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The train passed through Uch Sharif, a small town whose name reads ‘holy high place’ in translation. It looked very ordinary, almost nothing to distinguish it from scores of such places that just happen to straddle a train line obstinately, with a station in its name thrown in. But Uch Sharif was no ordinary town, though small and unaustentations it was. It is believed to date from around 500 BC and was under Hindu rule when Alexander the Great invaded India. According to legend, Alexander spent a fortnight here when it was renamed Alexandria. Muhammad Bin Qasim, the invader from Arabia, passed through Uch on his march to the north. The town’s numerous date palms are said to have descended from the seeds of Arabian dates brought by his soldiers from Arabia. After the arrival of Islam, religious preachers and saints came to Uch and founded their centers of religious faith. This has been a pattern almost in all places attacked and conquered by Moslem invaders. Soldiers did not spread Islam directly but paved the way, which was trodden by saints and preachers. Following this trend, Uch became the sub-continent’s leading religious and cultural center by 13th century. It became an important base for the spread of two of the most important Sufi branches, the Sunni Qadiriya school and the Shiite Suhrawardiya school. Uch is famous for the tombs of saints and some of these have become popular shrines where devotees assemble on annual Urs (celebration) day. He, of course, did not know all these in 1953 but remembering the name Uch was enough to lead to do some research while writing the memoire. It does not make interesting reading simply to write that from Sukkur they reached Multan.
   Lower Punjab looked lush green with verdant fields even in winter. The whole province was irrigated by canal, thanks to the development efforts of the British rulers. Ravi river, a tributary of Indus, flowed through the area with numerous canals made on both sides. In high tide the sluice gates were opened letting in water to the canals which stretched for miles. Irrigation changed the face of Punjab making it a granary that fed millions.
   Their train stopped at Multan in the afternoon. It was the largest town of lower Punjab. Besides being the main cotton growing area in the country, Multan had a number of remarkable shrines and Mosques. These too, date back to the days when saints and preachers came in the heels of Muslim invaders. But little is known of Multan’s pre-Islamic history. It is thought to date back to 4000 years. Alexander the Great is recorded to have captured it around 324 BC. The Chinese traveller Hsuan Tsang saw magnificent Hindu temples in Multan in AD 641 and noted their names in his diary. There is now no trace of these Hindu temples and shrines either because those were destroyed or their devotees left after the arrival of Muslims, causing the temples and shrines to decay and disappear.
   Multan was the first town of Punjab to be captured by Muhammad Bin Qasim in 711 AD. The Brahman dynasty ruling Multan disintegrated, being overpowered by the invaders. Soon the town attracted saints and preachers, turning it eventually into an important Islamic centre. In course of time, Multan attracted more mystics and holy men than anywhere else in the sub-continent. The town is still dominated by shrines and tombs built in their memory. It is interesting to note that Islam and Hindu religions did not co-exist at ease in the western part of the sub-continent as it did in the eastern part, particularly Bengal and Assam.
   Multan remained under Baghdad caliphate until the end of the 12th century. It was repeatedly invaded by armed attackers from Central and West Asia. From 1528 to 1748 it enjoyed relative peace under the Mughals. During this time it became renowned for its architecture, music, ceramics and handicrafts. During the last part of the Mughal rule, the town passed through several rival dynasties leading to Sikh rule. The British captured Multan from the Sikhs in 1849 after two weeks siege of the town which came to be known as the Second Sikh war.
   He has faint memory of walking through the streets of Multan in 1953 with fellow boy scouts. He remembers walking through dusty roads crowded with people and tongas. He saw more tongas in Multan than in Sukkur, perhaps because it had a larger population. The town looked very prosperous, with many shops and bazaars. Only a few women could be seen before the shops, wearing black and gray burkhas with their eyes exposed. There were putrid refuges heaped in every street corner and the drains overflowed with sludge. Dusts swirled from pock marked streets and the air was heavy with pungent smell of food being cooked in restaurants and of putrescent garbage. Pie dogs were everywhere, foraging for food and snarling at each other. They growled at passersby who happened to get close. He was almost bitten by one, when unwittingly he stood on its way. As usual, the boy scouts aroused the curiosity of the shopkeepers, shoppers and passersby. It was obvious that they had not seen so many young boys in uniform. The more curious ones came near and asked questions. After coming to know their identity some of then exclaimed almost ecstatically, ‘Mashreki Pakistan’ (East Pakistan)! They had not met anyone from East Pakistan before them and hence the surprise. The more enthusiastic ones went to nearby restaurants and bought jilapi like (pratzel like sweets) bright coloured sweets and presented those to the boy scouts who were nearby. He received one and looked at it in two minds. It looked crimson and felt hard. Smell of sweet syrup wafted to his nose. Flies were swarming towards it. He took a bite after some hesitation. It was crisp and sweet and gave off a crunching sound. He thanked the unknown host and resumed walking. A small crowed followed them as if they were a performing troupe. The town absorbed in the daily round of mundane activities suddenly broke loose, going haywire in the area where the boy scouts from East Pakistan walked along. They created a stir in an otherwise lackluster atmosphere. The boy scouts were like invaders in Multan, but of a different kind! The town and the people seemed to open their arms to welcome them. When the boy scouts bought something from a shop, particularly the famous blue pottery, either price was not accepted or it was halved. They were overwhelmed by the gesture of hospitality of the people. Even the dogs became quiet after sometime!
   The old town and bazaar was a sprawling expanse, connected to the rest of the town through seven medieval gates, they were told. They were walking through Chowk bazaar flanked by antique wooden houses. They learnt that the houses belonged to old merchant families, reminding of Multan’s past as an important trading centre. From Chowkbazar they walked up to the Qasim Bagh Fort, Multan’s most important historic site. An important landmark of the town, it stood reduced to the gate and outer walls. Most of the Fort was destroyed by the British during their seize of Multan in 1848-49 to oust the Sikh rulers. The Sikh ruler had ordered to kill an English officer and the English army was determined to avenge his death by destroying the bastion of the Sikhs, the Qasim Bagh Fort. A memorial obelisk was erected in honour of the slain officer and it stood on one of the highest point of the Fort mound. Qasim bagh, the small park, bearing the name of Mohammad Bin Qasim, to the south after which the Fort came to be named later, was not known as such in 1953. The Fort had no name and was just a historical ruins, standing as mute witness to the past. Entering the Fort from Kutchery road near Chowkbazar, they walked along the ruined ramparts and stopped for a while at the south of the Fort mound where the British gun emplacement was during the seize of Multan. It offered a panoramic view of Multan in the present. At one time, the Ravi ricers flowed between the fort and the old town, they were told.
   Not everything was destroyed in the British attack on the Fort in 1848-49. Lying inside is the most attractive of Multan’s shrine, the Musoleum of Seikh Rukn-i-Alam which is considered a masterpiece of Mughal architecture. Sheikh Rukun-i-Alam became head of the Suhrawardiya Sufi Branch introduced to the region by his father and is regarded as the patron saint of Multan. Built entirely of red brick and timber, the mausoleum’s exterior and interior are decorated with glazed tiles in blue colour. The mausoleum structure is beautifully executed with a brilliant use of the squinche which is a small arch across the corner of a tower covering the transition from square to dome. According to legend the Tughlaq emperor Ghiasud Din built the mausoleum for himself in 1320. But his son used it as the saint’s last resting place out of his reverence for him. The building has two octagonal lower storeys strengthened by buttresses, supporting a massive spired dome and has a total height of 30 metres. One of the supporting towers was destroyed during the seige of 1849 but it was later restored. Near the Mausoleum of Rukun-i-Alam, lies the mausoleum of his father Bahauddin Zakaria. The brick building has a square base and an octagonal second storey supporting a dome. It is decorated with blue tiles in regular geometric bas-reliefs and Arabic inscriptions. Though the upper halves of this tomb and Rukun-I-Alam’s mausoleum have similar designs from the outside, the top-heavy and functional construction of the interior of this tomb gives in to a lighter and more artistic design in case of the other, built only fifty years later, showing the improvement in building style. A disciple of the Sufi mystic, Hazrat Shabuddin Umar Suhrawardy of Jerusalem introduced Suhrawerdiya branch to the sub-continent and founded a university in Multan. His tomb was badly damaged in the 1848 war but was later restored.
   As he walked back from the ruins of the Fort and after visiting the two mausoleums inside its premises, he wondered whether the two brothers, Shahed and Shahid Suhrawardy of Bengal were descendants of this mystic lineage. If they were, they had made a sharp turn about in life. They too, were mystics but of the worldly kind, having visions for life here and now. Both had followers and admirers. Being more human, they had critics, too.

It made one feel sick and outraged again listening to the words of some Congressmen on television during the debate on the Nanavati Commission Report. Witnessing the slaughter and mayhem all over Delhi in 1984 was terrible enough, but to see Congressmen in Parliament full of hypocrisy, political scoring points, jeers at the Opposition and heartless bravado rather than providing a genuine response to the cry for justice, was to relive the anger of 21 years ago.
   What is the definition of justice in the various events that led to the pogrom on the Sikhs in 1984? Was it justice when Operation Bluestar was conducted ruthlessly after allowing Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale to stack a cache of arms inside the Golden Temple in Amritsar? Was revenge justified when Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards? Was it justice when organised goons took revenge for her death on every Sikh they could find? Was it justice when the Congress party was forced by a PIL to institute an inquiry commission, or was it justice when they obtained whitewashed reports, one after another? In other words, what sort of action or reaction is an act of ‘justice’?
   The Nanavati Commission Report will not satisfy the most optimistic who had hoped that a commission working without the interference of a Congress government would name the guilty clearly and unequivocally, and answer the only crucial issue that remains today — who organised the attack on the Sikhs all over the country, for there is no doubt even in Justice Nanavati’s mind that the events were indeed organised. No other commission or committee called it an ‘organised carnage.’ We must thank Justice Nanavati for the justice he has provided by stating this truth. If ordinary street goons organised them, the Congress Party must answer today why the Army or police did not come out in large numbers with lathis, teargas and bullets to stop the brutal atrocities for three days. Offering a truthful answer would be justice. The Congress Party has constantly passed off the 1984 massacres as ‘spontaneous anger.’ I was a witness to the fact that there was spontaneous shock, disbelief, stunned silence, but the only time I saw ‘anger’ was when these ‘spontaneous’ truckloads of men in white caps passed me by on Lodhi Road shouting ‘Khoon ka badla khoon se lenge.’ We heard the same refrain broadcast from the cameras of Doordarshan which were trained on the same type of men at the gates of Safdarjang Road where Mrs Gandhi’s body lay. Justice Nanavati provides only partial justice when he says that the killings from November 1 were not spontaneous because no one, including the media, reported ‘spontaneous anger’ even on October 31, 1984.
   The horrors of what happened in the bylanes of Delhi were known to everybody on the morning of November 1, because Sikhs were already being thrown over the Safdarjang flyover on the afternoon of October 31. I saved two persons by hiding them from the mobs in my car, keeping their two-wheeler at my house in Sujan Singh Park and reaching them to the police station at Tughlak Road at midnight so that they could be accompanied home under protection. On the same afternoon when I asked policemen on Lodhi Road to stop the harassment of a group of Sikhs on the road a few yards behind us, they told me, ‘Drive on, you are not a Sikh. You need not worry.’ Overturned cars were already burning a few yards ahead but the policemen were unperturbed. As the sinister situation dawned on us we threw ourselves into preventive or relief work.
   There are the agonies of those memories … of coming across melted flesh sticking to the road being pawed by dogs, long strands of men’s hair cut in desperation to hide their identity, roofs broken through to throw burning rags and a strange white inflammable powder to set fire to homes and inhabitants, the cries for a pugree to save their izzat before food or medicines at Trilokpuri and subsequently at the camps, the locked doors of ‘butcher’ Kishori and Ram Pal Saroj, assisted in getting bail by lawyers stationed at the homes of senior Congress leaders whom we met and fought with; the memories of running the Farash Bazaar camp for three months, delivering babies and bandaging gashed heads, our frustration and anger at finding that the ‘relief’ provided by the lieutenant governor at the camps for the victims included colour televisions to watch Mrs Gandhi’s funeral, the electric tension when H.K.L. Bhagat came to the camp and was refused entry, the tortuous hours noting the experiences of the survivors, each monotonously repeating the same story in shell-shocked tones and with blank expressions no matter which part of the city they had lived in. These were published in a small black pamphlet called ‘Who are the Guilty?’ which was later rubbished by the late Rajiv Gandhi as the act of a kangaroo court.
   Is Justice Nanavati’s report like the same kangaroo court? Is that why the ATR of the government after pondering over it for six months treated it with scarcely hidden contempt? Is it justice for the public exchequer to pay the salaries of those Congress leaders specifically mentioned in the report so that salt can be rubbed into the wounds of those seeking that elusive creature? Will true justice come if all the living dead are given a lakh of rupees more or a few jobs are found for the third generation of sufferers, or by a Pawan Kumar Bansal, MP (Congress) resorting to reading out at length in Parliament a ghost-written speech made by Mrs Sonia Gandhi on another occasion? Justice needs to be administered by people who care for more than the politics of power. Instead, if the government defends or protects those whom the victims still remember leading the mobs that killed their loved ones both in living daylight and in their subsequent nightmares, justice surely must be given a new meaning.
   This article first appeared in The Asian Age