The Patriot Who Avenged The Jallianwalla Bagh Massacre
For The Illustrated Weekly of India | January 30, 1972
The day of reckoning came after 21 years. Sir Michael O'Dwyer left the Punjab as Governor in 1921, censured for having condoned the killing of over 375 innocent men and women by General Dyer. Sir Michael was shot by Udham Singh on March 13, 1940.
In search of history – Punjab's, India's – in Birmingham, I ran into a Sikh immigrant from Sangrur. The conversation inevitably centred on the Punjab, news from home, the latest happenings and the like. We drifted towards history. I mentioned Maharaja Dalip Singh, buried at Elveden Hall, thirty miles from Cambridge. Mehima Singh brought up his pet project – a film on the life of Udham Singh, lone avenger of the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre.
"It will be a great picture. His life and sacrifice were worthy of Bhagat Singh, who, incidentally, was his hero. I have collected much material on Udham. There are men alive who knew him in 1939-40. I have even read his last letters from jail."
I pricked up my ears. "Gill Sahib, they will make you weep – these letters. The noble sentiments; the high mark of courage even in the face of death; the unselfishness; and the sense of humour amidst all the darkness. Oh, he was a real Punjabi!"
“Where are these letters? Who has them? When can I see them?" My questions came in quick succession.
"An old friend and colleague of Udham has them. But you won't be able to see them, leave alone get them. They are the old man's life; to him a treasure beyond price."
Finally I asked Ajit Singh, a Don of Queen's College, Cambridge. He drove me over to a house by the sea, in a quiet English resort. When we arrived there, I pressed the buzzer, while Ajit admired the roses in the front garden. Once, twice. Finally, as the third ring of the buzzer cut through the silence of the house, a window upstairs opened. The kindly face of a genial woman, now knitted in a small frown, peeped out. I mumbled something. She eyed us, particularly Ajit, and said, "Oh, we weren't expecting you. Wait a minute, I will let you in."
As I stepped into the corridor, I heard a familiar welcome: "Aao-jee, Aao. Come upstairs."
Shiv Sinth Johal, 65, stood at the top of the landing. We met as if we had always known each other. Soon his wife produced some coffee, and we talked of ourselves.
I introduced myself and came to the point at once. I could not wait. "Sardar Sahib," I said, "I have heard that you have the last letters of Shaheed Udham Singh. These are part of our history and will give flesh to our memories. You do not know me, but if you can trust me, let me take them back to the Punjab, where they belong. At least permit me to see them."
Shiv Singh Johal was extremely courteous in his reply. "I have the letters, but these are not mine. They belong to the nation," he said. And left it at that.
He turned the talk around on to me: my village, my people, my work. They say, in the Punjab, that all Jats have a common grandmother. We did! He discovered with delight that his nephew and my father had spent thirty summers together in the same cavalry regiment. Now his nephew's son and my brother shared the same squadron of tanks. Mention of Uncle Butalia opened many invisible doors for me. In spite of the gap of thirty years, we could share memories. Sardar Shiv Singh called his wife. "Darling, Mr Gill knows Raghbir and Bindy!"
On March 13, 1940, the Royal CentraI Asian Society and the East India Association had organised a lecture on Afghanistan – at Caxton Hall, London.
Lord Zetland and Sir Michael O'Dwyer, during whose Governorship of the Punjab the Jallianwalla massacre was perpetrated, were among those on the dais. The lecture ended at 4.30 p.m., when a Sikh rushed forward and fired six shots in rapid succession from a revolver.
Michael O'Dwyer was killed instantly and thus the Amritsar massacre avenged after 21 years. (O'Dwyer had laid down office as Governor of the Punjab and left India on May 30, 1919. In Britain, he was presented with a purse of £20,000.)
Udham Singh, who called himself Mohammed Singh Azad, was committed to trial at the Old Bailey Central Criminal Court, which passed a sentence of death. He went to the gallows on June 12, 1940.
Mrs Johal, Norwegian by birth Punjabi by choice, was even more interested. Raghbir and Bindy were to her the best nephews anyone could ever have. How they spoilt her when she spent a year in Jullundur. And didn't she know the Sikhs, the village folk and their marvellous hospitality. Oh, the wedding feasts they attended at Jullundur! But for the heat which made her ill, they would never have come away. Sitting by the sea in a quiet English town, we talked of another land.
I turned the conversation to Udham Singh. Shiv Singh's eyes lighted up with distant memories and perhaps the hint or a tear. "We called him Bawa – he was so indifferent to the ambitions and successes of this world. The other Punjabis – a couple of hundred at best – often chided him for not working and earning enough. He would always reply with gentle mockery that, while they only thought of bread and butter, he had some work to do. Udham flitted about the Shepherds Bush Gurdwara in London like a shadow. No one really knew what he was up to. Nor, for that matter, did the simple immigrant labour really care. They had their jobs to do and their families to look after."
"How did you get to know him?" I asked.
"In the beginning we were just casual acquaintances. Sometimes he came and had a meal with me. In India, I had lived in the U.P. for a while and knew the father of poet Ram Parshad Bismil, the Kakori case martyr. One evening, we were talking of India's plight and I quoted a couplet from Bismil. I missed a line. Bawa promptly supplied it. From that moment, I took him to my heart. I told him – 'Bawa , whatever you may be up to, this house is always yours'."
A lump rose in my throat. I thought of Bhagat Singh and his band of brothers and their ambition:
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamare dil mein hai;
Dekhna hai, zor kitna bazoo-i-qatil mein hai.
Shiv Singh continued: "Udham was brought up at the Sikh orphanage at Amritsar. He was one of the volunteers serving water at the Jallianwalla Bagh meeting. The bloodshed and the subsequent humiliation heaped on our people, seared his memory. He carried the burden of revenge constantly in his wanderings in America and Europe. Bawa confided his purpose to me. I said to him, 'What you do is your business, but this house is always open to you, no matter what happens.' Months passed. Nothing happened. One evening, as he talked of such matters, I cut him short. I thought he was more of a talker than a doer. Udham explained. He had not been able to get O'Dwyer and the Secretary of State together. I let it pass. On March 13, 1940, Udham redeemed his pledge to himself and his people. In the Tudor room of Caxton Hall he shot Michael O'Dwyer dead. Lord Zetland and Sir Louis Dane were wounded. As he was led away by the police Udham was calm – almost serene. He felt free in spite of the handcuffs. The insult and disgrace of Jallianwalla was wiped out in blood.
SHIV SINGH JOHAL with his Norwegian wife. They referred to Udham Singh as "Bawa" since he appeared so detached from worldly ambitions. The Shiv Singhs' home was always open to Udham Singh, though they were aware of his dangerous mission. The last letters of Udham Singh had been preserved with care by Shiv Singh in grateful remembrance of the patriot's sacrifice.
"Bawa was always so considerate. A couple of weeks before the event he stopped seeing me. He did not want the police to harass anyone for his deed. We collected money for his defence. Krishna Menon helped very much. But Bawa was not interested. He thought we were wasting money unnecessarily. He had done what he wanted to and was not afraid to pay the price. To the last he was brave and cheerful – even indifferent. He had only one anxiety. In his last days he would often ask me 'Do you think I will measure up to the sacrifice of Bhagat Singh?'"
Shiv Singh paused. We felt it was time to leave. He would not hear of it. We must have lunch. Mrs Johal came in from the kitchen and reinforced his request with a smile. "Will you have parothas or chappatis?" We opted for chappatis.
Shiv Singh thought the occasion called for "Karah Parshad", the Sikh halwa. Mrs Johal put the Amritsari cooks to shame in the cooking of it. We found it difficult to refuse a second helping! Another round of coffee and Shiv Singh produced the letters. With what loving care they had been kept! In 1940, who would have valued the last scribbled notes of a terrorist, awaiting the gallows? The envelopes, the bills and receipts for the trial expenses were all there, neatly kept in albums. Shiv Singh called his wife: "Darling, where is the photo of Bawa?" A family album was produced. The Johals talked gently of Bawa as of a long-lost, much-loved son. We felt almost like intruders and prepared to take their leave.
ON THE LETTERS
Udham was not afraid to die and in fact retained his sense of humour to the last. He claims in his letters that he is the guest of "the His Majesty, The King George". In another place he says he is the guest of the "Royal Family". In the second letter he asks for some books to study as "since I am going for examination, I hope this time is the highest degree a person can obtain in jail". In his third letter he writes that money should not be wasted on his trial as he is "ready to go anywhere whatever it happens to me, it is nothing to me . . . I never afraid of dying; so, soon I will be getting married with execution. I am not sorry as I am a soldier of my country. It is since 10 years my best friend has left me behind and I am sure after my death I will see him as he is waiting for me. It was 23rd and I hope they will hang me on the same date as he was". The reference here is to Bhagat Singh.
In the second letter there is an amusing reference to a Christian priest who tries to convert him. "A gentleman comes to see me nearly every day. He is a head of some mission in India and trying me bring faith in Christianity. Now what about the Sikhs if they do not mind me to loosing from their religion. So I may please the old man who waist his time for me. I might get good position in India when I will go back as I am thinking to adopt their religion as I will be belong to Church of England. Just to please him as he waist his time and my time also". One can almost hear Udham Singh laughing at the absurd attempts of the padre to convert him.
In the fourth letter there is a sentimental reference to Heer Waris Shah. Udham Singh wanted to get this book to the Old Bailey “for to take oath”. In the last sentence of this letter he again says, “Now he is my priest so I like to have his book taken to court with me”. This reference is again to Waris Shah.
His attitude to religion is interesting. In a general way, like all young men of the time, he claimed nationalism as his religion and called himself Mohammed Singh Azad. Even in these letters he does claim indifference to religion. But at the same time he wrote all his letters to the Sri Guru Singh Sabha of the Shepherds Bush Gurdwara in London. He asked for religious books, including the Quran. In the second letter, he writes that he "will ask the Governor of prison that he will allow me to see someone from Sikh temple . . . will be pleased to see my own priest after 21 years. But now as the time is getting nearer day by day and before I leave everybody behind I like to see all the priest I can". In the fifth letter, he complains about the Governor of the Prison who did not give him the books sent for him and says that "Every peoples are allowed to read their religious books they go to church. But I am the only one here in English Construction Prison who is he maltreated." In the same letter there is an interesting passage which shows his inner attitude to his faith. He consoles himself about not getting the religious book by saying "but in no case our religious books not to be read unless having bath. So I get the bath every after 10 days here". The last letter is a request for a Sikh prayer book (Gutka). After this the Chaplain of the Prison also requested for a prayer book in Urdu or Gumukhi. These were sent and acknowledged by the Prison Chaplain. From all this it should not be difficult to guess Udham Singh's feelings about his faith.
Shiv Singh picked up the albums and handed them to me. "Please take them," he said. I know what it cost him to say so. I myself felt as if I was carrying Udham Singh’s ashes home. As we drove towards London, Ajit and I were both silent. But a couplet which Bhagat Singh quoted in his last letter to his brother kept haunting my mind:
A guest of moments am I, O Mehfil,
A lamp to put out at dawn.
The lightening of my thoughts shall remain in the air,
This handful of dust matters not.
Farewell!
Be happy compatriots, we go a-journeying.
The man who ultimately called himself Mohammed Singh Azad to emphasise the oneness of religions and the various communities of the Indian subcontinent is, ironically enough, commemorated in his native town of Sunam by two different statues standing close together. Rival religious communities claimed him for their own and someone with a sense of humour solved the problem by suggesting the setting up of two statues.
See the file below to read the letters.
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