Thursday 28th March

Breakfasting in the garden we enjoyed a gentle repast of fruit and eggs before braving town again. Chochi who lives here, kept watch. She is as mild mannered as he is smooth coated! I watched her steal a biscuit later with great discretion and delicacy.

First stop was the Jallianwalla Bagh memorial garden. In 1919 it witnessed the slaughter of over 1000 innocent Sikhs who had gathered peacefully together for a festival. They were unarmed and defenceless. Fearing it was an insurrection, General Dyer ordered his soldiers to open fire on them and not stop shooting for ten minutes. The story is shameful. Bullet hole marks which are still there in the wall are outlined in white chalk.

Further cruelties were inflicted by Dyer on those deemed to be out of order such as ‘crawling’ on the ground at gunpoint, or floggings whilst tied to a tree. It is recorded here in the museum and gardens where now everyone walks happily through…

Dyer was eventually pursued and shot by an avenging Sikh in 1940, who immediately gave himself up and said he had done what had to be done.

From there we walked to The Partition Museum, where the tumultuous lead up to the Partition of India into India and Pakistan in 1947 changed the lives of millions of Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs irrevocably. In confusion as to where they should now be living, thousands were slaughtered on trains as they fled to either Pakistan or India. Others died of malnutrition, cholera or exhaustion along the way separated for ever from their homes and families. Some refugee camps for the displaced were eventually set up. Recorded interviews can be watched in the museum with those who were alive at the time. Perhaps the inexorable movement towards independence was ignored by the British because they distracted by the World War II, but that leaders had ever allowed things to get to that pitch is baffling.

On a lighter note – just how many people can be fitted into a bus?

We also enjoyed these bronzes for their gaiety

and then took the usual transport home.

Thursday evening 28th March

A taxi into town took us as far as it could towards a famous eatery. Thereafter it was Jeremy’s innate GPS which led us there down the tiny dirty streets, still coursed by bicycle rickshaws and tuktuks. We thought we’d try this place en route back to the Golden Temple. It was heaving with hungry people staring at the others still finishing their food. Being only two they managed to squeeze us in on the end of another family’s table. They turned out to be a Punjabi family from London! We had thali with parathas with just a spoon issued on request. Delicious!

After that it was the night time spectacle of watching the holy book being transferred from the Golden Temple to the Akal Tahkt, the building opposite. Again, thousands of people were there for the occasion. Some were even sleeping out on the hard marble floor, with just a blanket pulled right over their head. A priest bearing an orange flag led a procession round the sides of the lake before making his way up to the Temple. Women bowed down to kiss the ground he had just walked on.

It was difficult not to keep taking pictures in this fairy tale scene.

Here is the Akal Tahkt where the book is placed over night before it is moved back every morning.

It felt strangely liberating, just walking along in bare feet and having that contact with ground via the smooth marble..welcoming in some way.

The great escape

Having seen all we could it was time to head back. Opting for our preferred three wheeled fully air conditioned transport home rather than the taxi, we jumped into a tuktuk, with a very willing driver, but who spoke little English. He was a little hazy on the whereabouts of our hotel, but stopped and asked a couple of people for assistance. In India, there is no such word as ‘can’t,’ only ‘how’. After steering perilously through yet more cyclists, mopeds and people, he stopped once more for directions. He hopped out leaving us like granny and grandpa in the back with the little motor running. I don’t know what the braking mechanism in tuktuks is, but let’s just say this one wasn’t on. Almost imperceptibly, we found ourselves rolling forward as well as steering effortlessly into the following traffic, the handlebars having been left at an angle. “Jeremy!!!!” I yelled. I wasn’t quite ready for an Indian hospital just yet. He lunged forward and tried squeezing the bars but we merely accelerated. Our tuk tuk was clearly keen to make a run for it with us as hostage. Fortunately for us, a little bump in the road as well as a slight incline thwarted the attempt and momentum was lost. The driver simultaneously reappeared and took back the reins as it were. A sigh of relief as well as much giggling took us the rest of the way home.

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