Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace--but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses [and Khandas!], row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
[For the story of the poem and its historical context, click on the title]
I saw the saffron turbans of the shaheeds as those poppies growing "in Flanders fields" and thought about the meaning of those turbans and the kes they protected. I considered the meaning of our kes.
I know this is a topic that has been beaten to death, and you may well be sick and tired of it. Please indulge me and read on. My husband and son and other family members achieved their shaheedi protecting and honouring that kes; I am left alive to speak for them.
"If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep."
Those are haunting words, aren't they?
Is not dishonouring your kes breaking faith with these brothers who lie dead a mere 25 years ago? Please think about this, think very deeply. Does their sacrifice not serve as an inspiration to honour them by keeping your hairs unshorn? Is it really such a big sacrifice for you to keep your hairs, for my brothers to refrain from cutting and shaving, to tie a turban and walk proudly in the shadow of our Gurus? Is it really such a big sacrifice for you to keep your hairs, for my sisters to refrain from plucking and threading your eyebrows, for refusing to shave the hairs of your legs and underarms and "bikini line." We are all familiar with the picture of the scalping of Bhai Taru Singh, blood pouring over his body from his bleeding head. (If you aren't, here it is:)
Our mothers and fathers, our sisters and brothers, our daughters and sons, have willingly become sacrifices for this part of our bodies we Sikhs hold sacred. If it really is a sacrifice, is it not a sacrifice worth making?
"If ye break faith with us who die..."
Please, if you have kept kes and are considering shearing it, on this Day of Remembrance, think of this great sacrifice of our beloved shaheeds and make your own much smaller sacrifice.
"If ye break faith with us who die..."
And, if you have kept kes in the past and have stopped, today is a good day to reconsider. Words such as mona and patit are easily thrown around, I know, and I have found few Sikhs who want these words applied to them. These words can be left behind. Our hairs are very forgiving. Cut them or shave them, they grow back. Pluck them - it takes a bit longer, and they still grow back. Shearing is a deed that can, to a great extent, be undone.
If ye break faith with us who die..."
If you have never kept kes, today would be a good day to start. Yes, I know your friends, colleagues, co-workers might think you eccentric, strange, even silly, you might face ridicule and lack of understanding, it won't be easy. What in life that is worth accomplishing is easy? And who ever said being a Sikh is easy?
So...please consider the meaning of kes and start today becoming a "visible Sikh" in the tradition and footsteps of our Gurus, our sants and our shaheeds. Tie a turban today. You do not have to wait until your hair are long to do so. If you don't know how, go to your nearest gurudwara; I guarantee that there are those who will be delighted, overjoyed to teach you. And, yes, this applies to girls/women as well as boys/men.
If you are still not inspired - or even if you are - take about ten minutes and watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnWcEOYR3lE
From Raj Karega Khalsa
This Shabad is by Guru Nanak Dev Ji in Raag Raamkalee on Ang 941 of Dhan Dhan Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji Maharaj:
The Gurmukh lives in Fear of the True Lord.
The Guru's Bani refines the unrefined of the Gurmukh.
The Gurmukh sings the Lord's Immaculate Praises.
The Gurmukh attains the pure, supreme status.
The Gurmukh meditates on the Lord with every hair of his body.
O Nanak, the Gurmukh merges in Truth. The Gurmukh is pleasing to the True Guru; this is contemplation on the Vedas.
Pleasing the True Guru, the Gurmukh is carried across.
Pleasing the True Guru, the Gurmukh receives the spiritual wisdom of the Shabad.
Pleasing the True Guru, the Gurmukh comes to know the path within.
The Gurmukh attains the unseen and infinite Lord.
O Nanak, the Gurmukh finds the door of liberation.
And while we are at it, think of the blood of our shaheeds that was spilled on this day, the blood that turned the water of our sacred sarovar red, the blood that the army soldiers told our sisters and daughters to drink to quench their thirst, think of their blood, then go to the gurudwara sahib and give some of yours so that others can live.
Three Ghalugharas are recorded in Sikh history,
(i) in 1746 about 10,000 Sikhs were murdered by the Mughal government forces. It’s called Chhota (small) Ghalughara.
(ii) Wada (large) Ghalughara took place in 1762 when Ahmed Shah suddenly took Sikhs in Malwa moving with children, women, and old people to the dry region. He murdered about 20,000 – 30,000 of them.
(iii) Under the orders of Indira Gandhi, Indian army attacked Golden Temple, Amritsar in June of 1984 and murdered 5,000 – 7,000 Sikhs visiting the sacred place in memory of the martyrdom of Guru Arjun Dev.
feeling triumphant you must be
not letting me see daylight..
a little bundle of joy i was
pulsating with life within you
did it not hurt you, me being torn
from within you with sharp edged instruments?
did your heart not bleed for snapping all ties with your own flesh and blood....
you sealed my fate and branded me unwanted
poor me turned into a lifeless mass of flesh
dragged by stray dogs or dumped in dingy well
to rot along with so many like me
did i deserve that???
i thought i was a daughter OR am i just a female foetus"....
from lavender
Sajjad Shaukat
June 5 and June 6 are reminders of the 'Operation Blue Star' when Indian military, led by General Kuldip Singh Brar, launched attack on the Golden Temple, the holiest shrine of Sikhs in 1984, to arrest Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, the only leader who had been boldly fighting for the rights of Sikhs. The Indian Army supported by troops and armoured vehicles broke all records of the state terrorism and extra-judicial killings through that barbaric operation.
It is notable that at that time, there were only 251 Sikhs inside the complex to protect the Golden Temple, resisting well-trained Indian army, equipped with sophisticated weaponry. In those days, majority of the Sikhs were coming to Golden Temple to celebrate Martyr Day of Guru Arjan Dev Ji.
Then the Indian regime used tanks and destroyed the Akaal Takhat Sahib, which is right in front of the Golden Temple. On June 6, when all Sikh fighters were martyred along with Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, Indian troops entered the temple with their shoes by even deliberately ignoring the holiness of the place, showing utter indecency. When the Indian Army felt that only 251 men had prevented them from entering the temple for so many days, they started killing innocent Sikhs who had come there to visit the Temple. The only purpose was to hide their humiliation.
In connection with that incident of state terrorism, Ramnarain Kumar and George Sieberer in their book, The Sikh struggle, write: "The army killed every Sikh who could be found inside the temple complex. They were hauled out of rooms, brought to corridors on the circumference of the temple and with their hands tied behind their back, were shot in cold blood. Among the victims were many old men, women and children." However, all visitors were locked up in rooms for two days without any food, water, or electricity and were starved to death. Besides, the Golden Temple remained under the army control for many months.
The brutality of the 'Operation Blue Star' was not confined to the Golden Temple. Indian armed forces simultaneously attacked 40 other historical gurdwaras all over East Punjab. When Sikhs in other states came to know about the desecration of the Golden Temple and massacre of their brethren, they quickly left for Punjab. New Delhi turned its attention to Sikh military and tried to stop them before they could reach Punjab. Many Sikhs were assassinated on the way and many others were arrested.
According to an estimate, about 50,000 Sikhs were killed within a few days. The whole Amritsar city was sealed and was burnt. A number of tourists either were murdered or arrested. Shops belonging to Sikhs were looted and their houses were set ablaze by Hindu mobs. In most of the cases, Sikh women were molested and some persons of their community were also burnt alive.
Another tragic dimension of the military operation is that historical Sikh artifacts — all the literature written by the gurus was taken away by the army and was also set ablaze. In this regard, New Delhi claimed that it was burnt while bombing the Temple.
In November of the same year, two dedicated Sikhs named Beant Singh and Satwant Singh who were posted at Premier Indira Gandhi's residence in New Delhi, assassinated her. Then Hindu riots erupted in the capital and other cities in which more then 15,000 Sikhs were killed in broad daylight by the supporters of Indira Gandhi while police watched silently so as to provide the Hindus with free hand to massacre Sikhs. The attack on the Golden Temple and genocide of Sikhs only accelerated the liberation movement for Khalistan as Bhindrenwale became a folk hero.
Meanwhile, after 'Operation Blue Star' and the Sikh genocide, Sikhs' struggle for independence continued, but the Indian government made every effort to crush the same with the state machinery. To maintain their control over the Golden Temple, another attack was launched on the Temple in 1987, called 'Operation Black Thunder'. This time only Sikh resistance was the main target. In that respect, quite a number of people of their community were killed and dead bodies lay inside the sacred place for many days. According to a report, many trucks were loaded with dead bodies and all were burned with kerosene oil. Afterwards, 'Operation Woodrose' and 'Operation Black Thunder-II' were conducted against the Sikh community, which also assassinated them extra-judicially.
After these barbaric operations, Sikhs organised themselves into an armed power in order to fight the Indian state terrorism. Many Sikhs left India to escape religious persecution. Sikhs have spread out all over the world to keep the movement of Khalistan alive. In this connection, their struggle is still going on.
A renowned scholar, Dr. Sangat Singh remarks in his book, The Sikhs in history, "The Indian government has killed over 1 million to 1.2 million Sikhs. During last 18 years Indian government has also killed 50,000 Christians and 100,000 Muslims since 1947. The only way to stop this state terrorism is to create a Khalistan state, where Sikhs and other religious people can enjoy their freedom".
It is of particular attention that the Indian government dominated by politicians from the Hindi heartland uses force ruthlessly against any move to free Assam, Kashmir, Khalistan, Mizoram, Nagaland, Tamil Nadu and Tripura.
Consequently, 'Operation Blue Star' was one of the most inflammatory actions ever taken by the Indian government. Still, coupled with intermittent massacre of Muslims, Christians, including that of the lower caste communities tends to expose the real face of New Delhi. Ground realities display that India is a fundamentalist state under the mask of secularism. And the tragedy of 'Operation Blue Star' and its drastic aftermath has, without any doubt, endorsed this fact.
The writer is author of the book: US vs. Islamic militants, invisible balance of power: Dangerous shift in international relations
To All my Cyberfriends and Family:
For the next week or so I will be very busy with Bluestar/ Third Gallaghura activities and will not be readily available. If you do not see me online or if you see a 'do not disturb' red ball on chat, do not worry about me; I am fine, just very busy. Please respect the red ball if it is there unless you have a real emergency. Send an email and I will respond as soon as I can.
I am sending this out individually instead of in one mailing as I know many of you prefer to keep your addresses private.
All of you, please take care.
Talk to you later.
Love and hope,
Mai
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH................... |
OK, see, this is a very old e-mail, so I don't exactly remember why did I write this...
but maybe becauseof your obsession with this Bluestar phenomenon...
As such we here [in Amritsar] didn't observe any such day...and you are so far away...not even a citizen of ours considers it important...so I may have laughed...laughed not at the deaths of innocent people...but of your attitude of bringing this thing up every now and then
or maybe I laughed to see that red balls thing you wrote about being busy...
I don't remember...it's got to be one of two reasons...or maybe both...
But as I write I am more convinced it was the former one...
But no offence meant...
Mai, you need a break really about this Bluestar thing...because where it happened...those who suffered...those who were at the forefront... they've forgotten...and moved on...
I saw just today a report on NDTV...couldn't find you a link...They showed how children of former terrorists are becoming doctors and engineers...
Now you take care of your health, OK?
But I meant no offence that day!!...OK, Ji.
Bye bye.
Mai speaks:
When all the bullets stopped and relative quiet reigned in Amritsar, 
The most vivid memory of this time to me is the overwhelming putrid smell of the sacred pool of nectar. I have not read anyone else's comment on this; I wonder why.
Twice in my life I have seen Mani cry: once when he was first presented with Sandeep and on this occasion. After a while, though, he picked up the end of my chunni, dried off his face and said, quite loudly, 'We are Sikhs. We have never been defeated and this won't be the first time. This isn't over. Khalistan Zindabad!' Eyebrows were raised and I observed a few hard smiles around us. I thought he was acting in an insane manner. Who knows? But no cops molested us.
There is a vigil in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada on June 9 
ed up and tortured and shot or they simply disappeared. It is estimated that approximately 150,000 of our best young men and women were murdered by the Indian government at this time.
"We went inside with humility in our hearts and prayers on our lips." General K. Sundarji
c here; this was a dirty, filthy, grimy battle, as battles always are. But I do need to express my admiration and appreciation of our warriors, our valiant Khalsa who fought against all odds during these days and died perfect deaths, as Khalsa are taught to dream of dying.
This is another story I had not intended to tell publicly, but the family have prevailed upon me because, they say, it's a great story, and might actually give someone some encouragement someday. So here goes.
I have cleaned up the 
story and the language considerably, since I want to keep my blog at a PG-13 rating. It was a lot rougher than I have actually written it.
[ Maman read what I had written and said, 'Cleaning up is one thing. Whitewashing is another. Mani wrote me about what he saw and you've left out almost everything. If this is to be any kind of a record, you need to add at least some of that.' OK, I'll try to add some. The new stuff will be written like this.]
June 4, 1984. We had been in Amritsar since mid-May, visiting relatives, of which we have many in that area. The date, for those of you who don't recognise it, was the beginning of Operation Blue Star or more properly, Ghallughara, when the Indian army stormed the Harimandir Sahib (Golden Temple), looking for 'terrorists.' They found thousands of people there commemorating the anniversary of the shaheedi of Guru Arjun Dev Ji. They opened fire on the whole complex, and killed, who knows how many. Fortunately, we were at a cousin's house when it all started and thus were safe, or so it seemed.
No such luck. Two days later, the police barged in and took us all. Fortunately, as it turned out, the three of us had our passports on us. I'm not sure exactly where we were taken, a police station somewhere. They separated the men and the women; I was afraid that that was last I'd see of my men.
Then t
hey put each of us women in different rooms. And I waited. For the first time in my life, I was really scared. After a time, a very young policeman came in. Although my hands were bound behind me, I managed to pull out my Canadian passport.
He was not impressed.
'Are you Sikh?' Expressionless.
'Yes.' Calmly.
'Wrong answer.' He slapped me across the face.
'Are you Sikh?' Expressionless.
'Yes.' Calmly.
'Wrong answer.' He slapped me HARD across the face.
'Are you Sikh?' Expressionless.
'Yes.' Calmly.
'Wrong answer. And you're also really stupid.' He doubled up his fist and slugged me in the mouth.
'Are you Sikh?' Smiling slightly.
'Yes. I'm Khalsa.' Blood was coming out of my mouth. I wish I could say I was unafraid, but that would be a lie. A BIG lie. I have, to this day, never been so terrified in my life. But I managed to keep my voice steady.
He reached over to me and tore my shirt off. Then he pulled out my kirpan. 'The little Saint Soldier has her little knife, I see.' In a sarcastic voice. He drew the blade across my throat. I laughed nervously. A strange reaction.
Unlike most Sikhs, I usually do not carry a blunt kirpan. I know, I know. A kirpan is a religious article, not a weapon. I'm sorry if I offend anyone here, and I know I will, but I have never believed that our f 
ather Guru Gobind Singh Ji intended us to be unarmed. I usually carried a razor-sharp two-edged medieval French war dagger that had belonged to a lady ancestor of mine. I suppose it couldn't really be called a kirpan, but it was what I carried. I'm not sure why that day, I didn't have HT, my dagger, on me. If I had, I would be dead. So I laughed nervously.
That seemed to infuriate him and he pulled my pants down. At this point a second cop came in. The first one started pulling at my hair. 'You Khalsa have a real fetish about this, don't you? Is it true that you'll die before letting it be cut?'
I nodded. 'Yes.'
'Stupid. '
The second cop handed him a big pair a scissors. He pointed them at my hair. 'I'm going to use these. The choice is yours: here,' pointing at my hair, 'or here?' He cut the top of my kechera, so they fell down. pointed at the scissors my crotch. [He laughed and laughed.] 
Paralysed with terror, I said nothing, but inside I screamed with every fibre of my being, ' GOBIND!!!!' No 'Guru,' no 'Singh,' no 'Ji.' Just, ' GOBIND!!!!'
The result was instantaneous. I was not afraid. I was not in pain. I don't know how I knew they wouldn't dare cut my hair; I couldn't care less what else they might do to me. My dad's words came to me: 'No one can humiliate me without my consent.' I laughed. 'I'm Khalsa.' I looked at the mirror across the room. I'm not a complete idiot. I know mirrors in interrogation rooms are one way glass. And I was certain that the cops were forcing my son and husband to watch this. Sadistic f* cking bastards! I nodded to my unseen men and smiled.
He slugged me in the stomach. It didn't hurt. He slugged me like that several more times until he finally knocked me off my feet and I fell to the floor. I have never felt so calm and complete, as strange as that sounds. I was completely unafraid.
He stood over me and [stared at me, now completely naked, lying on the floor. He kicked me in the head repeatedly. Then, he pulled me up by my hair and with the help of his colleague sat me in a chair. He cut open a hot chili and rubbed it all over my face, up my nose and into my eyes. I didn't react at all.
[He opened my legs and rubbed the ch 
ili all over my vaginal area. The second one pulled me forward to my feet, while the first one shoved it up my anus. He pulled it out and stuffed it into my mouth. The whole time, he was trying to taunt me by saying all sorts of insulting things. None of it got through to me at all. I will not record what he said, partly because it was mostly in colloquial Punjabi, of which I understood little, and partly because it would serve no purpose beyond teaching someone how to be insulting.]
After he finished with the chili, he started with the scissors, which turned out to be very sharp. Little cuts, not big ones, all over my breasts, then my stomach. When I didn't react to that, the bottoms of my feet. By this time, he was completely livid. I thought he was going to maybe cut my throat or gouge my eyes.
Again he grabbed me by the hair and threw me on the ground, and opened my legs. He raised the scissors over my crotch, clearly intending to use them as a weapon of rape. He stopped, clearly savouring the moment.
At exactly that instance, the door opened and someone burst through, yelling. 'Stop!! We have orders not to mess with the Canadians.'
He glared at me, with pure hatred. But he stopped. The second cop untied my wrists.
I stood up, pulled up my kechera, then my pants. My shirt was torn beyond any usefulness, though. My mouth was still full of blood. which I spat on the floor at his feet. He spoke, very softly, so only I could hear,'If I ever see you again, you'll be sorry I didn't finish with you today.'
[So what was going on in me, while he was torturing me? (I believe this does qualify as torture.) I could see, hear and 
feel everything that was going on. But I felt no pain, either physically or psychologically, then or later. Instead, I was aware of various voices singing the Mool Mantar, over and over. It was the most beautiful thing you could imagine. It completely transported my being to another level where pain simply doesn't exist. This was the second time something like this had happened to me in this life - and it has not been repeated since.
[I was operating in two completely different states of being. All of my senses seemed to be in overdrive. My hearing was enhanced. Colours were vivid and alive. I was fully, completely conscious and aware. I want to emphasize that I was not being brave or strong or heroic. And I am not masochistic 
. I was as calmly joyful as I could ever imagine being. It simply made no difference to me what they were doing. Why do I think this happened to me? Because I relied on a promise made by one who was a father to me. There is nothing special about me in this. Any Khalsa in this position has the right, perhaps even the obligation to do the same. No special, secret words, no silly rituals, just the total intention.
[I'd like to make a couple of aside comments here. First, there are still a few things I have left out, for the sake of decency. I was not raped., if rape is vaginal penetration. Please notice that it takes nothing fancy to torture someone, no special equipment, in this case, just a chili, a pair of scissors and something to tie my hands. Also, very little imagination.
[I have not mentioned that, at this time, I was in my first trimester of pregnancy. They, of course, had no way of knowing that. Not that it would have made any difference to them! Why I didn't lose the babies then and there I can only ascribe to the fact that I was being protected by my Guru in some fashion.]
I just kept smiling. "I'd like my kirpan back, please.' The second cop handed it to me, along with my passport.
They took me, still half naked and bleeding, to a hallway, where I was reunited with Mani and Sandeep. With great dignity, my son took off his shirt and helped me put it on. 'Here, Mom.' His voice was shaking a bit. I looked at them. They had been roughed up a bit, and normally neither would have ever tied a turban so sloppily. We would discuss all that later. I evidently got the worst treatment, physically.
Later we discussed the incident. Mani looked in my eyes. 'There for a moment, I thought you might break.'
I met his gaze. 'So did I'
'I could see you change. All of a sudden, it was like you became someone else. What happened?'
I told him. He turned to our son. (Of course, all this happened 22 years ago, so all the quotes have been approximations, except this, which I remember verbatim.) 'Your mother is a magnificent person. You won't find another like her, but I hope when you get married, you'll marry a woman you can love and admire as much as I do my wife.' What woman could possibly forget such praise from her husband? (It goes both ways. A man could not forget such praise from his wife, either.)
Sandeep looked at me, and said, in a whisper, 'Mom, you were so lucky they got stopped when they did.'
Both of us said, in unison, 'Luck had nothing to do with it.'
I will leave the story there, only noting that it was not my strength and courage that made me strong; it was a gift from my father Guru. The only part I can really take any credit for is crying out for help when I needed it.
[We could not get back to our family home that day, but fortunately, some good people saw us right outside the police station and took us in.
[Although some of the city's water was cut off, where our host family lived, it was running. I f 
elt incredibly dirty. Thank God for a good shower! Mani helped me clean up, washed and conditioned my hair - which, against all odds, was intact - and combed it out for me. He couldn't believe I could walk on those lacerated feet, but even afterward, while I was healing, I was in no pain. I have a few scars left, my hearing was slightly damaged, but nothing too important. Mani, being a physician, thoroughly examined me, but even with the beating I had taken, there were no major injuries.]
[Our hosts, who were Hindus, gave us clean clothes, some really good food, comfortable beds and a feeling that there were still some decent people in Amritsar. We burned our old clothes, except I kept the shirt Sandeep had given to me. Our family in Amritsar is still keeping it today, as a remembrance.]
There is much more I could write about Amritsar at this time, the smell, the heat, the noxious insects, the sacred sarovar filled with blood and dead bodies, but that can be found elsewhere on the net. I'm trying to record only my personal experiences.
[Now, Maman has read the new version and is almost satisfied with it , so I will leave it as it is.]
For more information, try Googling or Yahooing on 'Operation Blue Star.'
'WHAT DOES NOT DESTROY ME MAKES ME STRONGER'
WHY TRY TO FIT IN WHEN YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT?
********************************************************
They knew we were Canadians. Not wanting an international incident, they would have left us alone
Punjabi police do not mistreat women unless they are close relatives of terrorists or suspected terrorists.
