Garden of Bullets.

Author: Saurav Dutt

Genre: Historical .

Publisher:

Year: 2019

Format: Paperback/Ebook

Blurb: It has been a century since the massacre at Jallianwala Bagh, but India and especially the Punjab has not recovered from the mayhem and terror of that blood-soaked April in 1919. The British Empire never recovered either—the impact of those bullets fired for ten minutes at an unarmed, peaceful crowd directly impacted its remaining years in India. Yet, the true horror of the event itself has been forgotten, as also the explosive atmosphere in Punjab at the time.What led to the brutality and horror of that day and how did it forever change India’s fight towards self determination and fight for independence? Why did the British seek to crush the meeting at the Jallianwala Bagh and impose martial law on Amritsar? What of the people who lived in the Punjab in 1919 whose lives were forever changed on 19 April 1919? Why did the people of Punjab, Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, have to endure barbaric punishment in the wake of this atrocity, and why was news about the campaign of terror in the Punjab supressed from the rest of the world?These are the questions fuelling this hard-hitting and uncompromising novel reconstructing that crucial day and the events that followed. Based on the reports of the Hunter Committee and the Indian National Congress, as well as other historical documents, Garden of Bullets: Massacre at Jallianwala Bagh provides a sharp analysis of the British Raj in Punjab at the time, General Dyer’s actions and their fallout—the official narrative and the Indian counter-narratives.Based on years of research and startling new evidence, this is a masterpiece of narrative non fiction, as Saurav Dutt reveals a new take on the Amritsar Massacre that is utterly compelling, but also emotionally devastating.

Sample:

This was not a normal Sunday in Amritsar. It was Baisakhi. The roads approaching the city made clear the importance of this religious festival to the Punjab. Thousands of pilgrims from outer districts were slowly trickling into the city, the roads thronged with those eagerly heading towards the Golden Temple. As the sun slid neatly across the horizon and the morning woke in all its bright splendour, it was not only the pilgrims who made their way into the city but also hundreds, thousands of merchants, businessmen and families tending to the horse and cart fairs which were an integral part of the day.

Whether visiting the grounds of the Golden Temple or not, invariably visitors found themselves slipping into the expanse of the Jallianwala Bagh which was nearby. The heat was tremendous, the grounds providing means of shelter in the shade, or a place for pilgrims to leave their shoes and sandals once the temple grounds began to quickly fill up. Others took their spot in the garden to pray, to converse with friends and relatives they had not seen since the last Baisakhi celebrations. Others plaintively dozed, some quick to set up a new card or dice game. Others simply grazed waiting for the morning to crawl towards twilight.

It was a garden in name only. The Jallianwala Bagh looked more like a large empty swimming pool, the dry, scorched earth crushed under the weight of the hot sun. Not a single flower or blade of grass broke through the hard soil as stray dogs lazily darted from one corner to the other looking for discarded scraps of food. As people took their spots, they would often do so besides mud-soaked buffalos that drowsed in the depths of the welcome shade and fluttering breeze. A low wall surrounded the 200-yard oblong shaped plot and houses jutted curiously over it. On one side, not far from a tall peepul tree, was a large well, and near to the centre there was an old shrine, fringed by four small trees.

At the Ram Bagh, General Dyer had woken long before anyone else. He paced slowly ahead of the pitched tents as he watched his men sleep. He took a drag of his cigarette and watched the sun break free from a tangled thread of clouds as it cast its defiant rays into his squinting eyes.

His ears could pick up the distant drumroll of moving feet deeper into the city centre, the scattered chattering of citizens on the move despite the early hour. As he moved ahead, he noticed a small group of Gurkha soldiers had already arisen, pushing their bodies up against the grass outside their tents, rising to carry out of a silent recitation of muscle exercises, slicing their kukris against the wind. Two of them paused as they did so, meeting Dyer’s approving gaze with a firm salute.

He circled the camp for the next hour or so, slowly watching the men roused by the other as they tended to their weapons and ran out for a brisk drill exercise at the behest of Captain Briggs.

But it was his personal guard, William Anderson, who noted that Dyer was not quite the epitome of resoluteness that had typified his behaviour in Amritsar thus far.

“I have barely slept, dear boy,” General Dyer lamented, immediately lighting Anderson’s cigarette “do you hear that sound?”

“People on the move, hundreds, probably thousands. What do you make of it, General?” Anderson drew in a breath as he saluted the young subalterns who marched past “the Indian soldiers tell me it’s some kind of native celebration today, a major one.”

“I have already been briefed on that, it is Baisakhi,” General Dyer waved him off “there will be a considerable number of people coming into the city, some with carts and business to trade, some with nefarious plans on their murderous minds. It is my contention that they have not come to pray but to loot and destroy. The timing of this native celebration is most unfortunate.”

By the time General Dyer had taken Anderson back towards his briefing room, he was surprised to see Captain Briggs already present, looking over a city ordinance map, puffing nonchalantly on his pipe.

“The boys are waiting for your command,” Captain Briggs beamed “they are all eager to see what you are planning.”

“They’ve slept better than I have in that case,” General Dyer quipped “If you are not aware, it is a national celebration today. In Lahore, Baisakhi is a celebratory affair, but it will be eclipsed here in Amritsar where the Golden Temple is located. Please impress upon the men that they are not to be fooled into thinking that everybody in this city has prayer on their minds today. Vagabonds, ruffians, terrorists, looters and mutineers will be in their midst with carnage on their mind. It is vital that the men do not seek personal reprisals. We are in control and we will hold firm to that.”

“Mr Irving, Mr Plomer and Mr Rehill are on their way,” Captain Briggs nodded “how would you like to proceed, General?”

“I want Irving to have only a rudimentary understanding of what is to happen,” Dyer insisted “in a few hours, we shall lead a presence to various points in the city to issue a firm proclamation that makes clear that there is to be no gathering, processions or public meetings of any kind. That if one does go ahead it will be met with severe consequences. We shall take a column of Indian soldiers with us, so we appear to be partisan. A translator shall be accompanying us. Within those few hours, it is my intention that everybody who has a brain in the city will know that they should heed my warning.”

Within the next few hours Plomer, Irving and Rehill stood alongside a column of Indian and Gurkha soldiers as they waited for General Dyer to emerge from his briefing room.

Inspector Khan sat atop a white horse, gliding into view alongside a bamboo cart in which sat a drummer and town crier. Pinned to his chest was an unfurled scroll which he seemed to guard with his life.

Ram Singh stood within the column, his eyes furtively searching the faces of Khan, Plomer and Irving for some sign of what they were really thinking. Irving’s face was cherry red, beads of sweat collecting around his cheeks and the crook of his jaw. Ram Singh glanced to his side and could see the Gurkha soldier smiling back at him.

“You always look so worried, Singh,” the soldier winked “I consider it a highlight to be obeying the command of someone as esteemed as General Dyer; look how formidable we will look going out today. Nobody will dare to challenge us.”

“Why do you take such satisfaction in obeying them?” Ram Singh growled under his breath “I detest you, all of you for the glee you take in what you do. I am trying to make money for my family, as are many of us. But you, all of you, you actually enjoy what you do.”

“If you are not here to serve, then you are useless,” the Gurkha soldier snapped “I advise you to not speak further; what you say takes on the spectre of mutiny.”

General Dyer strode forward, each step poised as he looked upon the collected men before him with pride and gratitude. He paused by Inspector Khan, stroking the rind of the horse as he threw a glance towards the town crier and drummer.

“When I was not present Inspector Khan,” General Dyer stared up “you and your men displayed the laziness and taciturn nature of which your race is famous for. There will not be a repeat of this under my watch, do I make myself clear? We go out today to issue a warning. Any defiance of this warning is an act of war and I do not choose my words sparingly. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. Are you sure the drummer and town crier know of their duty? If they prevaricate or skew my message in any shape or form, a hiding and public flogging will be the least of their concerns. And you too shall be made to crawl at my feet if you lie to me about what they translate. I speak the language so will know if you are lying to me.”

“General, they know what is expected of them,” Inspector Khan cleared his throat, unable to meet General Dyer’s strong gaze, “as do I. Your warning will be delivered.”

“It is not my warning, Inspector,” General Dyer said clearly “it is the warning of the Punjab government. I understand Irving speaks Urdu. When he reads out my proclamation, be sure that the drummer and town crier repeat and translate into Punjabi. If there is any false translation, I will hold you and your men responsible. I will not repeat myself again.”

General Dyer moved to the nose of the column and stared Lieutenant Colonel Morgan in the eye, ensuring Irving, Plomer and Rehill were in earshot.

“The time is now 10:30 Lt Col Morgan,” General Dyer announced “if we are not back by 2pm, then come and look for us. Anything is possible out there.”

The sound of the hoofs of the white horse grinding into the soil startled them as Inspector Khan took his position near to the police car, which now seated Plomer, Rehill and Irving. All staring patiently ahead, except for Irving.

“You will be making the first address in Urdu,” General Dyer said leaning in to meet the whites of his eyes “we have identified 19 points at which to do this. I expect you to have the stamina to complete these announcements. This is not the moment to abdicate your responsibility.”

“I have heard people have already started to meet,” Irving swallowed as General Dyer’s car peeled into view “what if this proclamation is too late?”

“As usual the intelligence you have received is false,” General Dyer countered “they are making their way into the city and will be using the crowds to plot their next move. We have ears to the ground and our assets will no doubt inform us of exactly what is to happen. We are issuing a warning. One that will leave no doubt in the minds of those who listen.”

“And what if they do not listen?”

“You can think about that when you see how they respond to us now,” General Dyer smirked as William Anderson held the passenger door open for him “speak clearly and deliberately. Let every word I have written be understood.”