It is Baisakhi again. The April sun is brilliant against a cloudless sky of indeterminate shade. Raucous babblers flit about the unkempt grass. Everything hums with joy except history’s remembered pains. Rambagh Palace, in the centre of Amritsar, was built by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, who used to come down here from Lahore. The sprawling gardens are now untended. Shadows enmesh in the quiet shade of the trees. The old palace building is under major renovation. Scaffoldings scar its face.

This was where Reginald Dyer had taken up residence a day before the massacre of April 13, 1919, having been dispatched from Jalandhar on the governor’s orders to take charge there in response to the conflagration in Amritsar.

Dyer’s drive

In order to figure out how long Dyer and his force would have taken to reach Jallianwala Bagh, I retrace his route from the palace. Since he had, that very morning, banned all movement and gathering of people, the streets would have been deserted. Pickets and patrols would have controlled all entry and exit points. According to Dr. Amandeep Bal, who heads the history department at Guru Nanak Dev University, Dyer could not have taken much time.

The distance from Rambagh to Jallianwala Bagh is about 3 km. Leaving the palace, Dyer would have crossed Hall Bridge over into Hall Bazaar. In those days, the Europeans shopped here. Past the burnt remains of the National Bank and Alliance Bank, the post offices and the town hall, he would have led his force into the bagh, where a sizeable crowd had assembled.

My wheezing taxi takes about 25 minutes from Rambagh to the crime scene. It is not distance, it’s the traffic of Amritsar, which is utterly chaotic. Pedestrians, bicycles, cycle rickshaws, hand-carts, scooters, Tempos, cars and SUVs all choke and crowd the available road space. Most lanes are wide enough to let only a horse cart pass, but with magical properties they stretch and expand for bigger vehicles. I decide I have to tell J.K. Rowling.

A hundred years ago, Amritsar was one of the most flourishing towns of India with a population of 1.5 lakh, most of whom lived in the old city where the Golden Temple is located. Today, its population is 25 lakh.

The Civil Lines are still distinct from the old city. The Hall Bridge over the rail tracks links the two. Across it is Hall Gate and then beyond that, Hall Bazaar, close to Jallianwala Bagh.

Scene of the crime

The history of Jallianwala Bagh is blurry. Certainly, there was no bagh or garden here. Not far from Golden Temple, it was a largish, rectangular, hemmed-in space of bare, brown earth where meetings were held, people went for walks, and children played. As the old black-and-white photos show, the park then had just two or three trees that merely served to accentuate the starkness of the setting as in a Beckett play. The land was privately owned by several persons. After the massacre, the Indian National Congress purchased it from them for about ₹5 lakh.

To the left of the entrance is the infamous well — perhaps 50 feet deep — where many people perished when they jumped in to escape the bullets. Today, Martyr’s Well is covered with a grill.

The back walls of houses in the old city and shops in the bazaar mark the perimeters of the bagh. The claustrophobic and high brick walls, which still stand today, are insurmountable. With one exception. When Dyer began shooting, the low walls on the left could be scaled with some effort. But even that was a place without cover when death came. The bullet marks embedded in the brick walls are still visible. They seem raw. It is as if Dyer opened fire only yesterday.

Taking aim

Dyer’s carefully chosen troops consisted of English, Baluchis and Gorkhas. He also had two armoured cars with machine guns mounted on them, but these couldn’t be used because the entrance was too narrow for them to pass through.

There were slightly raised embankments on both sides of the entrance, and Dyer asked his men to take position there. By some accounts there was a crowd of 5,000 or so. Someone was speaking from a temporary stage.

With no prior warning, Dyer ordered his men to fire. It was directed towards the centre of the park where more men had gathered. As people tried to escape over the lower walls, the firing was directed into them. Many jumped into the well. Dyer stopped when he had no bullets left, and marched his troops back to Rambagh.

A hundred years on, facts have lost their poignancy. The fear, panic, the whizzing bullets, the deaths are now abstract statistics. Eight minutes, 1,650 rounds of .303 Mark VI ammunition, 379 dead, 1,200 injured. What about the predetermined, savage intent?

Fading history

Jallianwala Bagh has changed. When I visited years ago, there was hardly anyone there. It was just another April evening. I had walked down from the Golden Temple through a narrow, sunless alley. There was a soft wind, and leaves rustled. The light was about to fade, and the ambience was sombre. The flame-shaped memorial in red sandstone was silhouetted against the dying light. It was enclosed by walls all around. Standing before the wall with its marks of death was humbling. The cathartic effect was a felt experience.

The sandstone memorial   | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons

Recent visits, however, have been more like being in some fun park, only without a carousel. The constricted museum room and the open area are crowded and rackety. You cannot feel the pastness of the present. There is a frenetic rush for vantage points to take selfies. Lovers look for shade and arbour. There are many more people in the street outside waiting to come in. Perhaps they are part of some tour operator’s circuit — Golden Temple, Jallianwala Bagh and the Wagah Border.

There are many more trees now — gulmohars, asopalavs, flowering creepers, pots of geraniums and dahlias. There is great mirth and an exhilarating absence of the fear that would have permeated the air that day. As I retrace my steps through the narrow passage that blocked Dyer’s armoured cars, I wonder about what happens when there is a disconnect between a people and their history. This transformation of Jallianwala Bagh into a tourist spot — is that what it is?

The writer is a photography and classical music enthusiast.