange a regular marriage for the youngest. The family kept the prized son but sold the woman to a mason at Daska for the original sum of four hundred rupees. In the freer social environment of the town, there was no purchased label attached to her. The mason earned good wages, came home at regular hours and treated his wife well. Once in a while, she would come to the village by tonga, well dressed with money in her pockets, in the hope of seeing her son. She would visit her old neighbourhood and chat with the mohalla women. Everyone remarked that she looked younger than before and had a glow of happiness on her face. Her longing to see her son was never fulfilled; the son was safely kept hidden from her eyes. The visits slowly ceased after the twice sold bore two more children.

A Widows Emancipation: Rajan was a hardy woman. Her

husband died at thirty two, soon after she had given birth to a fifth daughter. Some said that his heart was broken, burdened by the thought of providing five dowries. The little girls were 191

endearing; relatives and mohalla women helped Rajan to cope with the hard times. She cleaned wheat, made hand twisted noodles, ginned cotton and spun, all for a pittance. She managed frugally but well. Rajan married off her oldest seventeen year old daughter to Kapur, a parentless mason of Gujranwala. The marriage brought good luck to him. He went into independent construction work and flourished as a mini contractor. He extended financial help to Rajan; she in turn adored him as he had brought her security and respectability. The younger girls often spent time with their sister and learned the city etiquette. Kapur asked for the hand of the second sister as the first one was issueless. Rajan agreed readily. Under such circumstances, two sisters marrying the same man was fairly common. They had two children. By then Rajans third daughter had turned sixteen; she was a beauty to behold, a frivolous teenager. Kapur coveted her; he charmed her into marrying him. Rajan concurred willingly. It was the most talked about group marriage but it was no skin off the nose of either Rajan or Kapur. It worked well.

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Chapter XXIII

Bhua

Social safety net for married daughters of the village was well established. Bhua (fathers sister) enjoyed a respectful status in the family as well in the village hierarchy. The intuitive bond between the sister and the brother symbolized a deep rooted cultural facet of Punjabs family life. Bhua could visit her parental home unannounced whenever she pleased. If she was in trouble at her in-laws, she had a home and a society to turn to. If she returned to the village permanently because she was unwelcome any more at her inlaws, she became a ward of her family and a bhua for every one in the village. For one thing, she was not in competition with other women or a claimant to material things. She had no obligatory responsibilities but was always there to help out when needed. Bhuas devotion to children of her native village was unimpinged. The kids perceived it, sensed it, and felt it more than anyone else because the bhua shared unencumbered time with them. She talked to them and told them bed time stories. They adored and revered her. The profile of two bhuas is portrayed here as an illustration of their role in the village life.

Bhua Kesro: Tall and lean, wrinkled but not bent by years,

Bhua Kesro was a symbol of simple and truthful living. She had returned home to live with the joint family of three younger brothers who worked hard to eke out a living. She never ever talked about the distant world of her in-laws or her husband. She had wiped that part of her life from her slate. She was at peace with herself and her environment. Bhua Kesro rose early, took a nature walk, broomed her little hut and the common courtyard, took her bath and sat on a string cot quietly meditating. She was within the eyes and ears of every one. If they needed help in the kitchen, she was there; if they wanted her to bathe the children, she was there; if the cots and the bedding on the rooftop needed to be stacked, she was there. But she never intruded even to quieten a child lest it was deemed as airing out the inadequacies of busy mothers.

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Bhua Kesro was an expert maker of achars mangoes, turnips, carrots, cauliflower and karela pickles. Women of the mohalla often brought trayfuls of ingredients and jars to her. She took her sweet time to peel, chop, wash and air them. She would mix each item in heated oil, add spices and set the jars in the sun to mature. After a few days, the women came by, chatted and took their jars home. Sometimes she would make sweet and sour pickles and offer them on a piece of roti as a snack to girls, who often came by to see bhuaji. Many a time they would ask her to take them to see a tamasha, the street show. Boys ran to such performances at will but girls always needed a chaperone. Upholding an old ritual, every autumn Bhua Kesro would lead a group of children to pay homage to the shrine of Mahastian (the supremely virtuous). The shrine memorialized two young girls who had disappeared long ago under compelling and mysterious circumstances. Bhua would relate their story year after year. Subdued children immersed in thoughts returned home with the two immortals deep in their hearts. Mahastian The shrine called Mahastian was an earth mound covered with thorny jujube. It had a grassy patch around it. Bhua would stand solemnly beside the mound and say a silent prayer with folded hands. She would then take out item after item from her scruffy old bag and ask the children to put wicks and oil in the earthen lamps and light them. A row of flickering little lamps was arrayed at the base of the mound. Custom had it that on solemn occasions or sites candles was lit during the day; otherwise they were lit only at night. She would ask the children to squat with folded hands. She would then tell them the story of Mahastian. One pleasant afternoon, sickle in hand and a sheet over his shoulder, a father was ready to go to the grazing field at the edge of the village to cut grass for the buffalo. His two youthful daughters expressed a wish to accompany him; they could pick some jujube while he worked. The adoring father agreed readily. In the course of the afternoon, he saw two Pathan horsemen galloping in his direction. (During his eighth invasion of India in 1766, Ahmad Shah Abdali, the Afghan ruler, was camped at Daska. His troops were scouring the countryside; the soldiers routinely lifted young women). 194

Fearful, the father told the girls to lie on the ground. He spread a sheet over them, covered it with grass and walked away to distract the soldiers. After the Pathans had galloped away, he returned but did not find the girls. He looked for them all around but to no avail. Distraught, weeping and crying, he returned home. Heartbroken, he would lay all day refusing to eat or drink. Nothing could console him. Then one night his sweet daughters appeared in his dream. They told him that the Pathans came and poked the grass with their spears, they asked Mother Earth to shield them. Just then, the earth split open, took them into its fold and closed again. As a proof of their virtuous ending, they had left a piece of their scarf sticking out of the earth. They asked their father to go and look. He did. Lo and behold, he found a piece of his daughters scarf sticking out of the ground. The mound became a shrine for virtuous young women.

Bhua Mulkhan:

Short, slim, pretty as one could be, issueless, past child bearing age, Mulkhan had decided to return home, severing connections with her in-laws for good. Her widowed rich money lender brother was happy about her return. He needed her love and care but more so someone reliable to guard his money buried in pots here and there in his many roomed mud house. Lovely faced, even though a bit wrinkled, Mulkhan always sat chatting with her brother while he ate his breakfast on a charpoy under the neem tree. Then he would leave for the day on horseback visiting clients. Mulkhan would sit all day long on one of the two high seats beside the double door from the bazaar to the alley that led to a spacious compound with four other houses. A stick in hand, she watched the comings and goings in the bazaar. Mulkhan was known as moonh zor singh (power mouthed). She could be a terror. No dog and no young man could enter the compound, not even on an errand. If a man wished to visit one of the houses in the compound, she subjected him to a rigorous interview. But many a man passing by invariably stopped to chat with the saucy bhua. They shared with her their news and woes and learnt from her the goings on in the village. (Women avoided her). She had the best perch in the bazaar. She was not a gossip monger, just an information exchange. Bhuas steps were a daylong cosy corner for nosy little gatherings. 195

Bhua Eesro: Married at sixteen, her heart and soul deeply

tied to her surviving younger brother, Eesro visited her native village once every year or sooner if her emotions had the better of her. Being happily married with children never interfered with her emotional attachment to her roots. As an annual gift she brought along fragrant rice (Mushkan de Chaul) for distribution to many a woman. Her village Tutley was the home of fragrant long grain rice. For children, the special gift was her stories of snakes and jungle stories by her husband Balaqa. Tutley abounded in naags (black cobras) and other poisonous snakes. A story that awed everyone was about two brothers working in a rice field. One was bitten by a naag; he died instantly. His brother put the body on his horse and rode back to the village. The poison was so potent that on the way, veins burst and blood oozed from the mouth and body; the poison in the blood penetrated the horses skin. Within minutes the horse was dead too. So poisonous were the snakes from the nitre laden soil of Tutley. A favourite story by Balaqa was about a wolf and a cat living in a jungle. Once, the cat had a small litter of three; endearingly, she named them puttar (son) Akhna, puttar Makhna, dhee (daughter) Bholan. The wolf was always prowling to capture tender kittens while canny cat was equally vigilant. Going out on a hunt to bring food for them, she told her children never to open the latch to the den for anyone. The wolf watched longingly. One day, soon after the cat had left, the wolf fiddled with the thorny latch. The scared kittens ran deep into the den. Disappointed wolf was unable to open the latch. He watched the cats return in the evening to learn the secret. The cat came and gently uttered puttar Akhna, puttar Makhna, dhee Bholan, bua khole (open the door). On hearing the voice of their mother, the excited children opened the latch. The cat secured the door again and went in with the food for her darlings. Next day, the wolf returned and repeated the call pootar akna, pootar mokna, dee bolan .. The kittens did not recognize the husky voice or the words and did not open the door. The wolf watched and practiced the voice for days. Then, he came to the den one evening and uttered puttar Akhna, puttar makhna, dhee Bholan, bua khole. The kittens held their ears up, felt sure that it was the voice of their mother and opened the latch. Shocked to see the wolf, they 196

scurried deep into the den. Just then the cat happened to return. Non-plussed by the open door, she hurried in and pounced on the wolf like a lioness, scratching his nose. As he dashed out, she bit his tail. She then called her children who appeared instantly. Heaving a sigh of relief, she hugged them, licked them but also admonished them for not being careful.

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Chapter XXIV

Two Colourful Clans

to be born Welsh is to be born privileged. not with a silver spoon in your mouth, but music in your blood and poetry in your soul. Brian Harris Two unique but totally diverse clans enriched and brightened the village life: mirasis and bhatras. Without the presence of marasis, life would have been devoid of cheerfulness; without bhatras it would have been dull. Each clan made a difference.

Mirasis: This unusual clan had music and mirth in their blood.

What the Welsh poet, Brian Harris said of the Welsh was equally true of Mirasis. They had inherited from eras gone by the art of entertainment and providing colour to ceremonies from birth to death. They were adept at easing a tense situation with a one liner; their words always befitted the occasion. They would not hesitate to ridicule anyone who dared to put them down. Mirasis used to be the lower rung of Brahmins; these reformers were rusticated from Brahmanism for marrying their widows. They accepted the lower status but stayed the course. Howsoever poor they may be, Mirasis always held their head high. Like the Brahmins, men did not work as labourers and women did not work as maids. Mirasis were an integral part of the cultural life of every family. They had the knack of adopting their role to suit the customs of respective religions and knew their sensitivities as well. As family messengers, Mirasis carried the good as well as the sad news to near and dear ones. They were the attendants at every birth, engagement, wedding, and death ceremony. Mirasan sang appropriate songs at every ritual. She was the visible joy of happy celebrations; her voice shared every emotion as she led death rituals. Uniquely theatrical and humorous, men entertained with skits that they devised on the spot to suit the occasion. Sirvarna, the cash swirled around the head of the bride or the groom as a blessing, was given to them. They were treated respectfully at all functions and rewarded generously. Insult a Mirasi and be prepared to be repaid with spice and candour at a sensitive moment. He knew more about you and your forefathers than you cared to know. 198

When someone died, men sat silently on a mat in the courtyard, chatting a little now and then, remembering the good traits of the departed soul. A Mirasi too sat quietly in attendance, to offer guidance if needed. Women gathered inside the house in weeping sessions led by a Mirasan. The women cried collectively or in pairs sitting opposite each other with their hands on each others shoulders. They stopped suddenly, chatted and resumed weeping. If the death involved a man in his prime, the poignant weeping sessions known as siapa were painfully heart breaking.

Siapa (Mourning Ritual) Mirasan led the siapa shouting hai, hai Shera, hai, hai (woe has struck the lion). Women followed in tune. Periodically the Mirassan added tender notes of lament: his youthful looks, his devotion to the family, the weeping children, the crying wife left behind and the dark days ahead. Slowly her hai, hai grew louder. Women beat their breasts and cheeks, replying in unison hai, hai, shera, hai hai. The young widow tore her clothes and slapped herself so hard that the fingers left deep marks on her breast and cheeks. Siapa was an emotional release for the family women, particularly for the widow who had lost her bread winner. If a man had reached old age, approaching a hundred, the Siapa was entertaining and weeping was superficial and jovial. The Mirassan would spread a white sheet in the middle of a room; the women going through the motions of siapa threw coins on it. The ceremonies ended with a big feast to which friends and relatives came from far and near. Social mores were such that there was no siapa for women and children, just low key weeping sessions.

Deputy Commissioner: Once, the whole village witnessed a

remarkable display of Mirasi wit and bawdy humour. It had been announced by the beat of a drum that the Deputy Commissioner (DC), the British civil administrator of the District, will visit the village. To suit the importance of the occasion, a high platform with a chair and a table was set up in the school grounds. Mirasis were called upon to entertain. On arrival, the DC was led in a grand procession to the school.

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Men sat on the ground in front of the DC, accompanying officials and village elders sat on the charpoys nearby, children climbed the trees and the boundary wall, a group of women driven by curiosity perched on the roof ledge. Led by beat of a drum, the well dressed mirasi troupe arrived with pomp and show. They sang a song in praise of the DC, making up a juicy tale even though they neither knew his name nor the purpose of his visit. The skit started; no one had any inkling of what was in the offing. A crier ran into the arena in the front of the majestically seated D.C. and announced that the real d.c. sahib was about to arrive! One person rushed in and knelt down on his fours, some one spread a sheet making it a table. Another one came and knelt behind the first one forming a chair; a third came and placed a cushion over the chair. The d.c. was led in, a colourful but tattered canopy held over his head. He sat heavily on the chair as it let out a sharp squeak. He thumped the table and it croaked loudly. He abusively summoned the orderly who appeared momentarily, apologizing with folded hands that he had failed to place the writing pad, inkpot and pen on the table. Soon thereafter, a constable appeared with a prisoner in handcuffs. Imitating the unmistakable power of a magistrate, the d.c. asked the police officer to read out the charge. The constable said that Sir, this rascal had stolen money from the Treasury. You mean this little mouse of a man robbed the State Treasury? Yes, Your Honour, answered the constable. How much money was there in the Treasury? The constable haltingly replied None, sir. The answer caused laughter and uproar in the court room. The irked d.c. shouted Order, Order! Annoyed, he sternly asked the constable: then why have you charged this poor man for stealing nothing? The constable haltingly replied: your honour, your honour, Thanedars wife came to the Treasury and quietly took the money home. They had to charge somebody! Without listening further, the d.c. dismissed the case. He picked up the pen to write the dismissal order; there was no ink in the inkpot. Without hesitation, he stuck the pen in the bum of the table. As the table jumped letting out a big yell, papers and inkpot fell all around. The d.c. rose to the relief of the chair and said Court is dismissed, you all can go home. Everyone laughed so did the Deputy Commissioner, the last Englishman to have served 200

in the District and the first to visit the village. The Mirasis had daringly made fun of his court right in his presence. What a splendid and original performance!! Mehr Mangs, an up scale sub-clan of the Mirasis, were the recognized bards and genealogists. They recited family history in poetic form at the door step of notables. The tradition had been in vogue for centuries on end. They were also great story tellers. The story of the Mehr Mang who visited the village on a regular basis throws light on the traits and mannerisms of the clan.

The Mehr Mang Mehr Mang (lit. beseecher of blessings) was an upper caste mirasi convert to Islam from amongst the low caste Brahmins. He made periodic calls at the residences of notables in the villages within his domain. His visits to the residence of Thekedar are recalled here. Always arriving at dusk, Mehr Mang would stop at the outer door and announce himself with a long, loud and musical note. He then took slow steps to the inner door. Poised at the threshold, he would recite the family genealogy, singing it in rhyme, his poetic rendering highlighted noteworthy events in the lives of the family members. His elders used to do the same for Thekedars forefathers. Mehr Mangs clan carried the knowledge from generation to generation. Mehr Mang was always impeccably dressed: lightly starched white salwar-kameez, a black jacket, and a stiffly starched white turban wound around a kullah embroidered with gold thread. The top end piece made into a fan would flutter like a plume while the end piece would hang freely around his left shoulder. His neatly trimmed beard was dyed bright orangered with henna. He had an impressive presence. The freshness of his clothes showed no sign that he had walked from his distant village. He must have changed his clothes just before entering the village. Slowly, Mehr Mang would take off his shoes, carefully remove his turbaned kullah and jacket, sit down on a low stool beside Thekedars cot and start squeezing his feet and legs. He would 201

respectfully recall the tenacious old man Kahn, Thekedars father. He would then start reciting juicy stories, still squeezing his limbs. Children sitting within the earshot listened intently. Two of his stories were unforgettable for the cleverness of the thieves. True or false, it mattered not. . Thieves had an eye on a pair of young bullocks known for their beauty and power. They had observed the bullocks at a competitive show of drawing water from a khuh and pulling a sohaga, a heavy wooden plank, in a freshly tilled field. These bullocks ran so fast dragging the sohaga with two persons standing on top of it that they outpaced a young man running behind them. When they ran in circles to draw water, the rattling buckets just skimmed through the well, so fast that they came up with hardly any water. People clapped in admiration. The pair was pure white with jet black patches; their fleecy hide had a shine and muscles were tight. What a catch would it be! The thieves followed the trail to the owners khuh. One day a pair of them showed up to look at the bulls as perspective buyers. Their hidden purpose was to take stock of the compound where they were herded at night among other animals. They noted that at night the front legs of the bulls were cuffed. The farm lay across a large irrigation canal and the bridge was guarded by the police. A master key was needed and so was a plan to safely cross the bridge. Well prepared, they tried their hand many a night but failed. One sneaky night the thieves succeeded. They unlocked the bulls and quietly herded them straight towards the bridge. On the way they stole a yoke, a plough and two spades. Nonchalantly they entered the bridge, taking no notice of the two guards, comfortably sitting on a cot. Who are you? Stop, stop! They confidently pointed to the nearby village from which they had come and then pointed to the fields across the bridge and meekly replied that Sahib, we are headed to plough our field. Tilling is always done in the wee hours. They were let go. A little further they discarded the equipment and made off fast. Clever thugs! Another night, the thieves, four of them, stole another pair of prized bulls. On their way, they stole a cart and a yoke from another farm. They yoked the bulls to the cart. One of them lay on the cart, wrapped up, sick; the second held his head in his lap; the third was rubbing his leg which had a bloodied piece of cloth tied around it; the fourth, quietly leading the cart. As 202

they neared the bridge, the patient started crying with agony, kicking his legs. A constable on duty heard their din and stopped them. They told him that their brother had been bitten by a poisonous snake; they had cut the wound to bleed out the poison but needed to rush him fast to the hospital. The constable asked them to move on phata phat (quickly). The clever thugs made off, scot free.

Bhatras: The remarkable Bhatras were a well knit, clever and

intelligent clan. The twin village of Waddian Galotian was one of their bastions. They had an intimate contact with the people of Chhotian Galotian and contributed to enriching their culture. During the time of Guru Gobind Singh, Bhatras had enlisted in the Sikh volunteer armies and formed their own Nihang contingent, the martyr squad. Dressed in the regalia of Sikh soldiers, they used to come by to Sikh houses and sing ballads of Sikh warriors. They also pioneered the spread of education in the region. Students from Chhotian Galotian and neighbouring villages used to study at their village where Bhatras had helped open the first school in 1892. Men folk were adept in the art of palm reading and fortune telling. The village was simply a base for their families; men travelled far and wide plying their trade. In keeping with their wanderlust, they never purchased land. They built simple brick houses for their families, but unlike other Punjabis, never a flashy mansion. They were not possessed by their possessions. During the Raj, when passenger liners became common after 1850 and travel for the British families became affordable, the Bhatra men ventured aboard the ships as fortune tellers. They soon comprehended the cultural soft spots of the British, particularly the women. They were the earliest Indians to make a permanent home in Britain in late 1800s. They never worked as labourers, earning money by plying their trade. Clever, they would walk beside a person asking the names of their favourite flowers and birds and then would open their fist and ask the person to unfold a crumpled piece of paper. To their amazement, they would discover on it the name of their spouse, lover or the one dearest to them. They roamed the English countryside, reading palms and foreheads as well as selling neckties. Story was told of Panna Singh who went to England in 1920. Carrying a supply of neckties protected from 203

rain hanging under his black umbrella, he would stop people, tell them their fortune and then tell them their lucky colour. As chance would have it, he had the right colour under the umbrella. He charged nothing for fortune telling but sold the tie at a good price. As soon as they had saved enough money, they promptly returned to the village to spend time with their families. When money ran out, they returned to England. They were the only non-literate and non-rich Indians who were freely allowed into Britain in those days. For most of Indians, it was very difficult to obtain a passport and an exit permit to leave India. Bhatras dressed simply, lived well, ate well, drank well and enjoyed life. Theirs was the only village which had a licensed English liquor shop. Whenever a group of them returned from England, the price of eggs and chickens shot up. They never took advice from anyone outside of their clan. But once cajoled by Thekedar, at whose nearby brick kiln their men folk often stopped by, they acquired a good sized piece of land and built a Gurdwara. It enriched the life of the village, just as the building of the school in 1892 had done earlier. Their children studying at Church of Scotland Mission High School, Daska, were conspicuous for their distinctive tone of speech and cultured nature. Each had a newly imported Made in England bicycle to ride to the high school five miles away. None of them ever committed a crime, a theft, had a fight, or broke the law. No one in the village was jealous of them or their food habits. They were not in conflict with anyone. They were a happy clan. In Britain, Bhatras pioneered the trade of instalment sales of readymade garments at the doorstep in the British countryside. They made weekly calls collecting the dues and making fresh sales. Collecting bad debts was a serious problem because British working classes got paid on Fridays and were out of pocket by Sunday evening. Later, other Punjabi immigrants copied their instalment sales idea of selling garments at the door. Sitting under a cluster of trees in front of the liquor shop, they told captivating stories of their experiences in England. A woman owed a lot of money, always promised to pay next Friday and wanted more garments. The young peddler looked into her eyes and offered to write off the debt if you agree to give. She replied: I cant do that but I will satisfy you with my hand. 204

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Chapter XXV

Veterans

Soldiery is in the veins of Punjabis, but the economically well off environment of Chhotian Galotian was not a fertile ground for recruitment. Few and far between men served in the armed forces. One lancer distinguished himself in the loyal ghorcharrah (horse) contingent of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (17 -1839). He returned to the village after the disbandment of Sikh soldiery in 1848 and quietly settled as a farmer. Dewan Singh was the only one to have served in WWI. He survived to show his medals and tell his stories.

Mesopotamia On enlistment in 1914, at the start of WWI, Dewan was assigned to Sappers and Miners and sent straight on to Mesopotamia where the British had opened a major front against the Ottoman Empire, allies of the Germans. Turkey ruled the region. The British army, manned largely by Indians, swiftly occupied a large salient south east of the Euphrates River. Basra at stake, further British advance was blocked. The Turks were entrenched on both sides of the bridge. The British wanted to blow up the bridge but whenever anybody ventured in that direction, he was instantly shot down from high above. The hot issue being debated in the British Army was how to dynamite the bridge. Perhaps somebody could swim upstream to detonate a bridge column; the British were good swimmers. A volley of gun fire was bound to hit the swimmer. It was so risky that the option was rejected. Dewan hit on an idea. He knew from his childhood that a toba (well digger) can hold his breath under water for a long time. He scoured the regiments to find out if any toba had enlisted in the army. Much search led him to a wrestler, who used to be a professional toba. The two discussed the hush hush task; risky but rewarding. The toba consented: Sardar, you say it and by the grace of Allah, I do it. Gutsy Dewan went straight to his Commander, a full Colonel. The two conversed about the mad plan. Dewan in broken English My man, do it; the Commander in broken Urdu Kaise?, Kaise? (How?, How?). Dewan convinced the intrigued Commander that his friend can swim under water for a long distance and can blow up the bridge if given the equipment. 206

The Colonel was cognizant of the set back that the British had suffered earlier. Willy nilly, he ordered the sappers and miners to prepare and proceed. Toba was quickly trained in planting and triggering the dynamite. A select group assembled on the banks of the Euphrates at the dead of a dark night and watched the toba slip into the river, his waterproof pack securely fastened around his back. He swam upstream like a fish; ripples remained silent. Everybody watched in awe. Dewan was filled with anxiety; his head, and that of his man, was on the line. The toba reached the middle column, fastened the dynamite sticks, lit the match held between his cupped palms, ignited the fuse and jumped deep into the water. Everyone held their breath. Turkish guns hit the waters; a big bang followed in a matter of seconds; the middle of the bridge collapsed. There was jubilation in the British camp. Turkish forces on the eastern flank were cut off from the rest of their army and had to surrender. The British gained quick control of both sides of the Euphrates and occupied Basra. Thereafter, the British captured Baghdad in March 1917. The wrestler was decorated and rewarded. Dewan was given charge of a contingent of Turkish prisoners of war to work on the reconstruction of the bridge. It was an annoying task. Whenever a prisoner got a chance, he threw his shovel or pick axe into the river. Every evening when tools were counted, there was a shortage. It was difficult to put a finger on anyone as all Turks looked alike (as do all foreigners to others); language barrier compounded the predicament. Dewan remained in Basra until the war ended. He received two silver medals for service in 1914-1918, with Dewan Singh inscribed on the rims. These prized medals remained hung in the carved etaje of his living room and were left behind at the time of Partition in 1947. WWII attracted several men into active service, among them three handsome soldiers who never returned home. Since their mailing address bore the name of Advanced Base Post Office, no one had an idea of where they were and whatever happened to them. An Army secret! Speculation had it that they perished in the great desert (North Africa). High School graduates Harbans and Narinder enlisted in 1943 as clerks and returned home safely at the end of the War in 1945.They were 207

on the Burma front; luckily they did not face the bullet. Joginder, with a B.Sc. degree, qualified for a Royal Commission in early 1945 but he failed to make it because his chest was half an inch shorter than the minimum requirement. War ended before he could re-try. Kartar graduated from Maclaughan Engineering College and joined the Military Engineering Services in 1942 when WWII was at its peak. So was the Quit India agitation launched by Mahatma Gandhi. The freedom movement had touched the psyche of many a young man, Kartar among them. He was a capable engineer but regarded loyalty to the crown as demeaning and paid the price for that. His nationalism ran head on against British bearocracy. Since he was a capable engineer, it was not easy for his superiors to fire him.

aa bael, mujhe mar (come bull, gore me if you dare) Kartars working years under the British were getting into trouble, fearlessly and sometimes needlessly. Stationed at a war supply base in Calcutta, Kartar and a Punjabi colleague Handa had a shouting match with a British Lieutenant. The annoyed officer put his foot down and said: This is white. Kartar put his foot beside and said: This is black. The Lieutenant abused him; Kartar slapped him. It was too daring of a British subject. Kartar and Handa were arrested on theft charges! Every one knew that the real reason was the gross affront shown to a British Officer. A Commission headed by Major Mehta was set up to try them. Mehta was known to be strict but corrupt; he drank nightly. He knew that the charges were false but he demanded two bottles of Scotch and Rs. 200 from each to show leniency. Mehta, a widower, and his daughter lived in the barracks above the offices. Kartar had at times exchanged glances with the daughter. Stealthily, he went to see her; she agreed to help. The two were exonerated but Kartar was shunted off to Bombay. His file went with him. As war ended, Britain started lightening surplus stocks in 1946. British officers imported the old equipment for the Indian Army at exorbitant prices. On his own, Kartar prepared an investigation report. His Colonel refused to entertain the 208

report but allowed Kartar to submit it directly to the Commander. A team of three British Colonels came to conduct an enquiry. They asked Kartar: Who are you working for? It was a doubled-edged question (the ruling British or antiBritish interests?) Kartar replied: For my self. Kartar was promptly packed off to Lahore. His reputation and his file travelled with him. Col. L.C. Fullylove headed the MES Depot in Lahore. Kartar led a group of Sikh employees to have Guru Gobind Singhs birthday declared as a holiday. The Colonel refused. Rashly, Kartar stuck his sabre on the Commanders desk and said that we are willing to spill our blood for our right. Major Sehgal, a clean shaven Sikh officer known for the motto Be stout, we will win, supported them. Being the waning days of the Raj, the awed Colonel granted the holiday but the accumulated British venom against Kartar reached its brink. Meanwhile, Pakistan came into being in August 1947. Taking advantage of the rampant communal riots and absence of law and order, a trap was set up to do away with Kartar. Lucky for him, Maulvi Abdul Hakim, who hailed from Kartars home District, got a wind of it. He sabotaged the plan and saved Kartars life as detailed in the last chapter.

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Chapter XXVI

dhaki rijheh, te koi na bujheh so long as the pot is covered, no one knows what is cooking But, there is always a way for the fragrance to escape. Nothing could ever remain hidden in ruraldom where everyone knew everyone and going-ons were followed with intimate delight. This was particularly true of amorous affairs, spicy and hot. Lacking opportunities to meet and a harsh code, affairs involving a boy and a girl were unknown. But, affairs between married men and married women had a domain of their own. Talked about only in hushed whispers, three commonly known episodes give the flavour.

Amorous Affairs

Tarlok & Kushalia: Tarlok was a handsome young man and

a poet of repute. He ran a neat general store in the middle of the bazaar. He had a lovely wife, busy with two little children, living in their joint family compound. Dhoonda, a gold smith, was the only child of an aging mother. His private little house with a covered and enclosed courtyard, skylight of steel bars and inside stairs to the roof, backed on to Tarloks family house. Dhoonda made ornaments in his silver smithy and sold them as a travelling salesman. He devotedly looked after his widowed mother as long as she lived. After she passed away, he decided to get married. By then, he was over age, in his mid thirties. But marry he did by paying an undisclosed sum to the parents of Kushalia. She was a shy beauty with sun baked complexion and stunning features. She usually wore a simple but colourful salwar-kameez with a home dyed scarf. Women often went to Tarloks shop to buy sugar, spices, herbs, dyes and English soap, quite a bit of it on credit. Periodically, dressed simply but elegantly, Kushalia too went to the bazaar. It was during these visits that an affinity developed between Tarlok and Kushalia. From longing exchanges and accidental touching of hands as Tarlok slipped some candy into her palm, it developed into an amorous affair. Tarlok wrote a lovely ode lauding Kushalias charm and hissing laughter. Whenever Dhoonda was at his smithy or away to another village to meet a customer, Tarlok tiptoed over the roof, down the stairs and into the welcoming arms of Kushalia. 210

The women of the mohalla observed the comings and goings and delightfully shared whispers but never with men, not even their own men. Secrets have a limited life, particularly in a village. As the affair became public, many an eye turned on the pair. Tarlok went into seclusion for a week and swore to his family the end of his affair.

Begam Nazir & Bashir: Mian Hassan Mohamad was Maulvi

of Loharan di Masjid. His older sons were flourishing as blacksmiths in the city; the youngest, Bashir was the apple of his eye. Mian Sahib had high hopes of the handsome and polished youngster. But luck had it otherwise; Bashir dropped out of high school. His bosom friend and classmate Kartar failed to lure Bashir back to school. Thekedar, Kartars father, was Mian Sahibs best of friends. Mian Sahib shared his heart with Thekedar, who advised that it would be best for Bashir to learn driving a car, an expanding and respectable profession. Bashir too liked the idea, went to Lahore and learned driving. Homesick, he returned to the village. However, jobs were only in the city. Bashir was happy as an idler but Mian Sahib was uncomfortable.

Dr. Nazir Ahmad had a flourishing practice in Daska. His clinic in the main bazaar was always crowded. He was a good friend of Thekedar; every year, the two bought new bicycles together, always a British made Raleigh. Nazir Sahib was also family physician of Thekedar and would sometimes cycle to the village to treat his children. In time, Dr. Nazir, popularly known as Doctor Sahib, bought a car. Once he drove down to the village to call on Thekedar. The coming of the car caused quite a stir. Mian Sahib too came over to Thekedars house and whispered an idea into his ear. Bashir was called and Thekedar introduced him to Dr. Sahib as our boy. Handsome and well mannered Bashir charmed Dr. Sahib. He was hired on the spot. Bashir would do his duty at Daska from early morning and cycle back to the village in the evening. He was proud of the respectability that he enjoyed as Dr. Sahibs chauffer. Bashir would drive the children to school, come back, take Dr. Sahib to the clinic, come back, take lunch for Dr. Sahib, come back, pick up the children, come back, take the snobby Begam Sahiba wherever she wished to go and later pick up Dr. Sahib. Bashir had plenty of time in between as all his stops were within an easy mile. He played with the children who adored him. They cherished the idea of Bashir never leaving their house. They would cling to his legs, surround his bike, and 211

sometimes leak the air out to stop him from returning to the village. Begam Sahiba was appreciative of the happy relationship enjoyed by her boys. Sweeper came by and left; old cook was ever in the kitchen, gardener tended to the lawn and his flower beds. Begum Sahiba was all day lone and alone in the house. No one to talk with except the handsome and malleable Bashir! Slowly, slowly, the lonesome Begam Sahiba developed a soft corner for Bashir. It developed into a passion. It became a rage. Bashir would drop Dr. Sahib to the clinic and return to the embrace of Begam Sahiba. The gardener and the sweeper suspected nothing as Bashir was usually inside the house from day one. The old cook had an inkling of loving-doving, but he would never open his mouth for fear of losing his job. All good things come to an end. Bashir was suddenly relieved of his job. Dr. Nazirs son Moodi (Mahmood) was Kartars classmate. Bashir would give a letter to Kartar, who would insert it in Moodis notebook. Innocently, Moodi took it home to his mother. A reply never came back. Kartar went off to College at Lahore; Bashir joined Nanda Bus Service. Whenever Kartar and Bashir met during vacations, the two would sit together by the Mosque and Bashir would sing: sada sada sada sada na baghin bull bull bolae na bagh baharaan jwani nal nal nhi nibhni na sohbat yaraan

(neither cuckoo sings for ever nor is spring everlasting neither is youth eternal nor lovers camaraderie)

Jindan & Wassawa:

Gehna and Lehna lost their parents; they inherited a large 30 acre farm, one of the largest in the village. Gehna was a happy go lucky man who never married and passed away young. Slim trim Lehna was stern eyed, rarely smiled and rarely talked without purpose. Neatly but minimally dressed, he always wore a short black turban, a kurta, knee length breeches and a sabre. Known as Singh Sahib, Lehna spent all his time at the farm. He was a good catch but there was no one to arrange his marriage. His uncle and cousins wished him to remain single, dreaming of the day when they would automatically inherit his land. 212

Singh Sahib was past thirty when a good proposal came around. He got married to an attractive young woman named Jindan. Singh Sahib was an austere man, austere in sex as well. He did not even notice how his brides big black eyes complimented her big bosom. Jindan would have the hairdresser groom her for four long hours, put eye black, massage her head, comb her hair, and weave side strands of her jet black hair from the forehead, over the ears, merging into the main braid snaking at the back. Jindan looked stunning. But Singh Sahib remained stuck to his long established daily routine. There was a big void in Jindans life; she had not become pregnant as yet. Her generous alms to wandering fakirs and sadhus only increased her anxiety. Slowly Jindan became lax. Eating fresh butter, drinking fresh milk and lassi and having idle chats all day long with the neighbourhood women, Jindan put on weight. To keep herself busy and put the ample family money to some good use, she started lending small bits of money to needy women at nominal interest rate. Her pleasant disposition made her even more popular. Wassawa had returned to the village after a lucrative stint as a master mason in Jamshedpur, the new steel city in Bengal. He started rebuilding his mud house with bricks, lime and plaster of Paris. He ran out of money and did not wish to return to Jamshedpur without completing the house. At the suggestion of a close woman friend, Jindan agreed to make an exception and lend to a man. When Wassawa called on her, the attraction between them was instantantaneous. It seemed as if the North and South poles of two magnets had accidentally met. The transactions between them became frequent. Wassawa would often visit Jindan with jewellery rolled in a handkerchief. The two would vanish into the back room with scales, taking their good time to weigh the gold. Wassawa would slowly emerge with a big grin, holding a pack of rupee notes. Women in the mohalla remained busy with their work as if they had noticed nothing! Jindan had her fulfilment. Bhua Mulkan sitting at her daily perch in entrance to the bazaar noticed that Wassawa was passing through the common compound a bit too often to visit her cousins banker wife. She kept a watch. One day, when Wassawa did not come out of the house for a while, Mulkhan sent a message to Singh Sahib. He promptly rushed home with a sharp axe under his arm normally used for chopping fodder. Jindan opened the 213

bolted door, taking her sweet time, rubbing her eyes as if she had been woken up from an afternoon nap. Axe at the ready, silent Singh Sahib looked in every room, under the bed, behind the trunks, in the piles of cotton but did not find any intruder. He pulled a charpoy in the veranda and lay down in front of the door, axe still beside him. Silence prevailed all around. As evening fell, Singh Sahib returned to the khuh to milk the buffalo. A while later, someone saw Wassawa climb the stairs and walk across the roof tops into the rear street. Nine months later, Jindan bore a son. Her lending operations ceased for good; Wassawa had already returned to Jamshedpur. The juicy episode left a delicious trail of its own. The main room of Singh Sahibs house had a huge mud bin, a mini silo for storing wheat. These shapely bins were seven to eight feet tall, had a fat girth, a side hole near the bottom for wheat to pour out and a large opening at the top to fill the bin. The porous mud bins were ideal for storing grain; they kept the temperature right, moisture in and vermin out. As Singh Sahib knocked at the door, clever Jindan made Wassawa quickly climb into the bin and quietly placed the lid on the top. She then lay on the cot, feigning sleep, taking her time to open the door. Wassawa remained stuck in the wheat bin for hours. A quick bright idea had saved bloodletting!

Baba Bhed: He was not that old yet when his wife passed

away. After his sons got married, he felt uncomfortable about continued living at home. So he built for himself a hut at the khuh, working on the farm. His sons thought it was time for the old man to take it easy. So they built a small barn beside his hut and bought him a few bhed (sheep) and a ram. He fell in love with his new found profession. While grazing them in the wild, he noted that compared to goats, bitches and other animals, sheep were the most amiable partners. Whenever a ram singled one out, she did not resist. They were cuddly too. Lonesome Baba got intoxicated with the idea and kept an eye for the best one. He had a good time. One day, urchins roamed into the wild to snare parrots. There they saw the Baba at it with a bhed in the restful shade of an acaia tree. They ran back to the village breathless, shouting baba bhed, baba bhed. People guessed it. The not so old, lonesome baba acquired the title of baba bhed.

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Chapter XXVII

Unforeseen Parting

Pakistan is Born: The protracted bargaining negotiations

between the British and the Indian politicians of all spectrums concerning the transfer of power culminated in Divide and Quit. Partition of the country into two sovereign States of Muslim dominated Pakistan and Hindu dominated India was mutually agreed by the principal parties. The Sikh demand for a buffer State with equal power sharing among the communities was ignored. Fearing revolt by the Sikhs, the exact dividing line between the two new countries was kept secret for two days, until after the Transfer of Power at 00 hours on August 14 in Karachi to Pakistan and twenty four hours later in New Delhi to India.

As the people of Chhotian Galotian woke up on 14 August l947, they witnessed a spectacle that Sikhs had not dreamed of, not even on the eve of it. Drenched by the morning rays, a small green flag with a crescent was pegged on the roof of every Muslim house. This was perhaps judiciously and discreetly organized by an organ of the new Government. It was a silent but powerful proclamation of the advent of Muslim rule. No special prayers were said in the mosques and no slogans of Long Live Pakistan were raised. Muslims were genuinely afraid of provoking a reaction from the powerful Sikhs in the village. What bothered the Sikh psyche was not the pointed display of a change of regime but the completely veiled secrecy in which the display of flags had been engineered. A bustling and jubilant crowd of Muslims and a handful of subdued Sikh, Hindu and Christian representatives gathered in the morning at Daska where official ceremonies had been scheduled in front of the Court House. A band was playing and loudspeakers were blaring. Sardar Rajinder Singh was the lone Sikh from the village to participate; a few Muslims had also walked to Daska to witness the historic ceremony. The Union Jack was lowered and Pakistan flag was hoisted as government officials and dignitaries took the salute.

The Eighteen Long Days: Sikhs had vehemently opposed

the creation of Pakistan. They now had to learn to live in Pakistan and deal with the new masters of the land. On the birth day of Pakistan, life in the village proceeded as usual. Sikhs tended to their affairs with heads held high as if nothing had happened, quite prepared to live under the Muslim rule 216

with dignity. Quietly alerted by the Missionaries, Christians started wearing a cross around their necks. Instead of the usual rigor, there was an air of uncertainty on the Christian foreheads. August 16: The second day of Pakistan marked the beginning of the end of Sikhs in the village. A countdown of forcing them out of the villages to refugee camps had started. Top echelons of the bureaucracy and the army had been informed of the secret command from higher up to throw the Sikhs out of Pakistan. As a payoff for his professed loyalty, Sardar Rajinder Singh was tipped by the army and police intelligence to move out of the village to a safer haven. The Sardar acted fast. On 16th August, he packed his family and some belongings including his gun onto his buggy. With reins in hands, he left without exchanging a word with anybody. Two days later, he sent word to his brothers and their families to join him in Sialkot Cantonment where his wife Bawis brother, Lieutenant Colonel Ghulam Sarwar Cheema (nee Gurdial Singh Cheema) was stationed. They followed suit. Sikhs in the village viewed these departures as callous desertions. Anguished, they thought that the cowardly act had tarnished the brave Sikh ethos. August 18: Thekedar had a powerful .45 calibre licensed rifle with a magazine for seven bullets. A little before sunset on 18 August, he quietly took his son Sheri to his khuh, taught him how to kneel and aim, the shoulder solidly backing the rifle butt. After a brief rehearsal, he gave Sheri one precious bullet, asked him to load it, take a position and fire at the trunk of the tree at the end of the field. The shot resonated; birds flew in every direction; it was a bulls eye. Both were pleased. The awesome boom of the practice shot buzzed the village. Sikh-Muslim relations in the village remained on an even keel, harmonious as usual. There was fear of attack by armed gangs of outsiders but also an air of confidence. Sikh elders met at the Gurdwara to plan defensive measures; Sikh youth organized themselves into bands to guard the village at night. Most Sikh farmers continued to stay at their khuhs in the company of their beloved animals. Newspapers having been shut down long earlier, people were totally in the dark about what was going on in the country. Since travel had ceased, even rumours were scanty.

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Maulvi of Kotli saves a son of Chhotian Galotian

insan lakh chahe to kia hota hai aakhar wohi hota hai jo manzure khuda hota hai (Humans may wish a million wishes it is the Divine Will that prevails) Lahore: August 19 At the time of the transfer of power by the British to the Republics of Pakistan and India, all Government employees were given the option to serve India or Pakistan. Major Sehgal and Kartar Singh Babra of the Stores Department of Military Engineering Services (MES) opted to serve Pakistan. All other Sikh and all Hindu employees had opted for India. Col. L.C. Fullylove was in command of the Department; the remaining officers were also mostly British. Kartars history of disloyal service to the British was imbedded in Fullyloves mind. There was widespread disorder in the town and rampant killings were going on right and left. He thought that it was an opportune time to do away with Kartar. He would be just one more body lying on the roadside stabbed to death! As luck would have it, Maulvi Abdul Hakim of Kotli Loharan, a historic village not far from Kartars village, was also on the MES staff. Kartar showed up early at work as usual. His desk overlooked a large room where his staff had their desks. Maulvi Sahib somehow got a wind of the going ons in the Department. He too came to the office early, went over to Kartar, took a chair, put his head on the desk and started weeping. Shocked Kartar enquired: Whats the matter, Maulvi Sahib? He replied: Why did you show today? They have planned to do away with you. Thankful Kartar said: If that be the matter, I will leave. Kartar grabbed his bicycle but Pathan sentries closed the gate. He put the bicycle by the pillar and stood in the veranda with his back to the wall, on the alert. Anxiety hung in the air. A long hour later, Major Sehgal drove in. Judging the situation correctly, he asked Kartar to pick up his bicycle and leave right away. Gatekeepers again refused to let Kartar out. Major pulled out his pistol and forced them to open the gate. In the dead of the same night, Kartar, his pregnant wife and younger brother Joginder, a Chemist with the Railways, who 218

too had opted to serve Pakistan, fled to Amritsar, jobless and homeless. August 21-27: A week after the advent of Pakistan, Sikh and Hindu refugees from the surrounding villages started pouring into Chhotian Galotian, a safe Sikh citadel. Some related gory tales of woe. They said that they had been asked to accept Islam or flee with three clothes, pockets inside out. A few others related forcible conversions of their relatives. They were herded in a compound, male heads were shaved, and all male children and men were circumcised while a Mullah read verses from the Holy Quran. Everyone then had to share a feast of steamed rice and meat of a cow, killed and cooked on the spot. Young daughters were asked to marry Muslim men to solidify the familys commitment to their new faith. The influx of refugees grew to over 2,500 within a week; desperate men, women and children huddled into the Gurdwara, the schools and with relatives. Luckily it was summer and outdoor sleeping was possible. But they had to be fed, cared, consoled and counselled. They were guests of the village. Soon, food started running low, particularly dal, salt and onions. August 28: As the evening fell, Sikh elders requested Thekedar to approach the authorities to declare Chhotian Galotian as a Refugee Camp. An authorized refugee camp enjoyed the protection of the army, and was supplied with minimal rations until the refugees were moved to India in caravans. August 29: Thekedar dressed in his World War I safari attire and suited Inder Singh Vakil rode on their bicycles to Daska and then took a bus to Sialkot to plead with the Deputy Commissioner and the Army Commander to declare Chhotian Galotian as a refugee camp. They returned in the evening after assurances that the decision will be announced tomorrow. Rumours had it that an attack by a mob of Muslim refugees from East Punjab was imminent. True or not, the effect was potent. Fear gripped everyone. Sikh farmers left their khuhs to the care of their Christian farmhands and returned to their homes to be with their families. Vigil was doubled up. The sleepless night passed without an incident. 219

August 30: Anxiety in their hearts and uncertainty clasping their emotions, everyone in the village remained on pins and needles. The only voices heard were those of a crying child. Every one was awaiting the news of the declaration by the Government. Huddled here and there, people passed another sleepless night. August 31: Early in the morning, information reached the village that Daska had been declared as a Refugee Camp. Within hours over four thousand men, women and children rushed to Daska, young mothers clutching their babies and everyone carrying whatever they could on their heads or under their arm pits. Gone were all those who had sought refuge in the village. Also gone were 90% of the Sikh and all the Hindu inhabitants. By the evening most of the Sikh and Hindu houses had become a ghost town. How fast they fled! Barely a hundred men and fifty women and children were left behind. Thekedar did not budge. Was it an inner call of responsibility or was it confidence in the bonds with the Muslim populace of the village? It had to be both. At sundown, all Sikhs left behind in the village congregated at the house of Thekedar; about 150 of them. All other Sikh and Hindu houses were empty, including the formidable Gurdwara. Secure as a fortress, the house that Thekedar had built just eight years earlier proved its worth. Women and children stayed on the first two floors. Men were on the roof tops. Young boys climbed to the mumty roof using the perch as a watch tower. Other than children napping in their mothers laps or drowsily leaning beside them, no one had a wink of sleep. The buffalo remained tied to the manger.

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The clear, hot, breezeless night of 31 August, was drenched white by the full moon. Not a candle flickered anywhere. From the mumty one could eye the entire span of the village. Calmness was all around. Not even dogs were barking. There was no looting of the empty houses. Such were the relations between Sikhs and Muslims in the village. Around midnight, raised voices in the distance became audible. Perhaps unattended cattle in the khuhs were being rustled! The cracking of lathis was the next sound. Every man in the house was all ears. Then the noise moved to the top of the street; lathis being hit by lathis. The mock mob action moved a bit nearer, step by step. A few men were seen roving to and fro in front of the house. Loud voices began to be raised here and there. Fearing trouble, men in the house took positions along the ramparts. Panicked, some children started sobbing. Enough was enough. To take control of the situation, Thekedar rushed to the second floor roof, rested the barrel of his loaded rifle on the rampart, gauged the scene and fired a shot in the air. Loud blast from the .45 calibre rifle echoed in every direction as the powerful bullet swished over the roofs and across the village. Muslim women rose from their roof top cots yelling, picked up their children and started rushing downstairs fearing turmoil. Thekedar roared at the top of his voice: Dont panic; nobody will be harmed. It was just a warning shot meant for the miscreants. Clattering of lathis ceased abruptly. A few fellows came to the front of the house and said loudly: Thekedar Sahib, please dont fire. We will guard the house; we will take care of anyone who dares to make mischief. Please be assured: we are with you as always, your good neighbours and friendly villagers. The night of 31st.August was the Last and the Longest Night for the Sikhs in Chhotian Galotian. September 1: The blazing sun rose as usual. No one went to the fields; perhaps no one was even ready to answer the call of nature, not having eaten anything the evening before. Maya milked the buffalo and gave fresh milk to the mothers for their babies. No one else ate anything. Thekedar unbolted the outside double doors and was the first one to come out of his house. Muslim neighbours came out of their houses to greet him. Sikhs in the house poured out as well; some men rushed out to grab a few things from their homes; others went to the Gurdwara. There was a quick counsel about the disposition of

holy Sikh scriptures. It was decided to immerse them into the Gurdwara khuhi lest they are desecrated afterwards. The immersions included the 17th century hand-written Granth Sahib personally signed by Guru Har Gobind and bestowed to the village as a mark of his stay in the village. It was too large and too weighty to be carried along by anyone on the run. In any case, not much thought was given to the wisdom of the hurried act. A precious historical tome was lost for ever. Thekedar also immersed his own Granth Sahib in the Khuhi. Remaining Sikh families started walking to Daska. Thekedar asked Issah to get the tonga belonging to Ishar Singh Bhatia ready. He then went back to the house and rolled his rifle in his prized carpet that he had brought from Basra in 1918. Maya packed a bag with wheat flour, dal, ghee, onions, haldi and salt, adding a couple of cooking utensils. Thekedar placed his partly used bottle of cognac among them. The ghumar neighbors loaded the baggage on to the tonga. Maya rolled a few khes and chadars into a bedding and tied a string around them. Umbar Din, handsome and tall son of late Rahim Bibi, confidante and dear friend of Maya, offered to carry it to Daska. Maya was the last one to come out of the house, tightly clutching the buffalos rope. Neighbourhood Muslim women, tears rolling down their cheeks were assembled in the front. Maya exchanged affectionate glances with them. Many a lip quivered with silent emotions. Maya wept as she patted the buffalo for the last time and then handed the lead rope to Lal Dins youthful wife standing by her door across the street clutching her baby. She accepted the gift gratefully, gracefully and silently. A group of Muslim men had gathered in the square calmly watching the last of the Sikhs to leave. Soon to become refugees, they had carefully locked their homes and left their loved animals to be cared for by their trusted fellow villagers. The commonly shared belief was that everyone will return to the village after conditions had calmed down. Silence prevailed, no one believing what had transpired. Thekedar gestured the last of the women and children to start the march to Daska. The few Sikhs still left in the square were empty handed except that Sheri was holding a weighty jute bag. Thekedar was in constant, uneasy but assuring exchange with some of the Muslims in the crowd. The remaining entourage was about to depart when someone in the crowd asked Sheri for the bombs so that they could continue to

defend the village. Sheri replied that he had none; the need over, they had been thrown into the Gurdwara khuhi. Every Muslim looked suspiciously at the jute bag in Sheris hand. Just at that uncertain moment, two armed horsemen galloped to the square; it was Inder, son of Lambardar Sulakhan Singh and a companion. The rifle shot in the middle of the night had been heard in Daska; the people from the village conjectured that Thekedar and others left behind had been attacked. Inder had a revolver in his right hand, dramatically held pointed at the ready to fire. As they dismounted in the square, the focus shifted at once. Inder gave Sheri his horse and his revolver and asked him to go join the caravan and escort the women and children to Daska. With Sheri gone, the source of doubt was gone. Inders fortuous coming had eased the tense situation. On the way to Daska Sheri discovered that the trigger of Inders revolver was jammed dead. What a show of courage and what generosity of the small built but spirited Inder to part with the not so spirited horse and his precious but dud handgun! Inder and his companion riding together on the second horse took a round of the main street before leaving. Thekedar said his goodbyes to the assembled Muslim men and marched on to Daska, walking the three and a half mile distance, accompanied by Umber Din carrying the bedding that he would roll on the dirt floor in the refugee camp. He was energetic and resourceful self at 54 when Partition made him homeless, drowning his dreams. Refugees: By the forenoon of 1st. September, 1947, all the Sikhs and Hindus of the village numbering over 1,600 fled to the Refugee Camp at Daska, the first leg of their forced migration to India. They lost their beloved village for ever. Too stunned even to weep, they left behind their precious possessions, their institutions, their history and their goodwill. They carried with them their memories, filled with deep emotions which would haunt them, wrench them until their death. lae vey Ranjhia Rubb noo sonpeon toon te assi nal nhio kujh lae challe!`

Heer

(As I depart with empty hands and an aching heart beloved mine, I surrender you to the care of God Almighty)

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Statistical Annex

Table 1

Land Use , pre-Partition (1946) 1,050 70 20 35 1,175 25 40 10 27 acres acres

Cropland Residential Ponds Roads and cart lanes Total Number of Khuhs: Average cropland per khuh Average holding per joint family Number of ponds (5 large; 12 small) One acre

= 4,840 sq. yds = 1.2 acres of 4,000 sq. yds.

Table 2

Population Characteristics Pre-Partition (1946) 50:50 100%

Population: 3,000 Male-Female ratio: Households 430 Home ownership Average persons per household 7 Composition: Total Jats 30 Ramgarhias 21 Lohar 7 Ghamiar 7 Dalit 7 Khatri/Arora 6 Barwala 4 Mirasi 3 Nai 3 Teli 2 Sanyara 2 Arain 1 Machhi 1 Mehra 1 Brahmins 1 Mochi 1 Syad/Kashmiri 1 Others 2 Sikhs Muslims -%8 7 7 4 3 3 2 1 1 1 1 1 Hindus

Christians

22 21 6 1 1 1

1 1 -

7 -

Total 100

52

39

Table 3 Professions of Householders Pre-Partition (1946) Professions Total Farming 38 of which proprietors (26) tenants (5) farm hands (7) Sikh Muslim -%21 (19) (2) 10 (7) (3) 13 2 7 (7) Hindu Christian

Artisans/technicians 19 32 Traders/shopkeepers 5 7 Entrepreneurs 1 1 Educated professional 3 4 Transporters 1 8 Mehra/Machhi 1 2 Marasi/Nai/Teli 6 Non-farm labor 1 2 Total 100 52

1 7 1 6 1 39 2 7

Table 4

Land ownership Pre-Partition (1946) Sikhs Muslims 12 4 1 17 -%Hindus Christians 7 4 1

Total

Jats 75 87 Ramgarhias 7 Arains Khatri 1 1 Teli, Kashmiri Total 100 83

Table 5

Livestock, Equipment & Enterprises Pre-Partition (1946)

Livestock Numbers: Milch buffaloes 300; non-milch buffaloes 100; buffalo calves 300; buffalo bulls 50; oxen 200; cows 10; horses 16; donkeys 60; goats 90; sheep 30; hunting & pet dogs 7; farm dogs 90; street dogs 50; farm cats 50; street cats 30 Equipment and Enterprises Retail Shops 14 Bhathis 4 Tongas 9; Rehras 2; Ox Carts 5; Cycles 15 Khras 2; Wheat mill 1; Chakkis (hand operated millstones) 100 Cotton gin 1; Pinjni 2; fluffing plant 1; Velnis (hand operated gins) 200 Kohlus (oil presses) 3 Iron smithies 5 Manufacture of wood combs 2; gramophone needles 2 Handloom weaving pits 12 Pottery 2 Sewing machines 25 Tailoring shops 4

Scholarly Commentators

Acknowledgements

Contributors Baljeet Singh, World Bank, Washington DC Iqbal Singh Dhillon, Moga Paramjit Kaur Guron, Ludhiana Santokh Singh, Chandigarh Surrinder Pal Singh, Chandigarh Interviewies Ajit Kaur, Chandigarh Avtar Singh, Sanaur, Patiala; Avtar Singh Babra, Toronto Bawi, Sohinder Kaur, Moga Bhagat Singh Khrasia, Rajpura; Dewan Singh Thekedar, Chandigarh Gajinder Singh Babraa, London Harbans Singh Luthra, Chandigarh; Inder Kaur, Sultan Pur Lodhi Inder Singh Lambranda, Sultan Pur Lodhi Joginder Singh Babra, Lucknow Kartar Singh Babra, Rajpura Kartar Singh Pathranwala, New Delhi Kulwant Singh, Panipat Malik Singh Manjit Kaur Toor, Virginia Man Singh Mistri, Jagadhri Maya Dei, Chandigarh Mohinder Kaur, Pathankot; Mohinder Singh Dhillon, Chandigarh Parkash Kaur Sindhu, New Delhi Pritam Singh Bhinder, Kotli Arbanga Sant Prem Singh, Karnal Surrinder Singh Babra, Washington DC Swarnjit Singh Dhillon, Chicago Tarlok Singh Dhillon, Sultan Pur Lodhi

About the Author Shamsher Singh Babra was born in Chhotian Galotian (Rachna Doab) and educated at Lahore, Delhi, London and Washington; Ph.D. in Economics. First Sikh to join the World Bank, first Indian Division Chief, Shamsher Singh retired as Policy Advisor. He participated in UN discussions on the New International Economic Order, negotiations of International Commodity Agreements. He concluded Consultative Arrangements between the World bank and the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations, attended the UN General Assembly Session, and testified before the Select Committees of the British House of Lords and the German Bundestag. He served as a Commissioner of the World Energy Conference. He prepared three successive (1984-87) Budgets and Economic Recovery Programs for the Government of Ghana; he attended the Paris Club meetings of the donors. He was a Visiting Fellow at Oxford; he delivered lectures at major Universities around the globe. His writings include several World Bank publications, numerous research essays, articles and poems. His books about Punjab include Unblossomed Bud, a saga of intellectual rebels, Vichhoray da Dagh (in Urdu Shahmukhi) and Beete Punjab da Pind (Punjabi). Throughout his life, he has steadfastly devoted himself to public service.