It has been over three months since the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, but I still quake at the horror and bloodshed. My name is Ranjith Kumar. I am a Tamilian by birth and I grew up in the rural fields of Tamil Nadu, where I still live. I own a shop that sells everything from clothes to food, so I travel around the country quite a lot, looking for new items and locations for new stores. These trips are harrowing because of the British soldiers at every corner. They seem to think that they are superior and make us Indians do the dirtiest work they can find. They may also beat an Indian mercilessly with their shining lathis for absolutely no reason.
On March 27, 1919, I left my hometown of Madurai, Tamil Nadu, to travel to the north to stock up on new items for my store and to visit a prospective ground for a new store. I took the train from Madurai to Madras and from there took a train to Agra, then switched to yet another train heading to my final destination of Amritsar. The whole trip took me almost sixteen days. When I got out of the station, I was greeted with the cool evening air and the hustle and bustle of the huge city. I walked down a broad street to my hotel and checked in. A bellboy grabbed my bags and led me up two flights of stairs and along a long corridor. At the very end of the corridor, the bellboy threw down my bags and opened the door to my room. I gave the boy fifteen annas as a tip. The boy took the coins and, bowing, left the room. I, after a sixteen day journey, fell onto the cot and went into a deep sleep. When I woke up, the sun was peeping through the curtains. It was April 12. I got up, bathed, and changed into my cotton kurta and set out to look at the property and see the city. The streets were crowded with vendors selling sweets and other things. I passed a large, walled garden called the Jallianwala Bagh. At the time, I did not know the horror that was to take place there the next day. I walked for about 10 minutes, taking in the sights and smells of the city on my way to the new store’s prospective location. When I reached the piece of land which could host my new shop, I did a thorough inspection of the land and its surroundings. It was a small piece of land with a field on the left and a police station on the right. It was only a couple of streets away from the Jallianwala Bagh, which could be good for business. The land seemed like a great contender, but the police station worried me. The police, who were Indians, were known to be ruthless and even help the British oppress the Indians. When the owner of the land told me a restaurant was going to be built across the street, I immediately decided to buy the land. I would come back the next day at noon to sign the official documents and pay for the land. As soon as I finished negotiating with the owner about the price of the land, I ate my lunch of rice and rajma. Soon after, I made a trip to the supply shop to get supplies for my business in Tamil Nadu. The store had both British and Indian made goods and I bought items from both worlds. I hailed a zebra cart and went back to my hotel, where I drank some hot chai, read the newspaper, and relaxed. As the sun went down, I had chapati and dal for dinner and retired to bed. The next day, April 13, 1919, dawned as a beautiful day. I changed into my expensive silk sherwani and ate my breakfast of dosa and sambar. At eight in the morning, I headed out into the cool morning air and strolled down the street enjoying some still, fresh air. After about an hour, I returned to the hotel and got my payment and paperwork ready. I heard a large group of people celebrating and walking down the street. I went to the balcony to investigate. They looked like they were Sikhs. I ran downstairs and asked the bellboy what the occasion was and he explained that it was a Sikh religious festival. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Sikhs were pouring into the city from the surrounding regions. I watched the stream of people flow down the street. I returned to my room at 10 to get ready for my meeting with the landowner. I left the hotel at 11:30 and walked to the site of my future shop. The landowner was not there yet, but there were a group of young boys playing cricket in the adjacent field. I watched them with great interest. I was so engrossed that I did not notice the arrival of the landowner. He walked up to me and whispered my name. This startled me so much that I jumped a foot into the air. He started apologizing, but I cut him off by saying that it was not his fault. He would not let it go, so we politely argued until we reached a resolution. After this episode, we sat down, signed the documents and sealed the deal. With a crisp handshake and exchanging of the deed, we departed in opposite directions.
As I walked back towards the hotel, I heard the pounding of dozens of feet and a peculiar rumbling and clanking noise. I rounded the corner expecting a parade to be in full swing. But what met my eyes made me stop short. There was a large group of soldiers, probably 40 or so strong, marching towards the Jallianwala Bagh with a tank in the lead. I stopped a passing boy and inquired into the situation. He said he did not know much, only that the troops were under the command of Brigadier General Reginald Edward Harry Dyer. The boy proceeded to tell me that there was a large group of people inside the walled garden. I did not understand why this was important, so he explained that General Dyer had banned all public gatherings. The troops were going to the Jallianwala Bagh to disperse the group. I watched as the last of the soldiers passed me and, subconsciously, decided to follow them. I made sure to keep a safe distance, as this was the kind of behaviour that could attract the attention of the authorities and get me in trouble. The tank pulled up in front of the only functioning gate to the Jallianwala Bagh and came to an abrupt stop. The other four gates had been welded shut. I could see that the tank would not be able to fit through the entrance. The soldiers came to a stop as well. A moustached man I had not noticed before strode up to the gates and threw them open. Then, he ordered the soldiers to move in and stand in formation. I was too far away to see what was inside, but I could hear the din of people. The man was wearing a tan shirt, tan pants, tall black boots and a pointy white hat. This uniform was only worn by the people in the highest ranks of the military, so I assumed I was looking at the General himself. When I got closer, my suspicions were confirmed. His uniform wore the insignia of a Brigadier General. The General walked into the garden after the last soldier was in. The heavy gate was closed with a loud clang. I moved up to the gate and peered in. The general was standing in between two rows of soldiers. The front row was kneeling. Every soldier had his Lee- Enfield rifle aimed at the crowd. I thought this was just a precaution in case the crowd got violent. The crowd slowly quieted down and looked at the soldiers with wary faces. Without warning, General Dyer gave the order for his men to shoot into the mass of humans. Many men, women, and children went down. The crowd panicked and tried to run, but with the only exit blocked by the soldiers, there was no escape. People outside the wall also ran away from the Jallianwala Bagh towards safety, leaving me alone. I could see a well in the middle of the garden, and, as I watched, dumbfounded, people threw their children in and then jumped in to join them. I do not know how deep the well was, or if it even had water, but I doubt anybody survived the fall. The soldiers reloaded and fired into the crowd again and again. The noise was tremendous. The soldiers fired into the people until they had exhausted all of their ammunition and then turned and briskly left. I jumped out of the path of the British soldiers and Gurkhas streaming out of the Jallianwala Bagh. The tank rumbled to life again and the whole column moved back to their headquarters. The door was still ajar, so I pushed it open the rest of the way and entered the bloody garden. The ground was littered with bodies and the personal belongings of people. Streams of blood flowed around my feet and the walls were pockmarked with bullet holes. The air seemed still and quiet, even though people were crying out in pain or for help. I walked to the nearest body. It was that of a young child, not more than seven years old. My eyes started watering. A hand clamped around my ankle. I turned and saw one of the boys who had been playing cricket in the field adjacent to my new land. He had a red blossom of blood on his chest and was gasping. I knelt down next to him and laid a comforting hand on his arm. He told me the crowd had consisted of Sikhs celebrating the festival and some peaceful protesters protesting the high war tax that His Majesty’s government would not lift. The Sikhs had not known about the law, but had only convened at the garden to celebrate the festival. The boy coughed and blood squirted onto my expensive clothes. I could see that he was fading so I held his hand, and, with superhuman strength, he squeezed it and whispered “Never forget.”
His grip slackened and his body went limp. I held his hand for a moment longer, then dropped it. My vision blurred. I wiped my tears. Most people were in need of comfort, but some had a steely look of courage in their eyes, even as they died. The lives of all these people would not be given up in vain.
It's been three months since the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre. The entire nation of India mourned. About 379 people were killed and about 1,200 more were wounded. The massacre sparked outrage and independence movements have gained traction. Mahatma Gandhi has started a non- violent movement dedicated to driving the British out of India. I played my part as well. I wrote this story to fulfill the young cricket player’s last words- “Never forget.”
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