My Journal - Part Four 17 December - 22 December 1984

Go here to read the whole unexpurgated journal.



Please read Part Three.


17 DECEMBER 1984

Yesterday it seemed .......not easy, but possible. Today I just can't [expletive deleted] take it. Forever. Always? Who the[expletive deleted] knows? Waheguru? Vahiguru? The nihang looks sad. I project all my feelings onto that beautiful, weathered face with the too-big-for-westerners nose, but I like it. I want to go kill me a few. No, not nihangs. Maybe I could bring a few to help me. I want to get those ones. SUNI KNOWS WHO SOME OF THEM ARE. BUT SHE WON'T SAY. SHE SAYS SHE DOESN'T, BUT I KNOW SHE DOES. AS SOON AS I HEAL UP, I'LL GET THEIR NAMES AND...who am I kidding?

I wonder if my mother will visit me. I'd like to spit in her tobacco-stinking face! She hates Sikhs. She hates her own children. [Expletives deleted.] Especially she hates me. But you'd think she'd show up. I wonder if anyone has told her.

[Expletive deleted] her in the [expletive deleted]! I NEED MANI BACK. AND MY SAINTLY SANDEEP. She would've liked to kill us all. [Expletive deleted] Catholic Hindu murdering [expletive deleted]!

Oh, my goodness gracious, but we are angry today, aren't we. No greed, lust, ego, attachment, but enough anger for all five. Let us laugh.

Where to turn for comfort? It's all so empty.

18 DECEMBER 1984

MANI,

No, I can't forget this evening
Or your face as you were leaving
But I guess that's just the way the story goes
You always smile
But in your eyes your sorrow shows
Yes, it shows No, it doesn't. I never saw anyone look so happy.

No, I can't forget tomorrow
When I think of all my sorrow
When I had you there but then I let you go
And now it's only fair that I should let you know
What you should know

Can't live if living is without you
I can't live, I can't give any more
I can't live if living is without you
I can't give, I can't give any more

I can't live if living is without you
I can't live, I can't give anymore
I can't live if living is without you
I can't live, I can't give anymore

And the nihang smiles at me, 'Yes, you can, Khalsa lady.'


Oh, shut up, and stop smiling. I have the right to feel sorry for myself just now!!!!!!!!
And anyway, you're just a hysterical hallucination-----------Aren't you?
Labels: 18 December 1984

19 DECEMBER 1984

(Note from 2007: This entry contains quotes in Gurmukhi from the Sri Guru Granth Sahib. Hence it should be read with respect. The hands should be clean and the head covered. Even if you are not Sikh and/or you do not believe in God, it will do you no harm to show respect.)

I need to start praying. Somewhere I have lost that. To Jap Naam is supposed to be the highest prayer. But I need the others. I have to start with the Mool Mantar. I tried the other day. I couldn't. Perhaps if I simply write it...That's a start. Have to start somewhere. It would break Mani's heart if I didn't. So I try.
ੴ ਸਤਿ ਨਾਮੁ ਕਰਤਾ ਪੁਰਖੁ ਨਿਰਭਉ ਨਿਰਵੈਰੁ ਅਕਾਲ ਮੂਰਤਿ ਅਜੂਨੀ ਸੈਭੰ ਗੁਰ ਪ੍ਰਸਾਦਿ

What a strange feeling to be writing Gurmurki. Now I try to sing.

I get half way. Only halfway.



ੴ ਸਤਿ ਨਾਮੁ ਕਰਤਾ ਪੁਰਖੁ ਨਿਰਭਉ ਨਿਰਵੈਰੁ

No fear. No anger. I doubt it. No fear. I have nothing left to fear. But anger! Ha ha ha ha ha ha. I have enough of that to be the Christian image of God. He is one angry bastard. I remember we studied a sermon called Sinners In The Hands Of An Angry God in school. That would be enough to scare the shit out of anyone.

The nihang is staring at me. He wants me to complete the Mool Mantar. OK.

ਅਕਾਲ ਮੂਰਤਿ ਅਜੂਨੀ ਸੈਭੰ ਗੁਰ ਪ੍ਰਸਾਦਿ

Now try to put it all together.

ੴ ਸਤਿ ਨਾਮੁ ਕਰਤਾ ਪੁਰਖੁ ਨਿਰਭਉ ਨਿਰਵੈਰੁ ਅਕਾਲ ਮੂਰਤਿ ਅਜੂਨੀ ਸੈਭੰ ਗੁਰ ਪ੍ਰਸਾਦਿ



The Nihang is smiling at me. He is pleased.

All this is at least distracting. My knee doesn't seem to hurt quite as much.

And I can feel Mani and Sandeep with me. My lovely shaheeds.

They used wander around the house singing Jap Ji Sahib. Mani had the whole thing memorised. Used to. Do they still do that where they are now?

My heart breaks, but I have to persist. They are dead. Shaheeds. And I am still Khalsa in Maya. Damn It!

(Note from 2007: I feel the need to add this note. The English translation of the Mool Mantar is:

One Universal Creator God. The Name Is Truth. Creative Being Personified. No Fear. No Hatred. Image Of The Undying, Beyond Birth, Self-Existent. By Guru's Grace. It is the root (mool) statement of belief of the Sikh religion.. I am going to try to put in a link to actually hear it. This is from the movie Rang De Basanti and includes a short meditation following the Mantar itself.)

ਜਪੁ
Jap.
Chant And Meditate:


ਆਦਿ ਸਚੁ ਜੁਗਾਦਿ ਸਚੁ
aad sach jugaad sach
True In The Primal Beginning. True Throughout The Ages.


ਹੈ ਭੀ ਸਚੁ ਨਾਨਕ ਹੋਸੀ ਭੀ ਸਚੁ ॥੧॥

hai bhee sach nanaak hosee bhee sach
True Here And Now. O Nanak, Forever And Ever True. 1

ਸੋਚੈ ਸੋਚਿ ਨ ਹੋਵਈ ਜੇ ਸੋਚੀ ਲਖ ਵਾਰ .
sochai soch na hova-ee jay sochee lakh vaar
By thinking, He cannot be reduced to thought, even by thinking hundreds of thousands of times.


ਚੁਪੈ ਚੁਪ ਨ ਹੋਵਈ ਜੇ ਲਾਇ ਰਹਾ ਲਿਵ ਤਾਰ
chupai chup na hova-ee jay laa-ay rahaa liv taar
By remaining silent, inner silence is not obtained, even by remaining lovingly absorbed deep within.


ਭੁਖਿਆ ਭੁਖ ਨ ਉਤਰੀ ਜੇ ਬੰਨਾ ਪੁਰੀਆ ਭਾਰ
bhukhi-aa na utree jay bannaa puree-aa bhaar
The hunger of the hungry is not appeased, even by piling up loads of worldly goods.


ਸਹਸ ਸਿਆਣਪਾ ਲਖ ਹੋਹਿ ਤ ਇਕ ਨ ਚਲੈ ਨਾਲਿ
sahas si-aanpaa lakh hohi ta ik na chalai naal
Hundreds of thousands of clever tricks, but not even one of them will go along with you in the end.


ਕਿਵ ਸਚਿਆਰਾ ਹੋਈਐ ਕਿਵ ਕੂੜੈ ਤੁਟੈ ਪਾਲਿ
Kiv sachi-aaraa ho-ee-ai kiv koorhai tutai paal
So how can you become truthful? And how can the veil of illusion be torn away?


ਹੁਕਮਿ ਰਜਾਈ ਚਲਣਾ ਨਾਨਕ ਲਿਖਿਆ ਨਾਲਿ ॥੧॥

hukam rajaa-ee chalnaa naanak likhi-aa naal
O Nanak, it is written that you shall obey the Hukam of His Command, and walk in the Way of His Will. 1

01___IK_ONKAAR.mp31384K Play Download

20 DECEMBER 1984

I have decided to write a haiku. I read you gotta have a certain sanity and serenity to count syllables and think of seasons. I have been thinking and I think I have the syllables right. Classic 5-7-5: Season: Autumn, implied but not stated. No humans, just nature. hahahahahaha!!

Leaves and bodies fall.
Smell of urine and dung.
Lions burn brightly.

Serene and sane.

The nihang looks at me, expressionless.

Then he grins and starts laughing.

How did you die, Mr. Nihang Singh Ji?

Sardar Nihang Singh Ji. That sounds better.

Lunchtime. I hate eating. They bring us food from home. I know it is delicious. They are all great cooks. But it all tastes like ashes and [expletive deleted]. The liquids , even water, wreaks of blood. They can't understand. I eat just enough that they don't get mad at me, somehow I keep it down usually. Not always though.

Poor Suni. She has to eat enough to keep making milk for the baby, our Hope. She is a symbol to us and she has to be strong and healthy. It is amazing that Suni can make good milk in her shape. But that baby is what we have left and she must have the best. The best. So Suni tries to laugh and play with her like nothing is wrong. She sings her lullabies in Punjabi about Gurus protecting her and keeping her safe. Her voice is so sweet and gentle. I wish I could sing. I wish they would let me walk or at least stand up. Every day Maman comes and moves the knee back and forth. It hurts, but not unbearably. I don't complain because I'm afraid they'll make me take more painkillers. I'd rather have the pain. I move the foot around. She holds the knee while I move the upper leg. I do not want the muscles to get too weak.

I have insisted and they're helping me with some therapy for my arms and torso. But I have to go easy on the abdomen because they did a lot of surgery there. I would like to do some weights on the arms but they won't let me because of the weakness in my stomach from all their cutting on me.

I want to get very strong and totally recovered and go back and hunt down those bastards and kill them personally. One by one. The nihang is looking at me. I can't read his expression. Today is a day I feel I can handle everything. Khalsa woman lives!!

Posted by Mai at 1:52 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: 20 December 1984

21 DECEMBER 1984

I believe I have this all figured out. I understand it completely. It is a dream. A nightmare. I am just having a bad dream.

Soon I will wake up in our bedroom with the mountains all around me and the sun about to rise. I will reach up and pull until I uncover Mani's hair and then I'll pull his jura loose. He'll grunt at me, still asleep. Then, half awake, smile and open his eyes, and...

Posted by Mai at 2:25 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: 21 December 1984

22 DECEMBER 1984

I wasn't totally wrong yesterday. Or totally deluded. Maya is a sort of dream, nightmare.

Somedays I think I am entirely sane. Other days I am completely crazy. As in having no reality base. I believe in the impossible.

Today I am sane. I do not believe in any of that garbage. None of it. The nihang does not exist. He is a delusion. Completely. Nonetheless, I see him standing over there, looking at me curiously. My mind - and Suni's - have concoted him as a sort of mirror of our feelings. Suni insists that he is real. That he lived and died and has voluntarily returned to Maya to help and guide us. She is crazy as a loon!

I just realised something. It is almost Christmas. My number one Christmas memory is the first Christmas after Sandy (Sandeep - he hated being called Sandy, he kept telling me he wasn't an old-time baseball pitcher (Sandy Koufax) and Sandeep was the perfect name Guruji chose for him and would I please stop calling him Sandy and use his correct name? OK, Son, you have it. Sandeep.) Anyway, he came home and asked if we were Christians and when we said, of course not, he demanded why did we celebrate Christmas. Mani tried to explain about it being a time for family and to give each other presents and to have fun, but those big grey eyes kept staring into his dad's big grey eyes and he wasn't buying it. He was right, of course, but who ever heard of a six-year-old throwing away Christmas? And his grampa looked so much like Santa Claus, except not fat. Sandeep refused to be in the school Christmas pageant. And we stopped celebrating Christmas.

And now my pure, young son has gone home. Christmas is not an issue there, I'm sure.

I wish I could spend some time with Guru Ji. I can't bow I can't even stand. But so much I would like to take a Hukamnama and try to meditate on it. I think I could meditate. Or at least make the effort.

I long so much for some normalcy. I want to go for a walk. I want food to taste good. I want a feeling of security and safety and nothing really bad can ever happen to me because really bad things happen to other people. ( 2007-Here is a drawing of a happy face crossed out.) I want, I want, I want...I want!

Is it real, Is it fake
Is this game of life a mistake?
Life had broken my pretty balloon.
It happened,
Suddenly it just happened,
The Happening.

Labels: 22 December 1984

Re: After 1984, The Deluge

I have just published a post about growing up in Punjab after 1984. It is mostly the thoughts of a Sikh man born in 1984. It could have been published in this blog, but for reasons I choose not to discuss, it won't be. However, I am sure the readers of The Road To Khalistan will want to read it. So here is After 1984, The Deluge. His writing really is worth your time to read.

My Journal - Part Three: 12 December - 16 December 1984

Click here to read the whole unexpurgated journal.


First please read Part Two.

12 DECEMBER 1984

Laura keeps asking questions. I keep trying to answer. Poor kid, but not really a kid any more. she grieves like a widow. 13. Only Romeo killed by the devil and Juliet left to mourn

Remembering, remembering...

Sounds outside the house, people out there laughing. Then...nothing. Mani said, no, but I went out to look. That big X on the house. The signature on our death warrants. I told Mani. He told the others. Don started singing:

We are the champions, my friend
and we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions
we are the champions,
No time for losers, cause we are the champions

OF THE WORLD!!!

Mani: BOLE SO NIHAL

US: SAT SRI AKAAL....How many times, I don't know

Then Mohan jumped up and SCREAMED: STOP IT!! ARE YOU ALL INSANE? THEY'RE GOING TO KILL US!!

Mani grabbed him by the throat. 'We're not insane. We're Sikhs, Lions, What the hell are you!' And threw him on the ground.

That was when Sandeep said, 'They're really gonna kill us. Then me and Bilbar need to take Amrit.'

More later. I need to stop here. I still hear his voice. So determined and controlled. What could we ever have done to deserve such child?


And we'll go on
............................and on
.........................................and on

Cause we are the champions...(Choke)

Posted by Mai at 9:55 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Labels: 12 December 1984

13 DECEMBER 1984

Suni gets up and leaves when I talk to Laura. But she comes back. Her eyes are so deep in her head now, dark circles. Mine two. We both look like we've been dragged through hell by the hair. I guess we have. hahahahahahaha

She won't let go of Hope. I'm strong enough now to hold her. She likes me. I wish I could help Suni nurse her. Suni is so thin and drawn and I'm afraid her milk will dry up. But she forces herself to eat because of nursing the baby.

Every day Suni takes her over to the nihang. He smiles and touches her forehead with his kara.

Suni cries a lot. She tries not to cry, but she can't help it. I can't cry. I wish I could. Lilly is so quiet. I told her I cut that fucking Hindu's throat and I enjoyed it. Good ol Lilly. She took my sword hand in both of hers and kissed it. Can a Jain kiss the hand of a killer? I mean, is she supposed to...Maybe they'd kick her out or something.

I asked her what she'da done. She shook her head and said, I don't know. I know what I should do, but I don't know, if someone killed one of my kids how I'd react. And Raj. But he'd kill, I know he would.

I don't like Raj. I will NEVER like that [religious slur and expletive deleted] kshatriya [expletive deleted] . What Lilly sees in him...

MANI, COME BACK, PLEASE COME

BACK... I CAN'T EVEN

DREAM ABOUT YOU. I CAN'T CRY

... WHAT [expletive deleted] WRONG WITH ME?

Labels: 13 December 1984

15 DECEMBER 1984

Poor, dear little Laura. Focus on the living. My would-have-been-daughter. Laura, dear, go back to Kansas. Forget about us. Forget your ever knew us. Go home and be a Kansas farmgirl. Find some nice Kansas farm boy to marry. Just go back to the way you were. She looks at me with those huge, blood-shot eyes.

'Mata Ji. I can't.' Then she quotes.'"A mind, once expanded, can never return to its original dimensions." I can't go back. I am what I am, I can't be what I was, or what I would have been.' Soft, soft voice. Old far beyond her years. How will she be scarred by all this?

It is easier to focus on her, get that image of Sandeep lying there with his head at that weird angle. But a peaceful face. That still strikes me, how peaceful the faces of our men were. Our dead men. Our new family shaheeds. Just what we need. More family shaheeds. Daddy used to tell stories about family shaheeds and the Moghuls. Did their survivors feel like I, we do? Too many questions. I look over toward the corner. The nihang is still there. He looks directly at me. His eyes are not hard, cold. They are warm, alive, compassionate, loving. Protective? When I hallucinate, I do it well. My diseased mind has created a suopernatural friend. Superman! It's a bird, it's a plane, no, it's Super Nihang! Fella, yeah, you, you with the blue chola and the sword and the turban, you. Can you fly? And take me with you?

I like having him here. Real or imagined. Sane or mad. I like having him here.

Daddy never talked about family nihangs, though. Maybe he's from another family? Or maybe I just like nihangs. I'll have to ask Suni about that. Right now, it's just me and Francois (asleep, of course) and the usual hospital crap.

16 DECEMBER 1984

Today finally, they let me take a shower. Not easy. I still can't walk because they had to fix my knee and it's not healing very well. That's funny. Alain picked me up and carried me into the shower. They sat me on a chair in there. The nurses got me out of that damned hospital gown and pulled my kechera down to my ankles. Then Suni helped me wash. Lilly and Laura took Hope, but they stayed within sight of Suni. Hope never is out of her sight. I wish I had my Kaurs. Stupid thought. And my Singhs.

We washed and washed and washed me. I didn't realise I felt so dirty. They give me French baths every day. But you need to see the filth wash away. It's not the same when they just wipe it off. And really, really washing my hair and putting some conditioner. Then, I think some jasmine oil. I begin to feel a little more like a woman. A widow. The widow of a shaheed. The mother of a shaheed. At least I feel clean. I want to try to stand, but Suni says no, it might rip out my knee. I suppose she's right.

I am clean now my body is clean and my hair. And a big surprise. They had a silk gown made for me. Beautiful blue. Opens like a hospital gown. But soft and nice against my skin. No lace. Nothing scratchy. Just soft, second skin.

Now I am clean. I try to pray. Just the Mool Mantar, I think. But it won't come. It just won't. I try to Jap naam. Vahiguru. Vahiguru. Vahiguru. I can do that. Softly, though. The nihang mouths the gurmantar with me. He looks very serious.

Vahiguru Vahiguru

ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ

Then it seems all the others join in. I hear Mandeep's bass, Sandeep's new found tenor, Suni and Laura's sopranos and my own unmelodious tones.

And, at last, the tears come. My body shakes and I sob. They all come to hold me, but I wave them away. I hold myself, then look at the nihang. He leaves his place and walks over to my bed. Suni gasps, but no one else sees him. He looks directly in my eyes, smiles and says something. I don't know what. Neither does Suni. I notice he smells of ...roses, of all things. Then he returns to his place.

Details - 4 November 1984

(Cross-posted with sometimes - 2)

Warning, this post does get a little bit graphic.

Suni's story is in blue, Mai's in red.

Someone suggested in an e-mail that we really should include more details of what happened in November 1984 to our family group. I am not sure what that person really meant, but we think it is about the actual fight. We, Mai and Suni, are here together on this anniversary and will make an attempt to tell in more detail, what happened.

We think it was 4 November. Everything had been very quiet all morning. We, of course, were on edge, but had done our prayers and a lot of singing, some kirtan, but mostly popular stuff. About 1:30 PM, we heard a commotion outside and knew that this was it.

Suni: A few minutes before, I saw a party of shaheeds enter the house. There were about quite a few of them, I didn't count, but I think maybe 40 or 45.

Mani shouted, 'Bole so nihal!' We responded and took up our positions. Suni was seated in the big chair, holding Guru Ji. I was on the stairs leading to the second floor balcony. My brothers were to the left and right of the front door. Sandeep, my son, was in the kitchen doorway. Mohan and Balbir, Suni's husband and son, as the least experienced fighters (Suni: totally inexperienced) were upstairs on the balcony. (I had argued with Mani that I should be in Sandeep's position, since I was a strong fighter, but he refused because of my pregnancy.) Mani, as our commander, was across the room, but directly in front of the door.

What none of us had expected was that they entered from the front and back simultaneously. That one came so fast behind Sandeep that I don't think he ever knew he was hit. I saw it, though, and felt the blood rush to my head in an anger and fury indescribable. He went down with the first blow of the iron bar across the back of his neck, his head at that bizarre angle that I'll never forget.

I remember then Mani shouted, 'Guru Gobind Singh! Waheguru!' and lunged forward. I ran from my position toward the bastard that had killed my son, intending to kill him. Something happened, time seemed to stop. Suddenly there was no noise and no one was moving except me and him. I approached him with my kirtan/dagger (it was now a weapon) drawn and ready. He was terrified. If I live forever, I will never see such fear in anyone's eyes again. His eyes were wide open, as was his mouth - although I heard no sound from it - as I slit his throat from ear to ear. I think I nearly decapitated him. Blood spurted out all over me, my face was wet with it. He stared at me for a moment and then fell at my feet, mouth still gaping open, eyes staring wide. I felt a great satisfaction, as I licked the blood from my lips. Is that enough detail for everyone?

This is Suni. When I sat down with Guru Ji, two Singhnis took up positions on either side of me. Both were tall and strong-looking and heavily armed. The one on my right smiled at me and gently patted my stomach. I could eel her hand.

When Mai went toward that [person]. I also saw everything stop and it happened as Mai has described it, but she could not see herself. The person [he] confronted looked nothing like my cousin/sister Mai. She was huge and tall and black. Her eyes were red and she was the very embodiment of the outraged mother. In short she looked like a most terrifying depiction of Ma Kali. I think that is what that person saw that scared him so much. Of course, I do not believe in Ma Kali, but he did and that's what matters. All the shaheeds just stood and watched.

Mai again. Normal time resumed. Mohan and Bilbar were side by side on the main floor, doing their best to strike with drawn swords, but I saw Bilbar get hit in the stomach with an iron bar and drop his sword. I saw my brothers moving, but I couldn't see clearly what was going on. Two [males] had converged on me and I was busy with them. They kept hitting my body, but I was able to protect my head and kept going. I felt no pain. I could not see Mani, at all.

Suni: They never seemed to notice me sitting there Somehow the shaheeds were able to make me invisible to our enemies, I think. I saw my son drop his sword and geddit in the head with one of their bars. My husband foolishly went to his aid and forgot to protect himself. The two fell in a heap together. The Hindus beat them and beat them with their iron bars.

Mai's brothers were expert fighters, but each was fighting off three opponents and fell. Someone picked up their swords and stabbed them over and over in the chest. There was a lot of blood. By this time, the smell became overwhelming. Not just blood, but also urine and feces. I could barely breathe.

Mani was in control of himself. I could see his mouth moving. 'Vaheguru, vaheguru, vaheguru...' He sword was swinging in rhythm to his words. There were just too many of them and eventually he went down. Mai was a fury. She looked like something out of a Chinese martial arts movie. Eventually, though, she went down, too. They beat everyone after they were down, over and over, with their bars until all of them were bloody all over. I am sure many bones were broken, too. I could tell when someone died because shaheeds would gather around that person, I think to act as an escort and honour guard. I knew that Mani and Mai were still alive, but all the others were dead.

When they finished beating the bodies, for some reason, they left. I'm not sure why. I just sat and clutched Guru Ji. My two lady shaheeds were still with me, so I knew it wasn't over.

We have already described how Mai regained consciousness and got to Mani and their talk, his death and then cleaning the faces. We are not going to retell that now.

Eventually, the mob returned with cans of petrol. They looted the house, then drenched all the bodies with the petrol. Just at that moment, by Guru's grace, a loud voice shouted 'Naamaste!' They stopped dead in their tracks. It was our neighbours, the brahmins. They ordered the mob out and came and rescued me. I knew Mai was still alive and they carried her, bleeding profusely - she was in premature labour by that time, in addition to her other injuries - to their house. The shaheeds followed her and, I think also acted as an escort to her two daughters.

They wanted to relieve me of the burden of carrying Guru Ji, but I wouldn't surrender him to them for anything. As we left the house, the mob, waiting impatiently outside, entered and torched the house. I really didn't know that brahmins had that much power still, but the mob was willing to let us two live. I don't think they ever knew that Mai was a woman.

Picture: We do not know who these women are, just our sisters, survivors like ourselves.

IN MEMORY, 2007

WAHEGURU JI KA KHALSA
WAHEGURU JI KI FATEH

IN LOVING AND GRATEFUL MEMORY

FROM YOUR KHALSA SISTERS
VINI AND SUNI AND MAI

on the 22nd 23rd anniversary of your Shaheedi

the Second Battle of Delhi,
31 October- 4 November, 1984

TO OUR KHALSA BROTHERS

SHAHEED BERTRAM K. SINGH
SHAHEED BALBIR SINGH
SHAHEED EDUARD P. SINGH
SHAHEED MANDEEP SINGH KHALSA
SHAHEED MOHAN SINGH
SHAHEED SANDEEP SINGH

and our two little sisters who died unborn,

BABY KAUR ONE

BABY KAUR TWO

and to all the thousands of our other brothers and sisters who died in this battle/pogrom/massacre.

YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN

WAHEGURU JI KA KHALSA
WAHEGURU JI KI FATEH

OUR SEARCH FOR JUSTICE CONTINUES UNABATED.

KHALISTAN ZINDABAD!!

AMU on DVD

AMU has been released on DVD. For more information, and to purchase, go here.