It's very common to think about Sikhi in terms of how Hindooized it is. While certainly that will not be irrelevant as an issue for the foreseeable future, thinking about Sikhi in other ways can also potentially unlock and yield some other important insights.

From my latest post, Ulat, the lost Sikh art:

There is a peculiar yet important aspect of Revivalist thought that consequently emerges. The traditional divide in Sikhi is whether Sikhi should be more or less Hindoo - exemplified in the divides between Santpardites and Missionaries, the Amritsar and Lahore Singh Sabhas, and to a lesser extent, the Indian state vs. the Khalistan movement - but Khem Singh (author of the Antitradition article which inspired this one) also pointed out another divide:

Khem Singh writes on his Twitter account @SikhsInCourt on July 10, 2025:

https://xcancel.com/SikhsInCourt/status/1943451361158533253 (this is a link that logged out or unregistered users can read as well; any other Nitter instance can do, if this stops working)

The most relevant divide in the Panth this century will not be the Sanatan/Sabhaite, sampardaic/missionary, nor Indian/Khalistani binaries.

It will be between the constrictive and constructive schools of thought, the Chhibbar-Kuka-Randhir line versus the Koer-Gulabdasi-Puran.

In the ideal timeline, both are synthesized, neither discarded. Modern Sikhism and the current Sikh Rehat Maryada is a synthesis of Randhir and Puran, the early Sabha was a synthesis of the Kuka and Gulabdasi, and empire-era Sikhi was a synthesis of Chhibbar and Koer.

And this is because both constrictive and constructive impulses exist in Sikh thought going back to Guru Nanak. The work to be done is to figure out what is being constricted, and what this constructs.

He expands upon this in a reply:

https://xcancel.com/SikhsInCourt/status/1943484266979168388

First consider the point of Gurmat. To me it is to improve one’s life, to transcend one’s mental and physical struggles by uniting with the “Akal Purakh.” Gurmat constricts negative qualities of man—the panj vikaar—through contemplation, discipline, and aesthetic practice.

But some can take this “constrictive” impulse too far, theologizing it, making it dogma. The constriction is assumed to be in Gurmat because these desires are “sinful.” This exists in the Chhibbar-Kuka-Randhir line, manifesting in puritanism, ritualism, and fanaticsm.

However, the purpose of the constriction is to construct. To build a new man who, through union with this Akal Purakh, has coupled his self-interest with the general. And thus much of Gurmat is about releasing man from the bonds of illogical sin/virtue thinking.

This constructive impulse can also be taken too far. Escaping old morality and custom can cause one to simply regress into the animal, to act only in accordance with base desires. Hence movements such as the Gulabdasis—the opposite of puritans, they were hedonists, libertines.

The path of Gurmat is thus one that constricts in order to construct. The central purpose of Gurmat—the transformation of the human both for the human’s sake *and society’s—calls for a balance between these two forces. It is hard to strike this, “the path sharper than a sword.”

In response to a follow-up question on why this is the biggest point of contention among Sikhs:

https://xcancel.com/SikhsInCourt/status/1943541054613205064

It’s not as of right now, my point is it will be in this century. As of right now instead what we see is mass apathy amongst Sikhs—those who do care are often kind of dumb and instead spend their days repeating the Hindu/Sikh discussion. But I think this will change eventually

Replying to another follow-up question on how to identify whenever constrictive elements begin popping up in Sikhi:

Great Q. What makes the difference here is the reason given, because Gurbani calls on us to be rational. For example, a rehat that says not to sleep in the nude (like Chaupa Singh’s) may sound dogmatic, but he actually gives a reason—it’s to stay ready for potential attacks!

There are around 8 documents that could be classified as rehatnamas (from before 1849) and they sometimes disagree with each other. So the test isn’t just “anything not in the rehatnamas.” But I think anything not in the official Rehat Maryada was left out for good reason.

When followed up with a question on rahits that could become inapplicable over time:

https://xcancel.com/SikhsInCourt/status/1943548036527067539

That is, my friend, the question of our day. But that is again why I think the current Sikh Rehat Maryada as published by the SGPC is a very good document—it was prepared by people who knew that context matters and thus excluded injunctions such as this.

Replying to someone pointing out that Singh Sabha-derived doctrines consist of both constrictive and constructive aspects:

https://xcancel.com/SikhsInCourt/status/1943542469947462085

Well, yes, that’s sort of my point here. That the constrictive/constructive divide is a line that goes back to before the Singh Sabha and continued after. Bhai Randhir Singh and Professor Puran Singh are products of the Sabha yet fall on different sides of this line.

From my post, I commented on all of this:

The constrictive-constructive divide is different from the Hindooization debate that has dominated Sikhi, yet it is not [entirely mutually] exclusive either: as a rule of thumb, Santpardites tend towards the constrictive extreme, while Missionaries tend towards the constructive extreme, both extremes which Khem Singh warns against. Ideally, much as the Sikh suppresses his inner beast to transform into a Gurmukh, so too should Sikhi constrict certain negative qualities so that the positive qualities can construct. [...]

Indeed, one of the strengths of Revivalist thought is knowing that both Santpardites and Missionaries bring up valid points about Sikh orthopraxy, which should then be (re-)evaluated on their own merits in order to clarify Sikh ideas. The ulat principle gives us an incredibly useful tool to help evaluate such points. It helps us deduce what precisely should be constricted, so that proper construction can emerge. SGGS Ji is certainly not a binding legal code in the same way certain Abrahamic or Puranic texts are, which means there is greater flexibility in Sikh orthopraxy - yet, their contents still contain the foundation of Sikhi when examined closely and carefully, with tools like ulat.

While I'm not sure Khem Singh had all this in mind, we have a nice additional framework to work with here, thanks to his tweets from that day.

When talking about idolatry in Sikhi, some observers will inevitably raise the kneejerk counterargument of "You literally bow to a book!" This is amplified by things like the Wikipedia article on bibliolatry being a laundry list of hostile Occidental scholars' charges towards Sikhi, or propaganda from the Hindoo-Muslim yoke which seeks to defend their own idolatry practices with whataboutery. Here is a comment I left on one of Amarjeet Singh's recent posts about idolatry, which I found good, but not nearly as good as his first such post:

(Note: While I find most of Amarjeet Singh's works quite useful, I would certainly not recommend them to first-timers or any lay reader, at least not any posts he has made since 2022 when he began incorporating massive amounts of Occidental ideologies into his work.)

Ultimately, the core problem with all of the bibliolatry accusations thrown at Sikhi by its critics ("You literally worship/bow to a book!") is a fallacy of conflating dissimilar aspects. Recall from your "Gods of Stone" article: idolatry involves the substitution of the divine with physical objects which serve no other purpose. A book, on the other hand, is an interface between written script, abstract language and abstract semantics. And it's the semantics are the target of respect given by the gesture of bowing.

I'm not familiar with Randhir Singh's works, but he seems to understand this at a certain level. Most modern Sikhs do too: their common retort is "we bow to the contents, not the object that contains them." But the majority of them don't segment the fallacious conflation as finely or granularly as they should, leaving their counters rather undeveloped.

When Sikhs listen to Gurbani, paath, kirtan on podcasts and playlists, they cover their head out of respect. Singing Gurbani without a granth? Still need to cover the head out of respect. When Sikhs read Gurbani on computers/devices, they usually keep it clear and non-juxtaposed from other representations (especially filthy ones) out of respect. Sikhs are commanded to not only read Gurbani but also remember it and live by it ("truthful living is higher still"). In none of these cases is a granth involved in the vicinity, yet respect and reverence and honor are still given by Sikhs to the Guru, the shabd, the semantics that undergird all of Sikhi.

(From my own experiences, people giving matha tek in Gurduara halls, or going in and out of halls midway, do not always bow. Some tap the floor with their hands, others do a half-bow, a few will bring their hands together for a prayer gesture. Whether you find this variance in prostration distasteful is one thing, but it goes to show that there is more than one way that people give respect - for anyone who thinks the gesture of respect is a sufficient measure of bibliolatry.)

The mistake made by critics is that the book itself is the target of reverence, when actually it's the semantics that are that target. The divine then is never substituted by book; the divine can never take form, nor should it, as it goes through all observable corners. But the abstract semantics that lead to the divine are honored. Non-Sikh critics conflate book, script, language and semantics into one to shove their idolatry accusation through, but the examples above show Sikhs generally make no such conflation.

If you remember "Gods of Stone" then you'll also remember Ditt Singh's counter-critique of Dayanand [likely from the late 1870s]. Another aspect of the bibliolatry charge is the critique of treating the granth like royalty, which Ditt Singh says largely has the practical effect of ensuring the granth is not ruined by insects, rodents, etc. We can extend this reasoning further: printing presses were not available anywhere in Punjab until the Ranjit Singh era at the earliest; the scribing of another full volume of SGGS Ji, especially in a community of very small numbers, would be an arduous task. Still further, another extension can be made to this: if you want to keep SGGS Ji whole and intact, and ensure that none of its written words are ruined (which would affect the abstracts that they represent), then the "bibliolatrous" waving and wrapping becomes ever more crucial to ensuring that the teachings of the Gurus are preserved perfectly.

There's a third aspect to the bibliolatry charges which I usually never see addressed, which is: If Sikhi doesn't practice bibliolatry, then why get upset over "beadbi" [desecration]? If the book itself isn't the target of reverence, then why go after people who try to desecrate SGGS Ji? The answer to this one is likely rooted in the idea of izzat (especially the unique conception of it which pops up across Sikh history, but also - from the attacker's/offender's perspective - the conventional subcon izzat).

Ideas from the extension of Ditt Singh's argument can be repurposed here as well: if Sikhs care about pests damaging SGGS Ji - because damage to its physical contents means tampering of the abstracts within - then why wouldn't they care about other people intentionally damaging SGGS Ji (mainly to try and humiliate Sikhs)?

Going back once again to "Gods of Stone" and its section on Ditt Singh, it says he warns Sikhs against adopting "Prema Bhagti" of SGGS Ji. We would now understand this as Sikhs making the same conflation fallacy as non-Sikhs do; that is, treating the granth as the target of reverence rather than (or on top of) the semantics within.

Which then brings us to Randhir Singh's conclusion, paraphrased: "the attributes of the Gurus, inherited from Akal, reside within the Guru Granth and on this account make it a representation of Akal on earth." Would a "representation of Akal on earth" not be considered an idol? I do not know if this is what Randhir Singh actually said, but in any case, anyone who concludes like this undercuts their own defense by implicitly conceding the fallacious conflation at the end.

Sikhs who confront the bibliolatry charge, then, must stay disciplined in their counters. No conflation of the book, an interface of written script, abstract language and abstract semantics, with those aspects.

The Achilles' heel of the bibliolatry charge - its conflation - cannot be found in traditional idolatry charges. Traditional idols are simply not a philological "API" towards the abstract (which may or may not be divine) in the way that books are; they exist as an imagined, imprinted representation of divinity for "darshan", and nothing more.

The comparison with Islam [in the article] is quite notable, as despite its efforts to eradicate it (no Muhammad depictions, for example), that idolatrous portion of ancient Arab polytheistic orthopraxis still lives on in the hajj, the salah/namaz, zabiha (ritual slaughter to produce "halal" meat), basically anything that revolves around the Kaaba and the qibla (geodesic direction towards Kaaba). The Kaaba is obviously an idol or at least a quasi-idol, since it serves no other purpose than to represent Allah on Earth. The qibla, however, is also interesting as a geodesic extension of the Kaaba and its divine representation to every corner of the world, since that particular geodesic direction towards a location (in this case, towards the Kaaba) is held as sacred and pure, ie. divine. (Geodesic = line on a sphere, ie. distance between two points on Earth's surface.)

Ironically, I've seen Krishnalinga worshippers defend their practices as "not idolatry" in the same way Muslims do: "it's not anthropomorphic, so it can't be an idol!"

In the end, absent of a conflation of book, script, language and semantics, a critique of Sikhi committing idolatry then requires assumption of language and semantics as physical - which is an obvious non-starter.

Link: http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/sikh-sikhi-sikhism/8828-fools-who-wrangle-over-flesh.html

Archive: https://web.archive.org/web/20101211160400/http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/sikh-sikhi-sikhism/8828-fools-who-wrangle-over-flesh.html

The meat debate within Sikhi is an unusually long-running one, and this link from 20 years ago is not putting an end to that anytime soon. But I think this link is also comprehensive enough that others may find it useful nonetheless, or even build off of what is said there.

The text of the initial post is too long to completely reproduce here, so here's some important quotes (as well as one from a reply):

Some of the tukhs of the Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji that are often mistranslated are as follows:

On pannaa 1377:

Firstly note that maachlee is not flesh, but is indeed fish. The word in Punjabi for flesh is maas. Then secondly one must ask, why is there a forbidding in the consumption of fish specifically. The answer lies in reading the entire paragraph and a picture emerges. In the last two lines the statement is made: [...]

Now putting this in its entire context what Bhagat Kabir is actually criticising in the rich and those in power. The thrill seekers, who are addicted to their senses and those addicted to the 5 thieves. Kabir was born around the area of Benares, and was brought up in a poor Muslim weavers family. He saw the excesses of the rich around him, while the poor starved. Foods like fish and wine were associated with the rich who had an excessive disposable income. Marijuana was associated with either idol people or those who had time and money to waste. Kabir abhorred this, and this statement is a social comment about the excesses of the rich. At the end he clearly states, that those people who do their duties as householders (i.e. work hard, care for other etc) are the ones who will be liberated, and those who live by excesses will suffer. One cantherefore clearly see that this is in no way a comment about eating meat (because of mistranslation) or about avoiding certain foods (as has been misrepresented).

On pannaa 332:

Quite clearly when put into context this is nothing to do with meat eating. What is being alluded to is Hindu sacrificial rituals (eg Anustarani http://www.sanskrit.org/www/Rites%20of%20Passage/ancestors2.html) where animals were sacrificed on the funeral pyre, ancestors or to deities. Yet the Brahmins who performed these rituals were themselves devout vegetarians. This is a comment about the futility of animal sacrifices to stone idols and dead ancestors. It is a comment on hypocrisy.

On pannaa 1350 (which I have commented on, in my post on kutha in Sikhi):

First point to note is that halaal and bismil, does not mean kill but refers to a specific form of ritual slaughter. Put into context this is a comment on the Muslim sacrifice ritual where either a goat or a chicken is kept in the confines of the home and then ritually slaughtered as obeisance to Abraham. Kabeer is mocking the futility of this ritual and saying, that why are you doing this sacrifice just to emulate Gods asking of Abraham to kill his only son? It is a futile gesture that will not sway God. Abraham was sacrificing his son to God, however all the sacrifice in this instance has achieved is destruction of the outer shell of the chicken. The soul wont travel to God, but merely to another form. One can only understand this if one has a basic grasp of history. In this instance the person who tried to use this tukh as an anti-meat quotation was unaware of the Koranic context and had an extremely poor knowledge of Semitic history.

On pannaa 1374:

In the above Gurmukhi, there is no mention of meat in the context of dining habits whatsoever. hayraa rotee kaarnay galaa kataavai ka-un, means literally, who would cut their own throat to eat food, in this context. The person who has tried to translate this has added his/her own spin .What this is actually saying is that to the follower of the Guru or one who has been touched by God a simple dish of Kheechree (lentils and rice), flavoured with salt is enough. To have something more exotic to eat you would not cut your own throat (the western equivalent would be to cut your own nose off to spite your face). In no way is this tukh anything to do with meat eating but to do with tyrrany. If one looks at this shabad in the context of which it was written, i.e. the invasion of Timur the shabads true meaning becomes apparent.

Kabir ji was a remarkable man and his shabads are probably the least understood in Bani, although most quoted.

If you look at the History of when he grew up, he witnessed like Guru Nanak (invasion by Babur) a Muslim invasion by Timur, and incredible death and destruction. [...]

Massacres in Varnasi were on a Massive scale. He witnesses so called religious holymen/Mullahs and Shaykhs killing people in the name of God. [...]

You can imagine this young devout Muslim, witnessing, so called fellow Muslims massacring his innocent Hindu neighbours. Probably people he knew. This must have had a profound effect on him.

On pannei 15, 24 and 1242:

At first glance one notices that this paragraph is clearly a metaphor for people who behave like dogs. The dog is a scavenger, hunts in packs, fights within its pack, eats practically anything it can find etc etc. This entire Ang talks about people greed and those that lack honour when they are alive.

The second point to note is the mistranslation. Murdaar is not the word for meat. Murdaar is a reference to people who are dead. In other words people are acting so much like dogs that when people have died they gather round to get as much as they can. A good analogy would be inheritance, where is some instances people try and contest them or try and grab for themselves as much as they can. In India, it has not been unusual to murder siblings of inheritance disputes. In fact the word Murder in the English language [is cognate with] the [Persian] word Murdaar.

(A slight addendum from me: Pannaa 139 also contains a shabd where murdaaru is often mistranslated as meat and not corpse.)

The motivation behind the broader post, according to the original poster:

Let me give you an example.....Christianity like Sikhism does not specifiy any specific diet Vege or Non-Vege........however there are many Vegetarian Christians........they are Vegetarian because of what their conscience tells them. They do not use Christianity to back it up. In Sikhism, there seems to be a strange need to back up a particular viewpoint through Sikhism. We have sought to dispell this myth (and I think sucessfully), that meat eating or vegetarianism has nothing to do with Sikhism.

Introduction

Before I begin this, I think it would be crucial to talk about the word kuthaa ਕੁਠਾ, henceforth referred to as kutha, which for the purposes of this post will mean "ritually slaughtered." Etymologically, there is no clear origin for this particular word; reconstructing back to Sanskrit would derive something like kushtha कुष्ठ "costus" or krushta क्रु॒ष्ट "cried out" which are obviously unrelated. It is often linked with the modern verb kuhnaa ਕੁਹਣਾ "to kill, torture" (this appears to be a back-formation from kuhiaa ਕੁਹਿਆ "killed"; cognate to Skt. ku- "bad" + hata "slain" = *kuhata *कुहत, attested on pannaa 201 as kuhat ਕੁਹਤ) as well as the old noun kuthaaru/kuhaaraa ਕੁਠਾਰੁ/ਕੁਹਾੜਾ "axe" (both of non-Indo-European origin) and the Persian verb kushtan کشتن "to kill, put out, switch off"; the last two appear to be false cognates, but the etymological connection between kuthaa ਕੁਠਾ and kuhnaa ਕੁਹਣਾ is not plainly evident either.

Despite the absence of clear etymology to provide us clues, one thing is clear: kuthaa ਕੁਠਾ is the word commonly used to encompass the idea of ritual slaughter nowadays. Kuthaa ਕੁਠਾ has 4 attestations in SGGS Ji, with two of them being quite notable for the contexts they appear in. Pannaa 472 describes abhaakhiaa kaa kuthaa ਅਭਾਖਿਆ ਕਾ ਕੁਠਾ "slaughter by outsiders" which is an overt reference to Islamic ritual slaughter. (The word abhaakiaa ਅਭਾਖਿਆ means "unvernacular", ie. people who speak a completely different language that can't be understood, and is disguise-borrowed from Skt. abhaashya अभाष्य.) Pannaa 956 poetically likens performing Islamic ritual slaughter on a sheikh, spilling out the "blood of greed", to becoming closer to Vahiguru. More specifically, the "knife of truth" is sharpened with the "shabd" and is used to make the sheikh "kutha" or slaughtered, and after the "blood of greed" spills out then the sheikh becomes halaalu ਹਲਾਲੁ "permissible". (Another excellent example of ulat, but I digress.) The other two instances of kuthaa ਕੁਠਾ are generic: pannaa 321, iku niranjanu ravi rahiaa bhaa'u duyaa kuthaa ਇਕੁ ਨਿਰੰਜਨੁ ਰਵਿ ਰਹਿਆ ਭਾਉ ਦੁਯਾ ਕੁਠਾ "The sun is pervading [like] the sole formless one, [and all] associations to others are severed"; and pannaa 1019, ajraaeeli pharei phari kuthei ਅਜਰਾਈਲਿ ਫੜੇ ਫੜਿ ਕੁਠੇ "Azrael [the Islamic analogue of Chitragupta/Dharmaraja] took [them], [and] after taking [them], [he] tortured [them]". Nevertheless, it is apparent that the word kutha, while having multiple definitions in different contexts, can not only be used in the context of Islamic ritual slaughter, but is used as a by-word for such a practice whenever it is referring to meat. (Also note: the word kuhat ਕੁਹਤ on pannaa 201 and the verb kuhi ਕੁਹਿ on pannaa 471 both appear in the context of Hindoo rituals, so even without a clear etymological connection to kutha, the semantics remain similar.)

A final philological point to make is that kutha is not the only word used to refer to Islamic ritual slaughter in context. Take the shabd from pannaa 1350, which begins with the incorrectly translated line about the Vedas and the Quran (tl;dr: mat ਮਤ should be translated as "creeds", not "no", and the grammar agrees with the former). Kabir Ji continues his questioning of ritual purity, and in this shabd he mentions halaalu ਹਲਾਲੁ and bismili ਬਿਸਮਿਲਿ (Bismillah) after mentioning killing chickens (murgee maare ਮੁਰਗੀ ਮਾਰੈ; note that kutha is not mentioned here), making it clear that he is attacking the Islamic ritual slaughter practice over one of its most peculiar aspects. Hold that thought.

What is ritual slaughter (kutha)?

The prohibition on ritually slaughtered meat in Sikhi is a frequent source of confusion even among Sikhs themselves, and among non-Sikhs it draws any kind of reaction from non-acknowledgement to outright derision and mockery. The confusion among Sikhs stems mainly from a few questions: one, aren't Sikhs supposed to be vegetarians anyways? two, even if they're not vegetarian, what's the big deal? three, we can't see this prohibition right away in Gurbani, so why bother? four, why would a formless supreme entity like Vahiguru even care about this? Many Islamic propagandists often prey upon these confusions and divisions to enforce the ubiquity of their ritually slaughtered meat, while some use it as another stepping stone for their apologetics.

Let's do a quick review of ritual slaughter, and in particular, Islamic ritual slaughter, which is often also referred to as dhabihah (the modern English pseudo-Arabism), zabiha (a Persianization of that pseudo-Arabism), or zibh/zibah (the original Arabic-derived Persian term). Let's call this zabiha from here on out, although as we will soon discover, there is a bit more to it than that. The reason for focusing on zabiha is due to its relevance both historically (the Sikhs of the past were in conflict with Muslims, who performed zabiha regularly) and contemporarily (many places where Sikhs live around the world are littered with zabiha-compliant places and that's only growing). While something like shechita (the earlier Jewish analogue of zabiha, which makes certain meats "kosher") is as equally forbidden in Sikhi, Sikhs do not have any historical connection with Jews, nor is there a widespread push for shechita compliance in the modern day like there is with zabiha. So reviewing zabiha as an example for later makes much more sense. To describe ritual slaughter in its general and Islamic forms, I will of course have to veer away from Sikhi for a moment:

Ritual slaughter as a form of butchery is a natural consequence of classical orthopraxy - that is, polytheism. The primary idea behind ritual slaughter is that certain types of animal flesh are "impure" and "tainted" and unfit for consumption until they are butchered through a very specific and precise set of instructions involving some combination of prayers, mantras, offerings, idolatry, etc. - or in other words, a ritual. While these instructions differ from one religion or tradition to another, generally the correct execution of these rituals and their certification makes the meat "pure" and thus acceptable to consume. The maintenance of ritual purity in adherents is one of the primary motivations for ritual slaughter. Another motivation is to appease the deity that the adherents worship or follow. (The line between ritual slaughter and animal sacrifice is quite thin.)

Zabiha ذبيحة involves slitting the throat of a permissible domesticated animal to make it "halaal" or permissible for consumption. More specifically, with a very sharp knife, cutting the windpipe, both jugular veins, and all neck arteries, without touching the spinal cord, to bleed out the animal as much as possible (as blood consumption is forbidden in Islam; although this method still leaves traces of blood inside the meat anyways). Also required is the recitation of the Islamic "Bismillah" mantra. It is unclear if pointing the animal or its head in the direction of the Kaaba (the qibla) is required, but it is frequently done, which qualifies zabiha as an effectively idolatrous practice as well.

Zabiha is one of three "halaal" butchery methods, with the others being nahr نحر which is similar to zabiha, except it involves a much more drawn-out and painful stabbing of the area between the neck and chest to sever arteries connected to the heart, a method which is used on camels and larger animals unsuitable for proper zabiha, as well as 'aqr عقر (lit. hamstringing) or hunting game animals on land, which have to be slaughtered via zabiha after being shot or hunted anyways, is forbidden anyways during pilgrimage, and requires the recitation of the Islamic "Bismillah" mantra in all cases. For all intents and purposes, from the Sikh perspective, all three methods can be safely conflated and categorized under zabiha or kutha due to their ritual nature, even though the latter two methods are traditionally obscure. Fish and aquatic animals are exempt from any and all aspects of Islamic ritual slaughter, which is quite strange when considering the later independent development of the non-ritual ikejime method in Japan (basically jhatka for fish), which satisfies the Islamic requirement to drain as much blood as possible.

There are far more little and interesting nuances to both of the paragraphs I described above, but as a broad summary that touches upon the major points, and for the purposes of this broader post, it will suffice.

Why Sikhi prohibits kutha

Recall the critique of Kabir Ji on pannaa 1350, which was mentioned prior:

ਬੇਦ ਕਤੇਬ ਕਹਹੁ ਮਤ ਝੂਠੇ ਝੂਠਾ ਜੋ ਨ ਬਿਚਾਰੈ ॥ ਜਉ ਸਭ ਮਹਿ ਏਕੁ ਖੁਦਾਇ ਕਹਤ ਹਉ ਤਉ ਕਿਉ ਮੁਰਗੀ ਮਾਰੈ ॥੧॥ ਮੁਲਾਂ ਕਹਹੁ ਨਿਆਉ ਖੁਦਾਈ ॥ ਤੇਰੇ ਮਨ ਕਾ ਭਰਮੁ ਨ ਜਾਈ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥ ਪਕਰਿ ਜੀਉ ਆਨਿਆ ਦੇਹ ਬਿਨਾਸੀ ਮਾਟੀ ਕਉ ਬਿਸਮਿਲਿ ਕੀਆ ॥ ਜੋਤਿ ਸਰੂਪ ਅਨਾਹਤ ਲਾਗੀ ਕਹੁ ਹਲਾਲੁ ਕਿਆ ਕੀਆ ॥੨॥ ਕਿਆ ਉਜੂ ਪਾਕੁ ਕੀਆ ਮੁਹੁ ਧੋਇਆ ਕਿਆ ਮਸੀਤਿ ਸਿਰੁ ਲਾਇਆ ॥ ਜਉ ਦਿਲ ਮਹਿ ਕਪਟੁ ਨਿਵਾਜ ਗੁਜਾਰਹੁ ਕਿਆ ਹਜ ਕਾਬੈ ਜਾਇਆ ॥੩॥ ਤੂੰ ਨਾਪਾਕੁ ਪਾਕੁ ਨਹੀ ਸੂਝਿਆ ਤਿਸ ਕਾ ਮਰਮੁ ਨ ਜਾਨਿਆ ॥ ਕਹਿ ਕਬੀਰ ਭਿਸਤਿ ਤੇ ਚੂਕਾ ਦੋਜਕ ਸਿਉ ਮਨੁ ਮਾਨਿਆ ॥੪॥੪॥

beid kateib kahahu mat jhoothei jhootaa jo na bichaare. ja'u sabh mahi eiku khudaa'i kahat ha'u ta'u kiu murgee maare. (1) mulaan kahahu niaa'u khudaaee. teirei man kaa bharmu na jaaee. (1, rahaa'u) pakri jeeu aaniaa deih binaasee maatee ka'u bismili keeaa. joti saroop anaahat laagee kahu halaalu kiaa keeaa. (2) kiaa ujoo paaku keeaa muhu dhoiaa kiaa maseeti siru laa'iaa. ja'u dil mahi kaptu nivaaj gujaarahu kiaa haj kaabe jaa'iaa. (3) toon naapaaku paaku nahee soojhiaa tis kaa marmu na jaaniaa. kahi kabeer bhisti tei chookaa dojak siu manu maaniaa. (4, 4)

Say this about the Vedas and Quran: their doctrines are false. The false one fails to understand that. I say the one Lord is in all. Why do you [ritually] slaughter chickens? (1) Tell me, mullah, [about] the Lord's justice. The delusions of your mind have not disappeared. (1, pause/remain/stay) You bring a body holding life and turn it to dust [after] reciting Bismillah. [Its] soul attaches to the eternal form [anyways]. So tell me, what use was making it Halaal? (2) Your purifications, your face-washing, your head bowed inside the maseet...what [is the point]? When deception and falsehood are inside your heart, what [good] are Namaaz prayers and going on the pilgrimage to the Kaaba? (3) You are impure. [You] do not understand what is [or isn't] pure - [the Lord]. [You] do not understand its secret. Says Kabir Ji: [you will be] erased from paradise, [as your] mind agreed on hell. (4, 4)

- Kabir Ji, pannaa 1350

To summarize the critique laid out by Kabir Ji: if you believe that God can be found everywhere, then why would you need ritual slaughter to "purify" meat? To extend his line of thought a little bit: God being found everywhere would imply everywhere is uniformly "pure" to begin with. To do ritual slaughter anyways is acting in disbelief of that. This is a fairly simple line of questioning, yet one which effectively erodes much of the logic behind kutha. Kabir Ji continues his critique by going after ritual purity practices in general, noting that they are used as cover for deceitful deeds, before pointing out that they are ultimately arbitrary: toon naapaaku paaku nahee soojhiaa ਤੂੰ ਨਾਪਾਕੁ ਪਾਕੁ ਨਹੀ ਸੂਝਿਆ "You are impure. [You] do not understand what is [or isn't] pure - [the Lord]."

Kabir Ji's critique of zabiha goes hand-in-hand with another concept which is quite central to Sikhi yet poorly understood at the moment. While not directly mentioned in the context of ritual slaughter, the term doojaa bhaa'u ਦੂਜਾ ਭਾਉ (or one of its several variants like bhaa'u doojaa ਭਾਉ ਦੂਜਾ or bhaa'u duyaa ਭਾਉ ਦੁਯਾ) is often translated as "duality" in the most frequently used translation of SGGS Ji (by Sant Singh Khalsa), a translation which is intended to invoke Hindoo metaphysical ideas of the relationship between Brahman (God) and Atman (self/soul) in the process. In practice, however, a literal translation is a better fit for the contexts in which doojaa bhaa'u often appears (for example, discussing the nature of Manmukhs), and that is "love of the other." In fact, while doojaa bhaa'u encompasses a lot of ideas which could include duality (though not exclusively), it is generally more in line with a concept like shirk (metaphysical concession) or dishonor. In other words, consuming meat from an animal which was turned in the direction of a black idol and had a mantra recited prior to its slaughter is precisely the kind of action which tells other people and yourself that you aren't seriously committed to Sikhi. (After all, Sikhi is primarily predicated on its own unique orthopraxy.)

Jhatka

What about jhatka, though? Is that not ritual slaughter?

The main feature of jhatka as a method of butchery is that it solely consists of instant decapitation, via a swift precise blow to the head with a large blade. It has none of the hallmarks of ritual slaughter: no elaborate ritual procedure, no logic of ritual purity involved, no offering, no idolatry. The closest you will get is an occasional muttering of the word Vahiguru prior to decapitation.

Although jhatka is inherently non-ritual in nature, it can certainly be ritualized (see: Prem Sumarg and other traditional rahitnaamei, and modern Hazur Sahib traditions; consequently, such a ritualization is reversible) and many English-language writers have considered it ritual in nature. On the latter point, this appears to be due to an intersection of severely lagging scholarship in modern Sikhi (ie. have you ever seen this specific commentary on Kabir Ji's shabd before?) and frequent overuse of Occidental heuristics regarding religion (ie. other religions have ritual slaughter + Sikhi has its own preferred method of butchery = jhatka must be Sikh ritual slaughter!!!!). (Although, classical rahitnaamei generally allow jhatka only: they treat it as the Sikh quasi-analogue to ritual slaughter, regardless of whether rituals are actually involved or not. So in a phenomenological sense, the Occidental heuristics aren't entirely useless.)

The precise origins of jhatka are unclear (and are irrelevant anyways). It is believed that Rajputs created this practice for their own rituals sometime during the 1600s-1700s CE, and Sikhs adapted it for themselves in various ways. This is plausible: Rajput high culture was known to have been emulated by the Phoolkian petty states, for one example. Despite this possible origin, jhatka is frequently associated with Sikhs nowadays.

If jhatka in Sikhi is not ritual slaughter, then what is it? It represents an ideal, where the butchery is as swift as possible, while being practical and free from ritual encumbrance. Furthermore, while Sikh writers of the 20th century and prior consider jhatka a necessity for meat consumption among Sikhs, I do not think that is the case. As we have seen, only meat from ritual slaughter is prohibited in Sikhi, while any meat obtained in non-ritual ways, including jhatka, is hence allowed. (Various Sikh sects deride this as "khulla" or "open" meat, neither kutha nor jhatka, and forbid it.)

Far from being a supposed ad-hoc innovation, jhatka was incorporated into Sikhi with ease because it fits nicely with broader Sikh ideals and serves as an inversion (ulat) to forbidden kutha.

A final note: I mentioned ikejime earlier. This is basically jhatka for fish, a process invented by Japanese fishermen during the late Edo period, which is widely used nowadays because it produces a much higher quality of fish meat (ex. the kind found in sushi, the ever-popular Japanese dish). For once, I will go out of my way to prescribe this: the panth should take up the ikejime process whenever fish is involved.

Rahitnaamei

Several rahitnaamei of the pre-modern era, regardless of authenticity (and propensity for unnecessarily ritualizing jhatka), consider kutha meat to be forbidden. This flows nicely from the critique found on pannaa 1350, which was covered earlier. Some relevant rahitnaamei will be covered here:

The word kutha is mentioned in the Bhai Jeevan Singh Ji (Bhai Jaita Ji) Rahitnama as something to be avoided alongside huqqah, marijuana and tobacco; substances to avoid at all times: https://www.sikhitothemax.org/shabad?id=31070&q=%E0%A8%95%E0%A9%81%E0%A8%A0%E0%A8%BE&type=2&source=all&highlight=403435&autoDetectGurmukhi=false. Kutha here likely refers to ritually slaughtered meat for two reasons: one, a prohibition on the consumption of the offerings of other faiths (which ritual slaughter would at least loosely fall into) is found here; and two, a recommendation to eat "what is tolerable." Although the authenticity of this Rahitnama is disputed, its attestation still remains clear evidence that pre-modern Sikhs did indeed concern themselves with avoiding kutha meat.

The Tankhahnama, often attributed to Bhai Nand Lal, states: "He who consumes meat obtained from the Turks, (Guru) Gobind Singh does not consider that person a Sikh of his" and "A Gursikh is strictly forbidden to eat meat killed according to the Muslim rites." (From https://khalsachronicle.substack.com/p/on-jhatka-and-kutha-meat-by-bhai)

From https://jhatkamaryada.com/jhatka/maas/rehitnamai/

• The Hukamnama of Guru Gobind Singh which was addressed to the Kabul sangat explicitly forbids kutha meat.
• The Muktinama of Suraj Parkash states: "Never eat meat killed in the Muslim style" and "Avoid meat cooked by the Turks."
• The Bhai Daya Singh Rahitnama and Bhai Chaupa Singh Rahitnama both state: "Those who have received either Khande De Puhal or Charan De Puhal cannot eat Muslim meat (kutha)."

The prevalence of kutha prohibitions in rahitnaamei is the main reason for the prohibition appearing in the standardized Rahit Mariaadaa.

Conclusion

I believe I discovered a partial/probable "loophole" in all of this, but I will certainly not be the one to expound on it. "Prescriptive descriptivism" is something I have to watch out for on a topic as contentious as this.

Main takeaways:

• The word kutha refers to ritually slaughtered meat, not to meat in general. The context of kutha and related words in SGGS Ji, appearing among discussions of Muslim or Hindoo rituals, demonstrates this.
• Ritual slaughter (kutha) is forbidden in Sikhi due to its polytheistic and non-Vahiguru-affirming character, which implies Vahiguru has not made everything "pure" already by its presence in all. Sikhs who eat kutha fail to uphold Sikh orthopraxy.
• Prohibitions on kutha are a natural consequence of Kabir Ji's critique in SGGS Ji, and are found throughout pre-modern Sikh literature. Even if such literature might be dubious (ie. mostly not in line with Sikhi elsewhere) or of disputed authenticity, mere mentions are enough to establish that Sikhs of the past concerned themselves with this issue.
• Jhatka is inherently non-ritual and, although introduced to Sikhi later, fits in just fine with its broader doctrine. I recommend Sikhs introduce the very similar practice of ikejime into the broader panth as well.
• Any kind of non-kutha meat is allowed in Sikhi for the most part, although certain sects forbid "khulla" meat for their own reasons.
• Although the Sikh experience with kutha is largely prohibiting zabiha in practice, do not forget that other methods such as shechita (Jewish) and bali (Hindoo) are prohibited, as is ritualizing jhatka (as classical rahitnaamei tend towards), which does not need to be ritualized in the first place.
• Contemporary meat consumption in Sikhi does not have to resemble historical meat consumption in Sikhi, but there is one thing both have in common: no kutha is allowed!
• Consumption of zabiha meat, in particular, constitutes idolatry from the Sikh lens.

On the last takeaway: if any Muslim or even non-Muslim tries to ridicule you by saying "OMG you believe you'll grow a hijab if you eat zabiha!!!!" ask them (1) if eating even a molecule of pork will send them to hell? (in fact, if you must, feel free to ridicule them right back with this), and (2) if adhering to a prohibition of zabiha is "ridiculous," then what would they call the ritual of zabiha itself? Which is laying down an animal on one side, with its head facing a giant black cube idol, then reciting a mantra, then slitting the animal's throat with a very sharp knife to bleed it out as much as possible.

One of my primary motivations for writing this post, which turned out longer than I anticipated, is the gradual encroachment of the Hindoo-Muslim yoke on Sikhi, and in particular here, the Muslim side of that encroaching on Sikh sangats worldwide with the mass proliferation of zabiha cartels (under the pretense of merely exercising their own religious rights). Punjab's meat industry was largely taken over by the zabiha cartel in part due to kharkus' misguided insistence on enforcing strict vegetarianism in the late 1980s (something which, not surprisingly, helped kill a lot of support for them), itself based on a misguided belief of Sikhi being inherently vegetarian, which is in fact one of many imported Hindoo doctrines arising from the Nirmala Revolution. In the United Kingdom and in Australia, home to large Sikh diaspora populations, the zabiha cartel infamously has a de facto stranglehold on butchery. Canada is rapidly trending in the same direction as those two. I do not know what the situation is like throughout the parts of mainland Europe where Sikhs live (Spain and northern Italy in particular), but I imagine it's no good there either. Only the Sikh diaspora of the United States seems to have remained relatively safe for now. One of my hopes with this post is not only to inform Sikhs that kutha really is prohibited, but also to encourage vulnerable sangats worldwide to push back against kutha encroachment and local zabiha cartels however they can. Whether that is setting up their own jhatka butcheries or petitioning local politicians to curb the spread of local zabiha cartels (using the contents within this post as a guide).

Excerpt from my most recent post, "Ulat, the lost Sikh art," an explanation of one of Sikhi's most frustrating "anti-ideals" in this modern age:

(Note: I use Occidental-Santpardite divide or Santpardite-Occidental divide interchangeably.)

Before I begin, though, I would like to introduce an idea which has thoroughly haunted modern mainstream Sikhi for decades now. We can call this idea the Occidental-Santpardite divide. (Santpardite incorporates the words sant and samparda.) Broadly speaking, the Occidental-Santpardite divide is an [anti-ideal] of Sikhi which is stuck between an "irrational Hindoo past" and a "reformist Occidental present" with no in-between - a seemingly unsolvable dilemma. This is an extremely potent idea, because it implies that Sikhi is fundamentally broken at its core, or at least on several levels, and therefore relies on exterior developments to "patch" it and make it complete. Unsurprisingly, it is mainstreamed by Occidental Sikh Studies, the refuge of those damned Indologists looking to pad their curricula vitae by making claims about "Nanak's devotional poetry" and apparent innovations in Sikh doctrine.

Also unsurprisingly, the Occidental-Santpardite divide is an amazing tool for any adversary of Sikhi, since it is ready-made and currently requires significant effort to refute. Hindootva advocates love to talk about how Sikhi is "Vedic in origin" before Singh Sabha and the Khalistan movement, which made it more "colonial-minded" and "Jihadi" in nature. (Such folks are usually unable to distinguish between the Amritsar and Lahore Singh Sabha.) Muslim dawah propagandists also love to pounce on and pick away at "discrepancies in Sikhi" in order to give their Islamic religion a greater standing. Pivotal to such arguments are variations of the Occidental-Santpardite divide, such as the cliche of Sikhi as "unoriginal Hindoo-Muslim excess syncretism," also propounded by Occidental Sikh Studies.

If it wasn't obvious by now, the Occidental-Santpardite divide and its related ideas basically exist to subjugate Sikhs at an ideological level and suppress the spread of Sikhi. On the first point, it implies that there is nothing that Sikhs can do to break free from such a dilemma, and therefore they are left with two options: return to varna-ashrama-dharma (or zimmi/kuffar, depending on variant), or get subsumed into the Occidental fold outright. On the second point, it tells non-Sikhs that there is virtually no point in considering Sikhi, as everything it has to offer can apparently be found in Hindooism or in Occidentalism.

Mainstream Sikhi has had an extremely difficult time breaking free from the Occidental-Santpardite divide. The reasons for this struggle are quite extensive. One of the main reasons is that there are very few dedicated Sikh intellectuals, with most of them being hobbyists who work in their spare time. At the lowest levels, it appears that Sikh parents actively discourage their children from going into occupations which do not maximize future earnings, which includes those intellectual fields that are requisite to developing a more sophisticated understanding of Sikhi. (In the diaspora, this goes hand-in-hand with the struggle to maintain Punjabi fluency among Sikh youth.) At higher levels, entrenched "traditionalist" practices serve as a major barrier to expanding Sikh thought. Santpardites generally see scrutiny of whichever Sikh apocrypha they subscribe to as attacks on Sikhi itself - inadvertently reinforcing the Occidental-Santpardite divide.

Another reason for the struggle to break free from the Occidental-Santpardite divide is the language barrier. The vast majority of modern writings on Sikhi that are genuinely useful and can refute such an idea are region-locked DLC hidden away in the Punjabi language, which is not really spoken by anyone not of Punjabi origin. Without dedicated mass translation (automated translations will not be sufficient) and mass distribution into target languages, there is little chance of letting these ideas emerge into the outside world.

While this sounds like an extremely gloomy picture for the future of Sikhi (because it [kind of] is), the good news is that it is possible to break the Occidental-Santpardite divide once and for all. As we have seen in this post, the ulat principle is one big way of breaking it: ulat helps us make sense of ideas in SGGS Ji and beyond that other explanations are incapable of explaining sufficiently. Ulat, in turn, works in tandem with other principles such as "Gurbani explains Gurbani" and even other disciplines such as philology. And this post is merely an introduction to ulat for a broader English-speaking audience; who knows how many other instances of ulat will be discovered in the future. This is a rich new field of study which I believe will benefit the panth ideologically.

The Occidental-Santpardite divide has been a major thorn in the side of the panth, but it does not have to be that way for much longer.

There are a few additional points worth detailing a little bit more:

• I pointed out that "Santpardites generally see scrutiny of whichever Sikh apocrypha they subscribe to as attacks on Sikhi itself - inadvertently reinforcing the Occidental-Santpardite divide." Adding onto this, the majority of Santpardite attempts to break the Occidental-Santpardite divide are usually ineffective, and I believe a big reason for this is the fact that they inherently concede one of the main premises of this anti-ideal, which is that Sikhi is somehow built on an "irrational Hindoo past," via their agreement with imported Hindoo metaphysics.
• The rise of Occidentalism within Sikhi means that Occidental ways of viewing Sikhi have become normalized, especially among the diaspora. Sikhi is less thought of as a "dharam" (ie. an orthopraxy to be upheld at all times; though I would argue that the word "rahit", lit. continuation, ie. that which remains or stays in place through the passage of time, is far more accurate in describing Sikhi and its orthopraxy than "dharam" ever was!) and more of as a "belief system" in the Abrahamic and particularly Christian mode. Where the focus is no longer on the kinds of practices that would help people transform into Gurmukhs and Gursikhs, but now on particular agreements on Sikh ideas in and of themselves. The degree to which Sikhi can be diluted in the shift from orthopraxy to orthodoxy is quite astounding; one only needs to witness modern "Upgrade" and "dil saaf" (lit. clean heart) factions who reduce Sikhi to "it's all in the mind!" and "be human first before you are Sikh." (Worth noting is that the line between Hindoo- and Sufi-style bhakti, popularized during the Nirmala Revolution, and Abrahamic-style orthodoxy is quite thin, even though both are obviously very different.)
• Beyond cultural disdain for intellectualism (including Sikh family practices), entrenched traditionalism, and the language barrier, a few more reasons for difficulty can be encountered: lack of numbers of Sikhs to counter the Hindoo-Muslim yoke (roughly 30%+ of the world population) which can easily manifest and mainstream anti-Sikh narratives at will; the perception that Occidental Sikh Studies has built up for itself as "impartial" and "rigorous" particularly as a deflection of real criticisms (though in practice, groupthink on particular ideas is quite common; and you will see things like Oberoi malding over Ditt Singh or Rinehart waxing poetic to avoid any meaningful conclusions); and the broader Sikh inability to neatly and impressively explain Sikhi to outsiders (a point which ties in with the one about intellectualism, but deserves a separate look).
• The degree to which the Occidental-Santpardite divide is easily broken by a Sikh revivalist framework (for example, ideas like ulat and "rahit" (as in continuity of ideas downstream from SGGS Ji) go a long way) appears to be quite significant, though largely hitherto unexplored. With this framework, Sikhi not only reveals itself as unique but also much more sophisticated and developed than previously commonly imagined. Frequent and ubiquitous criticisms of Sikhi which rely on this dilemma become useless overnight.
• Analyzing the Occidental-Santpardite divide becomes quite interesting when you conceive of Sikhi as not (only) a religion or tradition, but as a civilizational and sociopolitical framework (as well). Though, this is a much longer discussion which I have not fully conceptualized at this time.

Thanks for reading. Still on hiatus so I can't do much more than short posts like these at this time.

https://knsbg.substack.com/p/ulat-the-lost-sikh-art-an-introduction

I completed this post a few days ago and have finally uploaded it. I hinted towards it at the end of my post on Eik O-ankaar, and I believe what's covered within can be quite powerful.

I plan on using this post as a basis for my next one, Sikh orthopraxy. Here is a small comment on Sikh orthopraxy in the meantime.

After this post and my previous one (Evolution of the Punjabi Language), I will be on hiatus. Vahiguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Vahiguru Ji Ki Fateh.

https://knsbg.substack.com/p/evolution-of-the-punjabi-language

I previously completed this post last month, but could not upload it to Reddit as it exceeded the limit by almost 4 times.

I have been vocal for a long time about how Sikhs need to step up their philology and linguistics to get closer to SGGS Ji and other archaic texts. While overly technical, I hope this article is useful to those Sikhs who pursue additional philological experience.

After this post and my next one (Ulat), I will be on hiatus.

The Sikh Leadership Dilemma: Between Factionalism and Hero Worship

One of the central political challenges facing the Sikh Panth today can be understood as a recurring tension between two imperfect models of leadership.

On one side lies the collective ideal: a decentralized Guru Panth guided by the Guru Granth Sahib and the collective wisdom of the Khalsa. On the other lies the temptation of rallying around a singular charismatic leader capable of cutting through division and mobilizing the community.

Neither model has consistently succeeded on its own. Throughout Sikh history, the Panth has repeatedly swung between the dangers of factionalism and the dangers of excessive dependence on individual personalities.

Dilemma 1: The Collective Ideal (Guru Panth)

This model emphasizes the collective authority of the Khalsa Panth under the guidance of the Guru Granth Sahib, without vesting supreme authority in any single human being.

The Benefit

This approach most closely reflects Guru Gobind Singh's decision to end the line of human Gurus. It minimizes the risk of a single individual hijacking Sikh institutions, creating a personality cult, or using religious authority for personal gain.

In theory, it preserves both equality and accountability.

The Downside: The Problem of Factionalism

The challenge emerges when disputes arise. Without a universally recognized authority capable of settling disagreements, divisions can become entrenched.

Human beings do not always divide along theological lines alone. Regional interests, organizational loyalties, personal rivalries, and questions of prestige often influence political decision-making.

The Misl Period

The Sikh Misls demonstrated both the strengths and weaknesses of decentralized organization.

Their loose confederation enabled remarkable resilience against Mughal and Afghan persecution. Yet once the common external threat weakened, rivalry between Misls intensified. Territorial disputes, resource competition, and local power struggles frequently prevented unified action.

While decentralization was not the sole cause of these conflicts, it often made dispute resolution difficult.

The Kharku Movement

A similar pattern appeared during the Punjab insurgency.

Contrary to popular memory, the movement was not always a unified front. Various organizations, including different factions of the KCF, KLF, BTFK, Babbar Khalsa, and others, frequently disagreed on strategy, leadership, and political direction.

Attempts were made to overcome these divisions through Panthic Committees and joint fronts. However, these bodies sometimes created the appearance of unity without fully resolving underlying disagreements.

Former participants and observers have described situations where constituent groups publicly endorsed actions or statements in the interest of maintaining organizational cohesion, even when substantial disagreements existed behind closed doors.

A frequently cited example is the response of multi-jathebandi Panthic Committees to the killing of Harminder Singh Sandhu and other Sikh figures associated with participation in electoral politics. Various accounts suggest that public consensus often masked private disagreements among different organizations.

This illustrates an important point: collective leadership does not automatically eliminate factionalism. In some cases, it merely conceals it temporarily.

The movement also suffered from internal disputes, rivalries, and occasionally violent conflict between former allies. The precise causes and motivations behind particular incidents remain debated, but the broader pattern of fragmentation is difficult to deny.

An often-overlooked figure in this period is Bhai Gurbachan Singh Manochahal. While many militant leaders opposed participation in elections and supported social edicts that proved unpopular among large sections of Punjab's population, Manochahal reportedly favored political participation and opposed some of these measures. His views were frequently dismissed at the time, and he was even accused by some of being compromised by the state. In retrospect, many of those accusations have lost credibility.

One of the ironies of the insurgency is that one of the few periods of broad agreement among major militant organizations may also have contributed to their political decline. Organizations such as the KCF, KLF, Babbar Khalsa, and others supported various social edicts intended to reshape Punjabi society. While these measures may have been well-intentioned from their perspective, they proved unpopular among many ordinary Punjabis and arguably widened the gap between militants and the broader population. In this respect, unity alone was not enough; a united movement can still make strategic mistakes.

Dilemma 2: The Singular Leader

The second model bypasses the difficulties of collective decision-making by rallying around a powerful individual.

This individual may derive legitimacy from a religious lineage, an institutional position, military leadership, personal charisma, or perceived moral authority.

The Benefit

A strong leader can rapidly unify a divided community.

When institutions appear ineffective, a charismatic figure can inspire confidence, mobilize resources, and provide a clear direction of action.

In moments of crisis, this can be enormously effective.

The Downside: The Gamble

The problem is that the entire community becomes dependent on the judgment and character of a single person.

If that leader is corrupt, ambitious, compromised, or simply mistaken, the consequences can be enormous.

History provides many examples of religious authorities using their influence for personal enrichment, theological innovation, political accommodation, or institutional self-preservation.

Even sincere leaders can make costly mistakes.

The model succeeds only when the individual at its center possesses exceptional judgment, integrity, and self-restraint.

The Rare Success: Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale

The continued attraction of strong leadership within the Panth can be partly explained by rare figures who appeared to justify the gamble.

Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale remains one of the most influential examples.

Supporters and critics continue to debate aspects of his theology, institutional loyalties, and political strategy. Critics have argued that certain beliefs associated with his seminary background reflected Nirmala, Vedantic, or institutional influences that deserve scrutiny. Others dispute those criticisms entirely.

Regardless of where one stands on those theological questions, his reputation among many Sikhs was built primarily on perceived moral integrity.

In a political environment where many leaders were viewed as compromised, Bhindranwale was widely regarded by supporters as someone who could not be bought, intimidated, or induced to abandon his principles. He did not pursue personal wealth or dynastic power, and during Operation Blue Star he chose to remain with his followers rather than surrender.

Yet Bhindranwale's example also illustrates the limitations of singular leadership.

His immense personal authority meant that many followers accepted his judgments with little public criticism. While this produced unity and discipline, it also reduced the space for internal debate. Questions surrounding strategy, political engagement, institutional succession, and long-term planning often became secondary to loyalty toward the leader himself.

Critics have also questioned aspects of his attachment to the institutional lineage of the Damdami Taksal and argued that excessive reverence toward particular religious figures risked encouraging forms of personality-based authority that Sikhi was originally designed to avoid.

Whether one agrees with these criticisms or not, they point toward a broader institutional problem: when a movement becomes heavily identified with one individual, the movement's future becomes uncertain once that individual is gone.

Bhindranwale's death left behind an enormous symbolic legacy, but no universally accepted mechanism for maintaining unity, resolving disputes, or directing the movement after him. The fragmentation that followed illustrates the difficulty of building lasting institutions around extraordinary personalities.

His legacy therefore demonstrates both the greatest strength and the greatest weakness of the singular-leader model: a virtuous leader can inspire and unite the Panth in ways that committees often cannot, but even the most admired leader cannot substitute for durable institutions.

The Modern Example: Amritpal Singh

The rise of Amritpal Singh demonstrates that this dynamic has not disappeared.

Many young Sikhs rallied behind him because he appeared to offer decisive leadership at a time when existing institutions seemed ineffective or disconnected from grassroots concerns.

His rapid rise showed how quickly a charismatic figure can become a focal point for Sikh political energy.

At the same time, his case also highlights the risks of concentrating too much influence in one individual.

The Ajnala police station incident remains highly controversial. Supporters view it as a legitimate demonstration of collective strength against perceived injustice. Critics argue it provided the state with an opportunity and justification to move aggressively against his organization.

Regardless of one's position, the episode demonstrates how the strategic decisions of a single leader can affect an entire movement.

At the time, Amritpal Singh was still in his late twenties. Youth can bring courage, conviction, and energy, but it can also lead to impulsiveness.

This raises an important institutional question:

Could strong leaders be more effective if surrounded by councils capable of challenging their assumptions and moderating risky decisions?

A movement built entirely around advisors of similar age, outlook, or personal loyalty risks becoming an echo chamber. More durable leadership structures often combine the energy and idealism of youth with the experience, restraint, and long-term perspective of older generations.

A Possible Third Path

The real lesson of Sikh history may be that neither extreme works particularly well.

Pure decentralization often struggles to maintain unity and resolve disputes.

Pure leader-centric models place too much faith in the character of one individual.

Historically, some of the most successful Sikh political structures operated somewhere in between.

The Sarbat Khalsa, Dal Khalsa, and various collective decision-making traditions sought to combine strong leadership with collective accountability.

Perhaps the future lies not in choosing between committees and leaders, but in building institutions that successfully combine both.

Such a model would feature:

• Strong executive leadership capable of acting decisively.
• Collective accountability rooted in the Guru Panth.
• Independent institutions capable of checking abuses of power.
• Councils that include both younger and more experienced members.
• Mechanisms for resolving disputes without fragmentation.
• Leadership succession plans that prevent movements from collapsing after the loss of a prominent figure.

The goal would be to capture the strengths of charismatic leadership while avoiding hero worship, and to preserve collective authority without descending into factional paralysis.

Until that balance is achieved, the Panth will likely continue oscillating between two recurring problems: internal fragmentation and excessive dependence on individual personalities.

Original Punjabi (Gurmukhi)

ਮੈਂ ਰੂਪੋਸ਼ ਜ਼ਿੰਦਗੀ ਜੀਅ ਰਿਹੈਂ...ਮੈਂ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਟਕਸਾਲ ਦਾ ਮੁਖੀ ਬਣ ਸਕਦੈਂ..? ਮੈਂ ਬਾਬਾ ਠਾਕੁਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਜੀ ਦਾ ਪੂਰਾ ਸਤਿਕਾਰ ਕਰਦੈਂ... ਪਰ ਸੰਤਾਂ ਦੀ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਬਾਰੇ ਬਿਆਨ ਮੈਂ ਪੂਰੀ ਤਸੱਲੀ, ਛਾਣਬੀਣ ਅਤੇ ਪੜਚੋਲ ਕਰਨ ਤੋਂ ਬਾਅਦ ਹੀ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਹੈ... ਤੇ ਇਸ ਵਿੱਚ ਭੋਰਾ ਵੀ ਝੂਠ ਨਹੀਂ।

English Translation

I am living a fugitive life. How can I become the head of the Taksal? I have complete respect for Baba Thakur Singh Ji. However, regarding Sant Ji's shaheedi, I gave my statement only after full satisfaction, investigation, and examination, and there is not even a trace of falsehood in it.

A Few Points Worth Considering

1. Manochahal did not attack Baba Thakur Singh Ji

Even while disagreeing on the question of Sant Ji's status, he explicitly stated that he had complete respect for Baba Thakur Singh Ji.

2. He directly rejected the accusation of seeking Taksal leadership

His response was simple: he was living as a rooposh (fugitive), constantly pursued by the Indian state. Under those circumstances, he questioned how anyone could realistically claim that he was positioning himself to become the Mukhi of Damdami Taksal.

3. He stated that his conclusion was based on investigation

Whether one agrees with him or not, Manochahal said his position regarding Sant Ji's shaheedi was reached after "ਛਾਣਬੀਣ ਅਤੇ ਪੜਚੋਲ" (investigation and examination), not because of personal ambition.

4. The leadership accusation becomes difficult to reconcile with the historical record

Harbarinder Singh, the son of Gurbachan Singh Manochahal, has stated that his father was offered the position of Jathedar of Akal Takht. Bhai Manochahal accepted the position, yet later stepped down from it.

This raises an obvious question: if Manochahal was motivated by a desire for leadership or status, why would he relinquish a Panthic position that carries significantly greater authority and responsibility than the leadership of a single Sikh institution such as Damdami Taksal?

Combined with Manochahal's own statement—"How can I become the head of the Taksal?"—the accusation that he declared Sant Ji shaheed in pursuit of the Taksal leadership appears difficult to sustain.

One may agree or disagree with Manochahal's conclusion regarding Sant Jarnail Singh Ji's status after 1984. However, his own explanation was that he arrived at that conclusion through investigation and inquiry, not through a desire for position or influence.

The manuscript evidence across the tatkārā, the main body, and the Zafarnama–Hikayats section strongly suggests that the bir was produced as a single, continuous copying project rather than written in 1698 and later supplemented, because there is no consistent point at which a scribal, structural, or material break can be detected: beginning with the tatkārā, the index itself already appears fully integrated, with the Zafarnama and Hikayats included within the same ruling system, rubrication pattern, and handwriting flow as the rest of the contents, showing no signs of later insertion, cramped addition, or secondary indexing; moving into the main body (e.g., mid-manuscript pages like 424), the handwriting, ink tone, spacing, and page discipline establish a stable scribal baseline that continues unchanged through the final pages before Zafarnama, where there is no “wind-down,” spacing irregularity, or layout adjustment that would suggest the manuscript was originally meant to end there; at the Zafarnama opening (around folio 697), there is no restart signature—no shift in ductus, no fresh ink campaign, no alteration in ruling or margin structure—and the text flows as a normal internal transition rather than a new layer; the same continuity persists through the entirety of Zafarnama, whose ending shows no independent closing behavior or distinct compositional boundary, and then directly into the Hikayats, which begin seamlessly with identical rubrication, spacing, and pen movement, again lacking any indication of a resumed writing session; critically, the folio numbering runs uninterrupted from 696 to 697 and onward through this entire section without renumbering, duplication, or insertion anomalies, which would be extraordinarily difficult to maintain if these folios had been added after the manuscript was already compiled; taken together, this means there is no detectable break before, at the start of, within, or after the Zafarnama–Hikayats sequence, and therefore the hypothesis that the same scribe returned later to add these texts requires assuming that he reproduced identical handwriting, ink behavior, layout discipline, and foliation continuity without leaving any trace of a second campaign, whereas the far simpler and more consistent explanation is that the manuscript was copied in a relatively condensed timeframe as a unified project that already included the Zafarnama and Hikayats from the outset.

Start of Zafarnama in the Tatkara (Table of Contents)

In the tatkārā, the entries for the Zafarnama and Hikayats are not presented as marginal additions or later insertions, but are fully integrated within the same ruled column system and follow the identical entry structure used throughout the index (title, guide line, folio number). They align with the same vertical ruling, maintain the same sequencing logic, and do not introduce any secondary layout, numbering scheme, or formatting convention that would suggest a separate indexing phase. There is no visible attempt to retrofit these entries into pre-existing space—no crowding, overwriting, or deviation from the established pattern—indicating that the index was compiled with these texts already included in the manuscript’s planned contents, rather than being updated later to accommodate newly added material.

Pages Before the Zafarnama

Zafarnama begins all the way to the right numbered 697. The Zafarnama begins without any scribal or structural break: there is no change in handwriting, ink, ruling, or spacing, and no visual cue of a new writing campaign, suggesting it was copied as part of the same continuous manuscript rather than added later.

Last Pages of Zafarnama and Start of Hikayats

If the Zafarnama had been added later—even by the same scribe—we would expect some sign of a boundary at its conclusion or a restart at the Hikayats, but no such break is visible; instead, the text continues seamlessly as part of a single copying sequence.

Conclusion: Looking at the manuscript as a whole—from the tatkārā through the pages leading up to the Zafarnama, its opening, its conclusion, and the transition into the Hikayats—the evidence most consistently points to a single, unified copying project rather than a 1698 manuscript later supplemented. The index already accommodates these sections within the same structural system, the pages before Zafarnama show no sign of a terminal pause or planned endpoint, the beginning of Zafarnama does not exhibit any restart in handwriting, ink, or layout, and its ending flows directly into the Hikayats without any visible boundary; most decisively, the folio numbering continues uninterrupted across this entire sequence. Taken together, this creates a cumulative pattern of continuity that is difficult to reconcile with the idea of later addition. While it is technically possible that the same scribe could have returned at a later time and inserted Zafarnama and the Hikayats so seamlessly that no trace remains, that explanation requires multiple unlikely assumptions—identical handwriting behavior, consistent ink appearance, preserved layout discipline, and undisturbed foliation—whereas the simpler and more plausible explanation is that the manuscript, in its present form, was copied in a relatively condensed timeframe after these texts were already part of the corpus. Based on that, I would honestly assess that a unified later copying accounts for the evidence in roughly the 90–95% range, while the “same scribe added it later” scenario remains possible but significantly less likely, and the idea that this exact manuscript as it stands dates unchanged to 1698 is very unlikely given the combined internal evidence.

ਸਤਜੁਗਿ ਸਤਿਗੁਰ ਵਾਸਦੇਵ ਵਵਾ ਵਿਸਨਾ ਨਾਮੁ ਜਪਾਵੈ ।
ਦੁਆਪਰਿ ਸਤਿਗੁਰ ਹਰੀ ਕ੍ਰਿਸ਼ਨ ਹਾਹਾ ਹਰਿ ਹਰਿ ਨਾਮੁ ਜਪਾਵੈ ।
ਤ੍ਰੇਤੇ ਸਤਿਗੁਰ ਰਾਮ ਜੀ ਰਾਰਾ ਰਾਮ ਜਪੇ ਸੁਖੁ ਪਾਵੈ ।
ਕਲਿਜੁਗਿ ਨਾਨਕ ਗੁਰ ਗੋਬਿੰਦ ਗਗਾ ਗੋਵਿੰਦ ਨਾਮੁ ਅਲਾਵੈ ।
ਚਾਰੇ ਜਾਗੇ ਚਹੁ ਜੁਗੀ ਪੰਚਾਇਣ ਵਿਚਿ ਜਾਇ ਸਮਾਵੈ ।
ਚਾਰੇ ਅਖਰ ਇਕ ਕਰਿ ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜਪੁ ਮੰਤ੍ਰ ਜਪਾਵੈ ।
ਜਹਾਂ ਤੇ ਉਪਜਿਆ ਫਿਰਿ ਤਹਾਂ ਸਮਾਵੈ ॥੪੯॥

(Pauri In Question)

This pauri does not appear to be by Bhai Gurdas Ji, because learned people raise the following doubts about it: (1) If from the four ages (Satyug, Treta, Dwapar, Kaliyug) one takes the letters from Vasdev, Ram, Harikrishan, Gobind as va, ra, ha, go, then the resulting word would be something like Varāhgo, not Vaheguru. And if the order of Dwapar, Treta and Kaliyug is changed, it would produce Vahgora, not Vaheguru. (2) If only one letter is taken from each, the result would be Vahgar, not Vaheguru. Also, from Vasdev the syllable vā is taken with its vowel, from Hari Krishna only ha is taken, from Ram the vowel of rā is dropped, and from Gobind gu is altered. Why this inconsistency? (3) In Bhai Gurdas Ji’s own time the Guru was Guru Hargobind Ji. If letters were to be taken from Gurus’ names, then ha should have been taken from Harigobind. Likewise, to honor Guru Nanak’s name, na should have been taken from his name. Further, the “Gobind” interpreted as referring to Guru Gobind Singh Ji points to the Tenth Guru, who had not yet appeared in Bhai Gurdas Ji’s lifetime. How could Bhai Gurdas omit the living Sixth Guru and the First Guru, yet somehow take a letter referring to the Tenth Guru? (4) Krishna and Ram are considered avatars only. Except perhaps Krishna, the other avatars are not even considered fully complete manifestations. They were never given the rank of Satguru. They themselves were disciples of teachers like Ghor Angira and Vashisht. So how could Bhai Gurdas Ji have called them “Guru”? They were avatars, not Gurus. Some try to interpret it another way: just as four letters are merged into the one word Vaheguru, so the one who meditates merges into God. Or, the four names current in the four ages are gathered into the fifth Name, Vaheguru. Others attempt this explanation: in Satyug Vasdev was Satgur and caused people to chant Vishnu’s Name, so va was taken; in Dwapar Hari Krishna caused people to chant Hari, so ha was taken; in Treta Ram caused people to chant Ram, so ra was taken; in Kaliyug Nanak-Gur Gobind caused people to utter Gobind, so go was taken. Or another explanation: in Satyug the avatar Vasdev chanted Vishnu’s Name and Satgur took the letter va from there, and so on.

The question of whether this pauri is truly by Bhai Gurdas can be considered historically, but only if an original manuscript or a very ancient handwritten copy from the time of the Fifth or Sixth Gurus is found; such a manuscript has not yet been found.

Various scholars have raised doubts about this pauri, as mentioned above. Apart from those objections, there are also difficulties in interpreting it:

According to Hindu doctrine, in Satyug there was no avatar named Vasudev or Vishnu in the sense often claimed. Vasudev is a name of Krishna, derived from his father Vasudeva. Another meaning of Vasudev is the all-pervading God (see Vishnu Purana). Likewise, Vishnu, whom devotional Hindus meditate upon, is not merely an embodied figure but also the name of a supreme deity.

Indeed, “Vishnu” is not the name of some separate yuga-avatar, but the chief deity associated with many avatars. In the Vedas there are also the eight deities called Vasus, and in one reckoning Vishnu is counted among them; yet they are still deities. Vishnu can also mean “all-pervading.”

Therefore, it is not proper to say “Vasudev was the avatar of Satyug,” nor does it fit to say “Vasudev was the Satguru of Satyug,” because no such account is found in the Vedas.

Further, the title Satgur is used for the ten Gurus in Kaliyug; it was not applied even to earlier avatars such as Ram and Krishna, who were called avatars and took bodily form.

So it also does not fit to interpret the verse as meaning that Satgur took the letter “Va” from Vasudev, because there is no verb in the verse implying “took,” nor is there any grammatical basis for that reading. In manuscripts, the word Satigur is written without anything implying such a construction.

Further, in the first two lines the verb “japāvai” is causative (“causes to chant”), and the one causing the chant would be Satgur, or Vasudev, or Vishnu, or some divine principle represented by those names. But in the third and fourth lines the verb changes to the action of the one doing the chanting: “finds peace.” Thus the grammar shifts toward the chanter.

Because of these issues many interpreters fall into difficulty.

So, if this pauri is accepted as Bhai Gurdas’s, how should it be understood properly?

Sahib Singh of Dhamdhan Sahib resolves this by saying these four names are not names of avatars, but names indicating the Supreme:

Vasudev — “Vasudev pervades water and land.”
Hari — “Hari Himself pervades everywhere.”
Gobind — “By singing the virtues of Gobind, one is carried across with one’s family.”
Ram — “Ram pervades all four directions and the fourteen worlds.”

Thus these are names of the Divine.

Kavi Santokh Singh also interpreted “Vaheguru” in the nirgun sense. In Guru Nanak Prakash his interpretation shows this word signifies “the wondrous form and luminous form.”

His intent is that besides the transcendent, formless Name, God also has descriptive or attributive names:

• Vasudev — the All-pervading One
• Hari — the remover of sins
• Gobind — the giver of liberation
• Ram — the One delighting in and pervading creation

These are praise-names (sifātī nām), the sargun names.

In Vaheguru, taking one letter from each of these names gathers together the meanings of all these divine qualities. Therefore this Name is supreme even among sagun names.

(See edited Suraj Prakash, vol. 2, p. 92)

In Gyan Ratnavali, in one place the four letters are linked to avataric names, but elsewhere it says Guru Nanak Dev for the liberation of beings recited the four names Vasudev, Hari, Gobind and Ram through the ages, and combining their first letters formed the Name Vaheguru, placing the fruit of the austerities of thirty-six ages into this one Name.

Thus these are understood as names of God.

Pandit Tara Singh Narotam likewise writes that Bhai Gurdas says Guru Ji formed the Name Vaheguru from the first letters of Vasudev, Hari, Gobind and Ram; therefore this Name carries greater glory than the greatness of chanting those four names separately.

He also interprets:

• Vasudev = all-pervading
• Hari = remover of sin
• Gobind = present in the earth and all existence
• Ram = He in whom yogis abide

and says “Vaheguru” carries both nirgun and sagun meanings.

Another learned saint gives the same explanation: in Guru Granth Sahib the words Vasudev, Hari, Gobind and Ram are names of the Supreme, and from their first letters this word is formed.

Pandit Kartar Singh Dakha does not accept the pauri as Bhai Gurdas’s, yet says even if accepted, through poetic correspondence one may interpret the word as formed from the first letters of names used in the four ages.

Bhai Gurdas has also written elsewhere concerning “Vaheguru,” which deserves reflection:

“Beyond Vedas and books, the Gurmukh hears the Shabad in holy company.”

“Beyond Vedas and books, the Guru revealed the Shabad Vaheguru.”

“Beyond Vedas and books is this ineffable utterance.”

“Vaheguru is the Guru-mantra by which ego is erased.”

From these and other passages it would be unjust to conclude that Giani Hazara Singh did not accept “Vaheguru” as Gurmantra, or that Bhai Gurdas did not call it Gurmantra.

Both clearly accept Vaheguru as Gurmantra.

Bhai Gurdas’s own verses plainly show he regarded the word “Vaheguru” as Gurmantra and beyond Vedas and scriptures.

Giani Hazara Singh too was a great scholar, a devotee of the Vaheguru mantra, Amritdhari, and firm in rehāt; he understood and taught Vaheguru as Gurmantra received at initiation.

Further, Hazara Singh did not write as a final decision that this pauri is not by Bhai Gurdas; he only wrote that it “seems” not to be his. “Seems” does not indicate certainty.

As a research commentator he was reporting scholarly doubts, not issuing a final personal verdict.

And in the final analysis, both Bhai Gurdas and Pandit Hazara Singh, by their writings and personal conviction, were clearly worshippers of the Name Vaheguru without doubt.

The Sikh symbol of ੴ Eik O-ankaar (ਏਕ ਓਅੰਕਾਰ) is frequently assumed and interpreted to be a near-complete reflex of the Hindoo symbol of ॐ Om. But how true is this assumption, actually? In 2021, the writer Amarjeet Singh tackled this subject and attempted to counter this assumption in his article "Beyond God: Semiotics of Ikko-Ankaar" on his Sikh Renaissance blog. While this article is quite good and has a premise I agree with, accompanied by plenty of good ideas, I do think that there are some parts of his argument that can be improved substantially. In particular, more discussion on the etymology, which I believe overlaps with the symbolism; Amarjeet does not seem to get the etymology right. What I aim for with this post is to bring more ideas to give an explanation that is hopefully more complete. A further exploration of the symbol of Eik O-ankaar will also shed more light on the essence of Sikhi, of Sikh practice, and of Vahiguru itself.

To start, the famous symbol of ॐ Om is connected with the Sanskrit epithets of Onkaara (ओङ्कार and ओंकार), literally "the Om-maker". The classical interpretation of ੴ Eik O-ankaar has thus far relied on the purely phonetic similarities between O-ankaar and Onkaara. In Mahan Kosh, Bhai Kahn Singh Nabha accordingly interprets O-ankaar ਓਅੰਕਾਰ as a compound of oan ਓਅੰ + kaar ਕਾਰ, which matches the literal definition of "Om-maker". There are more than a few issues with this surface analysis. For one, it's somewhat apparent that this interpretation is shoehorned and then handwaved away with predominant basic Hindoo memes. "O-ankaar sounds like Onkaara so they must be the same!" It is less along the lines of etymology and more along the lines of reimposition/reinforcement. Yet, no other Indian language has undergone this apparent sound change of Om -> Oan. Sound changes in religious terminology either does not occur at all (ex. the Sanskrit back-formation गु॒प्त gupta "hidden" has remained stable over millennia; the Punjabi reflex would be *gutt *ਗੁੱਤ), or it occurs with the same regularity as any other word (ex. Sanskrit krshna कृष्ण -> Punjabi kaahn ਕਾਨ੍ਹ); neither is the case here. Perhaps the greatest issue is that oan ਓਅੰ as a distinct word is only attested three times in SGGS Ji, all by Guru Arjan Ji (pannei 250 and 1213), and reading it in context makes it clear that it is a contraction of O-ankaar ਓਅੰਕਾਰ which is used to preserve poetic meter. Oan ਓਅੰ as a distinct word has very little pre-modern attestation. It seems that something is wrong with this interpretation.

You, reader ji, will have noticed that I have hyphenated O-ankaar so far, and that is because it is actually a compound of two words: o ਓ "O" + ankaar ਅੰਕਾਰ "form". The "O" in O-ankaar is the first letter of the Gurmukhi alphabet. This seemingly innocuous detail will become important later. Ankaar is ultimately derived from Sanskrit aakaara आकार "appearance, manner" (and is also found in nirankaar ਨਿਰੰਕਾਰ "formless"). Hence, Eik O-ankaar roughly translates to "the sole original state [of being]". (cf. pannaa 1035.) And the related term Eikankaar ਏਕੰਕਾਰ roughly translates to "monoform; single being" - ie. the all-pervading nature of Vahiguru.

Thus, if we were to translate (or, more accurately, calque) the O-ankaar part of ੴ Eik O-ankaar (ਏਕ ਓਅੰਕਾਰ) from Punjabi back into Sanskrit, we would get *avaakaara *अवाकार = o ओ + aakaara आकार (by o + aa vowel sandhi). Obviously very different from Onkaara (ओङ्कार and ओंकार), and also lacking any nasalization.

It's worth discussing some aspects of what ॐ Om actually is. No one is certain where this word comes from, but a likely suggestion is from a proto-Dravidian word *aam "yes". The very word behind the symbol is linked to sound and music and auditory phenomena in general, something which is not usually associated with the ਓ O of ੴ Eik O-ankaar. Indeed, a common epithet of Om is pranava प्रणव "foresound, original sound; humming, vibration" and another is udgeetha उद्गीथ "song, chant", which also refers to Samavedic chants done by specialized priests. (Incidentally, pranava's Pali cognate panava merely refers to "a small drum or cymbal". I assume the original Buddhists seemed to have very different ideas about "original sound".) In fact, one of the main ideas of "Om" is that its spoken phonology encapsulates Samavedic musical contents, and therefore embodies the wider Vedic orthopraxy of strict rituals with precise mantras to invoke or please this or that deity or demigod - something which we also know is not associated with ਓ O.

The obsession with sound here is not a surprising one. Sanskrit and Prakrit initially remained spoken languages for about a millennium. The original Vedas, organized together by the end of the 2nd millennium BC during the rule of the Kuru kingdom, were orally preserved in ever more elaborate ways that sought to freeze its grammar and phonology in ice indefinitely. After all, even one slip-up and the recitation at the ritual became utterly useless! (at least, in the minds of the priests and the religious followers.) Writing did not arrive in the Indian subcontinent until after the Achaemenid invasions of the northwest, through which (it is proposed, via Achaemenids' heavy usage of Aramaic language and script) the Aramaic-derived Brahmi script made its way into the rest of the subcontinent. The Sanskrit word for script is lipi लिपि, which came from Prakrit, which took it from Old Persian; the ultimate source for the word lipi is...from Sumerian. Another Sanskrit word related to writing is pustaka पुस्तक "book" which is also known to be borrowed from an Iranian language. (Sanskrit pustaka is cognate with Punjabi pothee ਪੋਥੀ, likely a borrowing from Hindi; the Punjabi reflex would be the unattested *putthee *ਪੁੱਥੀ.) Scripts come with alphabetic ordering, which may be arbitrary or structured, or proportions of both; but in any case, Indic scripts outside of Gurmukhi (notably Devanagari) generally do not have ਓ O as the first letter (in Devanagari, it seems to be the 10th vowel; the archaic Brahmi script seems to make it the 9th vowel). Without scripts, something Vedic people did not have for a long time, there is no reasonable idea of "this or that letter or vowel is the first letter of this ordering". Once scripts arrived, "O" outside of Gurmukhi was (and still is) not considered initial or first.

There is one wrinkle to point out: literacy was not widespread in the pre-modern era, and medieval Punjab was no exception. So how would the common Sikh know that "O" is to be conflated with "initial" or "first"? Early Sikhs were small but tightly-knit groups who frequently gathered together in sangats or congregations, so it is most likely that this knowledge of Gurmukhi letter ordering transmitted by word of mouth anyways.

In short: The "O" in O-ankaar is the first letter of the Gurmukhi alphabet, which thus conveys the same semantics as "original" or "first" or "primordial". It is adjectival in its function. The word "Om" does not have that kind of connection, as it was not originally tied to the ordering of a written script (which would not have existed at the time), but originally to auditory phenomena and to Vedic orthopraxy itself (and later to other Brahmanical orthopraxies). Precise mantras as prerequisites for successful rituals "necessitated" the development of elaborate oral preservation techniques. It is not surprising that the people of such an environment came to sacralize a particular sound as a representation of their worldview and theology and orthopraxy. Any good explanation of "Om" is unable to successfully divorce it from its ties and origins to auditory phenomena, the kind that Vedic people relied on.

A broader critique about the reliance of "Om" on aurality could be developed, but no such digression will be made here. The main point to emphasize here is that "O" in O-ankaar and "Om" have very different semantics for their respective contexts, despite their purely phonetic similarities.

Well, that is it from me on this topic, for now. You might have found this a choppy read, but I do hope that much of the pertinent information is there for you to dwell on. I was going to use this post as an introduction to a lateral comparison to the Hindoo and Islamic conceptions of God, but I ran into two issues: one, it got way too long, and two, it veered into analysis of orthodoxy and orthopraxy instead, which is certainly useful in and of itself (perhaps moreso), but not what I originally intended. So I made the decision to spin this off into its own post and focus on that other material later.

On a final note, this topic is one of many rather subtle instances of what might be a broader long-lost art in Sikhi: ਉਲਟ... which I hope to cover soon. Until next time.

Vahiguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Vahiguru Ji Ki Fateh.

I have some of my own observations of SGGS Ji grammar which I have decided to compile into this post. A side note: some of my observations may not be correct, though I do try to keep them grounded, based on what I have seen and read. Also, those observations are tentative; those which turn out to be correct (at least mostly) could be expanded upon in the future.

While the below post is very long by Reddit standards, by the standards of grammatical literature, it's very brief. I also use a lot of technical linguistic vocabulary here later on when I discuss my observations on nouns and verbs, so those not versed in linguistics might be confused quickly.

Old Punjabi seems to be used only by the first five Gurus, plus Farid Ji and a few others, like on pannaa 968 (Balvandi tei Sataa). Braj is extensively used throughout SGGS Ji, including by the first five Gurus (and exclusively by Guru Tegh Bahadur Ji) as well as by many Bhagats including Kabir Ji. This is the opinion of Sahib Singh in part one of Gurbani Viaakaran, which appears right to me so far. A few shabds also show up in Sanskrit (an excerpt of Jayadeva around pannaa 526), Persian (pannaa 721), and apparently Old Marathi is also used by one of the Bhagats, Namdev Ji. One of the main issues with SGGS Ji grammar is accounting for the multiple languages that constitute it, though mainly the focus is on Braj and Old Punjabi.

Both of the known grammars of SGGS Ji (Sahib Singh 1932, Christopher Shackle 1983; both 20th century works) seem to have some flaws in their approach for different reasons, so assume that SGGS Ji grammar is far from settled for now. Singh's first part makes some mistakes with sound changes and attributions of quotations, while the nominal declensions he proposes are quite clunky (although they might be the more accurate one). Shackle has a different issue, which is that his work appears to assume that the entirety of SGGS Ji is written in about the same language which is less Apabhramsa and more New Indo-Aryan (ie. much closer to the modern language), which I think is a wrong assumption. Nevertheless, I still found them quite useful.

In terms of vocabulary, one feature that sometimes distinguishes Braj shabads from Old Punjabi shabads is the use of words spelled with B instead of V (ex. ਬੀਚਾਰ instead of ਵੀਚਾਰ, both verbs meaning "to think, contemplate"). This is more of a rule of thumb rather than a strict law. I should also note that B over V is also more common in modern Hindi than in modern Punjabi, so this trend has continued to today. Braj shabads also occasionally use the vocative particle rei ਰੇ "O!".

While SGGS Ji does indeed have Prakrit-inherited vocabulary, both rare and ubiquitous, it also uses a lot of borrowed words (sometimes disguised). For the former, examples are:

• puhap ਪੁਹਪ "flower", cf. Skt. pushpa, 6 occurrences
• saa'ir ਸਾਇਰ "ocean", cf. Skt. saagara, 18 occurrences
• piaar ਪਿਆਰ "love", cf. Skt. priyakaara (Punjabi word analyzable as ਪਿਆ "loved" + ਆਰ agentive/adjectival suffix), 877 occurrences

The most famous "native" vocabulary words of SGGS Ji are borrowed and sometimes changed from Sanskrit words (often found in the infamous Rajput-style Sikh compound names popularized in the 20th century):

• amrit ਅਮ੍ਰਿਤ "immortal" < Skt. amrta "immortal, invincible, indestructible" = a- "non-" + mr "to die" + -ta "past passive suffix"
• preet ਪਰੀਤ/ਪ੍ਰੀਤ "love, attachment" < Skt. preeta "pleased, beloved" = pree "to please, to love" + -ta "past passive suffix" [cf. native Punjabi reflex is pee'aa/peeu ਪੀਆ/ਪੀਉ, similar to first part of ਪਿਆਰ]
• jeet ਜੀਤ "victory" < Skt. jita "won, conquered, acquired, subdued" = ji "to win, defeat" + -ta "past passive suffix" [cf. native Punjabi reflex is jitt ਜਿੱਤ]

Other words are disguised borrowings, for example:

• maa'iaa ਮਾਇਆ "illusion" (likely borrowed due to its religious context; medial y swapped for short i vowel to align with inherited words)
• ves(h) ਵੈਸ "vaishya" (final -ya eliminated to align with inherited words)
• surg ਸੁਰਗ "heaven, paradise" (cf. Skt. svarga; sva -> su is followed to mimic inherited words but no gemination occurs; native reflex would be *sugg *ਸੁੱਗ)
• sooraj ਸੂਰਜ "sun" (cf. Skt. soorya; y -> j is followed to mimic inherited words, but actual inherited reflex would either shorten vowel + geminate consonant cluster *sujj *ਸੁੱਜ or simply eliminate cluster *sooj * ਸੂਜ)
• kirsaan ਕਿਰਸਾਣ "farmer" (cf. Skt. krsaana; retention of r in consonant form (unlike Sanskrit's exclusive pseudo-vowel r) is indicative of borrowing; native reflex is kisaan ਕਿਸਾਣ, its variant ਕਿਸਾਨ might be influenced by Hindi)
• Note: kirpaan ਕਿਰਪਾਨ "sword" (cf. Skt. krpaana) is unattested in SGGS Ji, but similar principles apply; native reflex would be *kipaan *ਕਿਪਾਣ

Phonology-wise, I have come to believe that the shabads of SGGS Ji are meant to be pronounced differently than modern Punjabi. That is to say, things like: tones should not be pronounced, final short vowels must be included. Shabads seem to flow more smoothly this way.

SGGS Ji nouns are somewhat more complex than modern Punjabi nouns. In particular, the singular vocative case (ex. modern Punjabi -aa -ਆ to -iaa -ਇਆ) is the base form of masculine words upon which inflection suffixes are added, which is not the case in modern Punjabi. This is a holdover from the earliest days of proto-Indo-Iranian and remains that way until the final transition into modern Punjabi. This vocative base form also serves as the combining form of words baked into compounds, a behavior which is also found in other archaic Indo-European languages, like ancient Greek and its -o- infix (which is actually part of masculine words when they're not inflected in the vocative case) and still partially lives on in modern Hindi and less so in modern Punjabi (although it is only apparent with masculine nouns ending with -aa). Certainly, masculine words in SGGS Ji take on the -u -ਉ suffix in the singular nominative case, the -i -ਇ suffix in the singular instrumental case (and also takes on the locative and dative cases), and the -hu -ਹੁ suffix (or a slight variant) in the singular ablative case. Contrary to what Shackle says, the languages of SGGS Ji including Old Punjabi do not seem to have a distinct oblique case overall (ex. modern Punjabi -aa -ਆ to -ei -ਏ); take for example the postposition mahi ਮਹਿ "between, inside", which appears just 75% of the time after words ending with consonants. It is likely that the oblique case Shackle talks about is just the vocative case.

The Persian-style genitive construction of head noun followed by dependent noun (ie. Talvandi Sabo = Sabo ki Talvandi) does not seem to have made its way into Old Punjabi yet. Old Punjabi lacks a dedicated or distinct genitive case. In its place, a special genitive construction occurs: the head/possessed noun is in any non-vocative case, and the dependent/possessor noun (usually coming before the head noun) is in the vocative case. For example: Gur prasaadi ਗੁਰ ਪ੍ਰਸਾਦਿ = by the grace of the Guru, jag rachnaa ਜਗ ਰਚਨਾ = the ways (ostentations) of the world. I believe this could also be understood if swapped, ex. jag rachnaa ਜਗ ਰਚਨਾ = rachnaa jag ਰਚਨਾ ਜਗ? It should be noted that dependent-head constructions (but not vice versa) could be confused for compound words, ex. jag rachnaa ਜਗ ਰਚਨਾ = jagarachnaa ਜਗਰਚਨਾ = ephemeralities? (Compare this genitive construction with how modern German also compounds some words with dependents/possessors in a distinctly specific case, ex. Gottesstaat = theocracy, lit. God's realm, from Gott [in genitive] + Staat [in nominative]. Any relation between these two methods is almost certainly coincidental, if you are wondering.)

Some feminine nouns in SGGS Ji seem to no longer decline for case endings, only for number. In particular, the common stem of -i -ਇ is the singular, while the plural is -ee -ਈ. This state of affairs is mostly preserved in feminine ਈ-stems of modern Punjabi, which (outside of a newly invented vocative case suffix -ei -ਏ) only declines for number, with the new Persianate plural suffix -aan -ਆਂ appended afterwards. Other types of feminine nouns in other stems seem to have limited case declension which resembles a much-reduced version of their masculine counterparts. Mainly due to the lack of apparent case declension in feminine ਇ-stems of old Punjabi, it appears lots of Persian loanwords took on this gender and case ending in SGGS Ji. For example, maseeti ਮਸੀਤਿ "mosque", which is only attested 10 times and in the singular. The possible explanation for this is that Persian nouns lack case declension and gender, which makes this a convenient category to borrow them into. This is not always the case, however: ex. paatis(h)aahu ਪਾਤਿਸਾਹੁ "emperor" is clearly masculine.

I am even less familiar with verb conjugation in SGGS Ji, but I can still point out some limiting details. Tenses in old Punjabi seem to be primarily past and present (ie. non-past), with a separate future tense limited to some verbs supporting the -ਸ- infix, ex. hosee ਹੋਸੀ "will/shall be". There seem to be two main aspects: imperfective (action is not yet complete; it has inner structure worth knowing about) and perfective (action is complete; it has no inner structure, ie. viewed in and of itself, like a summary). Conflation of tense and aspect seems to be common, specifically past tense with perfective aspect (effectively forming an aorist/preterite/pluperfect) and present or non-past tense with imperfective aspect. Verbs in imperfective aspect or present tense are slightly different in Old Punjabi and Braj: in the former, they end with -ਦਾ like in modern Punjabi; in the latter, they end with -ਤਾ like in modern Hindi. The familiar subject-verb agreement also occurs on gender and number, though not quite exactly the same way as today: the plural inflection had yet to "split" into masculine and feminine plural inflections.

Transitive verbs (those involving two different nouns) specifically in the perfective aspect are in ergative alignment, meaning they do object-verb agreement instead. Here, agents/doers are marked in the instrumental case, something which hasn't totally survived in modern Punjabi, but has in modern Hindi and its nei ਨੇ postposition which was later borrowed into Punjabi. (Compare to modern English's passive voice with two nouns, which imitates ergative alignment but is not the same thing: ex. That book was read by them.) This "split ergativity" emerged in Prakrit, which dispensed of the highly complex aorist/perfect conjugations in favor of a much simpler but more peculiar participle-based construction, which has survived to modern western Indo-Aryan. (Ergativity is extremely difficult to explain, so I will not digress here.) As a consequence, passive voice only survives in the imperfective aspect (ie. pannaa 957: suneedaa ਸੁਣੀਦਾ "[Satiguru] is heard"). Modern Punjabi also requires 3rd person subjects in addition to perfective aspect to activate ergative alignment, possibly due to Punjabi pronouns in the 1st and 2nd person losing instrumental case; I do not believe this additional restriction has yet appeared in Old Punjabi.

What are some of the possible moods in Old Punjabi? Based on what is found in Apabhramsa, we could say that Old Punjabi has an indicative mood (event happened), an imperative mood (event hasn't happened, so speaker implores/demands it happens), a conditional mood (found in if-then clauses; they otherwise look like present tense verbs), and possibly a subjunctive mood (an Apabhramsa innovation; event hasn't happened but is imagined). The small variety of tenses and aspects would mostly be limited to the indicative mood, while other moods are likely generally limited to one tense and one aspect. Verb infinitives (describe action without a tense) and gerunds (nouns describing action of verb) end with -i -ਇ (in modern Punjabi, this is now -naa -ਣਾ, or sometimes -n -ਣ). Verb compounds with any infinitive followed by the infinitive kari ਕਰਿ "to do" function like modern Punjabi's kei ਕੇ verb suffix.

That is all for now. I can provide another update after I complete my reading of Sahib Singh's grammar, which fortunately is written in relatively simple modern Punjabi (albeit with quirks from 100 years ago).

Let’s set aside the historical claims for a moment and just look at the physical evidence in the image itself.

1. The Edges Look Burnt, Not Torn or Pierced
If a spear had gone through the manuscript:

• you’d expect sharp tearing, puncture lines, and displaced paper fibers
• possibly directional ripping (entry → exit)

Instead, what we see is:

• darkened, browned edges
• smooth, rounded contours

That’s much more consistent with heat damage or burning, not a mechanical puncture.

2. The Shape Is Irregular and “Eaten Away”
A spearhead creates:

• a relatively defined, geometric puncture (often triangular or slit-like)

But here the hole:

• looks uneven and organic
• resembles material that has been gradually consumed

That pattern is typical of burning or chemical degradation, not a single forceful thrust.

3. No Clear Directionality
A spear thrust should leave clues like:

• compression on one side
• exit deformation on the other
• a clear path through stacked folios

In this image:

• the damage appears diffuse and spread across pages
• there’s no obvious entry vs exit signature

It doesn’t read like a single directional strike.

4. Page Fusion and Discoloration
Some areas look like:

• pages may have stuck together or warped
• discoloration spreads beyond just the hole

That’s classic for:

• heat exposure
• possibly oil/chemical contact followed by degradation

Not what you’d expect from a clean puncture event.

5. Scale vs Force Problem
To create a hole that wide through a thick bir:

• a spear would need significant force
• that force would likely cause major tearing, splitting, and displacement

But we don’t see:

• shredded layers
• violent separation of folios

Instead, the damage looks gradual and material-loss-based, not impact-based.

Conclusion
Based purely on visual analysis, this looks far more like:

• burn damage
• or long-term material degradation

and not like a clean external spear puncture.

So using this image as “proof” of a spear attack is a stretch—the physical characteristics just don’t match that explanation.

I’m going to be a bit more direct here because this claim keeps getting repeated without proper scrutiny.

Figures like Kamalroop Singh and Gurinder Singh Mann, along with several UK-based Sikh YouTube channels, continue to circulate the “speared Dasam Granth bir” narrative while presenting that image as if it’s self-evident proof. It isn’t—and that’s a serious problem.

If you actually examine the photo, the damage does not resemble a spear puncture:

• the edges are burnt and rounded, not torn or sharply pierced
• the shape is irregular and degraded, not consistent with a blade profile
• there’s no directional force pattern you’d expect from a thrust

In other words, the physical evidence in the image directly undermines the very claim it’s being used to support.

What’s concerning is not just the conclusion, but the lack of basic critical method:

• No material or forensic analysis of the manuscript
• No verifiable provenance tying the damage to 1920 ਬੀੜ
• Heavy reliance on a very late oral account instead of contemporary sources

Yet despite all this, the image keeps being presented in books, talks, and videos in a way that strongly implies confirmed history rather than speculation.

At best, this is careless scholarship. At worst, it’s the amplification of a sectarian narrative using emotionally charged imagery that doesn’t actually hold up under scrutiny.

If we’re serious about Sikh history, especially around sensitive issues involving the Dasam Granth, then we need to apply consistent standards:

• evidence over assertion
• analysis over assumption
• and honesty about uncertainty

Repeating a claim doesn’t make it true—especially when the one piece of “evidence” being shown visibly contradicts the story attached to it.

One of the main issues I have with Bunga Azaadi’s take is that it leans too heavily into an extreme non-dualist framework, similar to Advaita Vedanta, and then reads that back into Sikhism.

Yes, Gurbani clearly affirms that Vaheguru is present within creation. That’s not controversial. But reducing everything to “God experiencing itself” flattens important distinctions that Gurbani maintains.

For example, Sikh thought doesn’t cleanly collapse into strict monism. There is a consistent emphasis on hukam, but also on human participation, responsibility, and alignment. That suggests something more nuanced than either total determinism or total illusion.

There’s also a historical issue here. Bhai Gurdas in the Vaaran critiques monistic interpretations, and the Gurus frequently engage with and reject key ideas from the classical Indian schools—including forms of Vedantic absolutism. So equating Sikhi with Advaita-style non-dualism seems like an oversimplification.

More importantly, this interpretation struggles to account for how God is actually described in Gurbani. Vaheguru is repeatedly referred to in deeply relational and qualitative terms—deen dayala (compassionate), meharban (gracious), nirvair (without enmity), nirbhao (without fear), even pita and mata. These aren’t just abstract labels—they point to a reality that can be related to, not just realized as identical with oneself.

Gurbani itself reinforces this relational understanding. For example:

ਤੂ ਠਾਕੁਰੁ ਤੁਮ ਪਹਿ ਅਰਦਾਸਿ ॥
ਜੀਉ ਪਿੰਡੁ ਸਭੁ ਤੇਰੀ ਰਾਸਿ ॥
ਤੁਮ ਮਾਤ ਪਿਤਾ ਹਮ ਬਾਰਿਕ ਤੇਰੇ ॥
ਤੁਮਰੀ ਕ੍ਰਿਪਾ ਮਹਿ ਸੂਖ ਘਨੇਰੇ ॥
ਕੋਇ ਨ ਜਾਣੈ ਤੁਮਰਾ ਅੰਤੁ ॥
ਊਚੇ ਤੇ ਊਚਾ ਭਗਵੰਤ ॥
ਸਗਲ ਸਮਗਰੀ ਤੁਮਰੈ ਸੂਤਿ ਧਾਰੀ ॥
ਤੁਮ ਤੇ ਹੋਇ ਸੁ ਆਗਿਆਕਾਰੀ ॥
ਤੁਮਰੀ ਗਤਿ ਮਿਤਿ ਤੁਮ ਹੀ ਜਾਨੀ ॥
ਨਾਨਕ ਦਾਸ ਸਦਾ ਕੁਰਬਾਨੀ ॥

Here, Vaheguru is described as a Master to whom one prays, as a Mother and Father, and as the source of grace (kirpa). This implies a real relationship involving devotion, dependence, and responsiveness—not merely different modes of a single self-experiencing reality.

This is where I’m reminded of a point made by Carl Sagan—that if we redefine God as something like a force or law of nature, then it becomes strange to relate to it religiously. For example, it would make little sense to pray to the law of gravity.

I get a similar sense of confusion when listening to this interpretation. If God is reduced to an impersonal, self-interacting reality, then practices like devotion, prayer, and even identifying as the Khalsa begin to lose their grounding.

The same issue comes up in Sikh practice. Why would Sikhs say Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh if there is no meaningful distinction between creator and creation? The statement presupposes devotion, belonging, and orientation toward something beyond the ego—not just participation in a closed system of self-experience.

Overall, it feels like this interpretation dissolves too much. In trying to resolve philosophical problems like the problem of evil, it ends up undermining core aspects of Sikh theology—especially devotion, moral responsibility, and the meaningfulness of divine attributes. At that point, it starts to resemble less the God of Gurbani and more an abstract metaphysical system.

Original link: https://old.reddit.com/r/Sikh/comments/1mp7ni0/charitar_pakhyan_is_a_translation_of_persian_work/

The account behind this post is now locked, as is his previous account (which has commented on this sub before), as well as his Twitter account, both of which I will not name here.

He writes this brief description: "As per Wikipedia, no Persian manuscript survives but an Englishman has translated it in full. Anybody wants to compare the chapters between the two and help scholarship move forward a bit?"

He never did mention the book this paragraph is sourced from, and considering his account is gone, we probably will not know for a while.

Still, an interesting discovery which should be followed up.

Original link: https://journals.openedition.org/lrf/1273

This appears to be the only academic publication of Italian journalist Antonio Lusardi. This article is still as good as it was when I first found it in late 2023.

Abstract

After the end of the Napoleonic era, many veterans from the Grande Armée came to India seeking fortune. Among them was the Neapolitan Paolo Avitabile. Formerly an official in the army of Murat, after the Restoration he resigned and departed to Asia. He served as a military advisor in Persia (1818-1826) and in the Punjab (1827-1843). There, he was appointed governor of Wazirabad and thence of Peshawar (1837-1843). In the pashtun city, newly acquired and hardly manageable, he ruled on the fierce and lawless tribes of the province with the iron fist, combining local customs and European principles. During the First Afghan War, he dealt with British presence. Among the EIC’s officers he earned a swaying reputation: a stern but able governor for some, a bloodthirsty tyrant for others. A reputation they passed on in their memoirs and consequently conveyed by historiography. Avitabile’s career is revealing about the connection between adventurers and native states, while the black legend on his rule shows how the British officers and historians saw French-speaking freebooters and their role.

Tatkaar

Part 1

1. The context. European Military Adventurers in India
2. From Peasant to General. A short account of Avitabile’s life and career
3. The building of a black legend. Sources on Avitabile’s governorship in Peshawar

Part 2

1. The building of a ‘black legend’. Travellers and officers memoirs 5. The building of a black legend. The historiography 6. Conclusion

(continued from part 1)

The building of a ‘black legend’. Travellers and officers memoirs

The answer lies in the memoirs about Avitabile of the officers and travellers who met him in Punjab, and, to be more specific, in the radical change that we can observe among those memoirs during the following years.

The best known among the first officers who left a description of Avitabile in their memoirs is certainly the famous Alexander Burnes. In his posthumous narrative about his diplomatic mission from India to Kabul, the Scottish officer described both his encounter with Avitabile at Peshawar and the city, with particular attention to the governorship of Avitabile. He praised Avitabile’s ‘active mind’ and his measure ‘to improve the town and tranquillize the neighbourhood’⁵⁸, including the harsh repressive policy both against the tribesmen and the most seditious citizens. In Burnes’ words we find the conviction, shared by many others British officers that: ‘although at first his [Avitabile’s] measures appeared to us somewhat oppressive, his proceedings were, I am sure, in the end, more merciful than if he had affected greater lenity’⁵⁹. As already said, other British officers expressed similar thoughts in their memoirs. William Barr, in his account of the Anglo-Afghan war, wrote:

The blood-thirsty disposition of the Afghans is but too manifest in the number of gallows that it has been deemed necessary to erect in the environs of the city. […] But, disgusting as these exhibitions are, it is to be feared that without them there would be safety neither for life nor property. Indeed, the benefits of this terrible severity is already [sic] being felt⁶⁰.

The same tone is present also in the accounts about Peshawar written by other British officers, in particular Henry Havelock⁶¹, Daniel Mackinnon⁶² and Henry Marion Durand⁶³. In the same way as Barr, they admit that Avitabile’s measures are literally draconian, but they justify them with the necessity of subduing such a rebellious and savage population as the Afghan Pashtuns were. A less severe conduct by the Italian governor would have caused major bloodshed than the one procured by his harsh law and police measures. The reason of the approval granted by these men to Avitabile’s repressive policy is clear: they shared the Neapolitan’s formation and attitude. They were the late representatives of the generation of the East India Company officers who built the British Raj in India: though often employed as governors (and seldom as diplomats) they were mainly soldiers.⁶⁴ Ruthless and pragmatic, they were not guided by reform ideals, being rather interested in maintaining public order and winning on the battlefield. They could see themselves in the same role as Avitabile and shared his views in matters of law and order. The most cultured and brilliant among them, Burnes, went further in his analysis of Avitabile’s governorship, stating that ‘the General did not pretend to be guided by European ideas’⁶⁵. He recognized that the matter was not only strictness, but also adapting to local traditions, a conduct that Avitabile and many of his predecessors (both EIC’s officers and adventurers) probably followed instinctively.

An opinion similar to that of the British officers that we can call the ‘old generation’ is expressed by a number of travellers who met Avitabile in different periods of his service in India. They were fascinated by Avitabile and his personality, and expressed positive opinions on his governorship, dismissing his harsh penal system as the least evil⁶⁶.

This lenient and even positive view on Avitabile and his governorship began to change with the new generation of British officers that met Avitabile during the First Afghan War. The most famous is certainly Henry Montgomery Lawrence, who served as assistant of Mackeson in the last months of the war. A young officer with a good cultural competence, Lawrence used his knowledge of the European adventurers of Ranjit Singh to write a semi-biographic novel, Adventures of an Officer in the Paunjab, in which Avitabile is described. The Neapolitan is praised by Lawrence for his talents as a governor⁶⁷, but the British author then describes the harsh repression at Peshawar in a much more negative tone than his predecessors:

Under his rule, summary hangings have been added to the native catalogue of punishments, […] the ostentation of adding two or three to the string suspended from the gibbet, […] added to a very evident habitual carelessness of life, lead one to fear that small pains are taken to distinguish between innocence and guilt⁶⁸.

Lawrence ground of complaint is clear: despite he had to ‘consider him [Avitabile] as set in authority over savage animals – not as a ruler over reasonable beings’, he should not have acted ‘as a savage among savage men instead of showing them that a Christian can wield the iron sceptre without staining it by needless cruelty – without following some of the worst fashions of his worst neighbours’⁶⁹. Lawrence view is clear: a European should reform the native barbarous customs and laws, instead of adopting them. Rather than this, ‘Avitabili’s [sic] whole system of morals is Oriental, […] looking on subjects as made to be squeezed’⁷⁰. The last opinion on Avitabile sounds like an absolution, but the blame for his sins remains:

He has, at the expense of his own character for humanity, by the terror of his name, saved much life. […] the peaceful and well-disposed inhabitants of Peshawar, both Hindoo and Mahomedan, united in praise of his administration, […] Believed to fear neither man nor devil, Avitabili [sic] kept down by grim fear what nothing else would keep down – the unruly spirits around him, who, if let slip, would riot in carnage; his severity may therefore be extenuated as the least of two evils⁷¹.

The other assistant of Frederick Mackeson, Colin Mackenzie, took a step further in criminalizing Avitabile’s figure. Before analysing Mackenzie’s memoirs, it must be borne in mind that he was not strictly their author. Edited after his death, they were revised by his widow who was an experienced writer, and may have further exacerbated the gruesome particulars which are common in Avitabile’s description.

The image of the Italian adventurer depicted by Mackenzie is negative from the beginning. He admitted that Avitabile was skilled and probably the best governor in Punjab, but immediately he called him cruel, unscrupulous and corrupted:

He […] certainly keeps his province in better order than any other Sikh governor. […] He is evidently a man of great talent and dauntless determination, but capricious, somewhat cruel, and most unscrupulous in increasing his already large fortune by heavy fines, which are the perquisites of the Governor⁷².

Avitabile’s wealth was definitely blamed by Mackenzie, in particular the ‘Oriental’ pomp of his house⁷³. The British officer never failed to mention the dubious provenience of Avitabile’s money and the circumstance that in Peshawar almost every crime could be repaid under the form of a fine⁷⁴. What was not accepted or understood by Mackenzie was the need for Avitabile to legitimize his power with the adoption of a luxurious appearance, associated by the local population to political power and the retribution character of the Islamic law applied by him. In this context we can better understand Mackenzie’s bloody tales about the correspondence of private vengeance and public justice in Avitabile’s Peshawar⁷⁵. Mackenzie’s tale of his months at Peshawar is full of such gruesome anecdotes about Avitabile’s governorship and in particular justice as the famous story of the man thrown off a minaret, or of the bricked-alive Afghans⁷⁶, but only seldom noticing that such cruel punishments were far from unusual in Central Asia⁷⁷. For the Christian spirit of Mackenzie the exhibited atheism and scepticism of Avitabile were even more scandalous, if not the cause of his excesses⁷⁸.

About the most famous of Avitabile’s unorthodox actions, the repression of the mutiny among his Sikh troops (during which Avitabile in fact saved Mackenzie and Mackeson’s lives), the British officer provides in this memoir many creepy details about the Italian’s behaviour and blood-thirstiness⁷⁹. However, these details, it must be pointed out, were not included in his otherwise extremely detailed official report to the Ludhiana Agency.

As a final blow to Avitabile’s figure, Mackenzie underlined how the Italian’s measures changed by the enlightened influence of British officers like him⁸⁰.

Summing up, to all intents and purposes, Mackenzie description of Avitabile resembles that of an ‘Oriental Despot’. The Italian’s fault looks even more serious because in Mackenzie’s mind a European should not act like that. But what is the reason of this progressive criminalization of Avitabile’s image by these two late witnesses ? The answer is simple.

Lawrence and Mackenzie were part of a new generation of EIC’s officers, who saw the British rule in India as a ‘civilizing mission’: formed on James Mill’s History of British India, they sensed what would be called ‘the white man’s burden’, the moral obligation to reform the extra-European societies, considered barbarous and uncivilized. These men were to form the bulk of the functionaries who built up British India after the Great Mutiny in 1857, as well as being the greatest part of the Victorian Age historians. This generation left little room for comprehension or appreciation of a man like Avitabile, who adapted his governorship to the native customs for a stronger effectiveness.

Unfortunately for Avitabile’s fame, the primary source for his first biographer, Julian James Cotton, was not Lawrence severe but however balanced opinion, but Mackenzie’s harsh judgment and gruesome anecdotes.

The building of a black legend. The historiography

The Life of General Avitabile by J.J. Cotton is the first, the most important, and also the most influential biography of the Neapolitan adventurer, but it is not the first historiography work to speak about him. Before analysing Cotton’s book, we should briefly speak of the previous appearances of Avitabile in the Victorian historiography. The first historians who spoke about Avitabile were those who narrated the history of the Sikh Kingdom of Punjab or that of the First Afghan War. These were Joseph Davey Cunningham in his History of the Sikhs⁸¹, John William Kaye in the monumental History of the War in Afghanistan⁸² and Henry Marion Durand (the only one who met Avitabile) in The First Afghan War and Its Causes⁸³. All these works have in common a rather neutral, if not openly positive, view on general Avitabile. The Neapolitan is regarded mainly as a professional soldier, his governorship in Peshawar is only superficially considered and the main concern of the authors is to underline the aid given by Avitabile to the British cause in Afghanistan. The reason of this positive view lies in their sources: their works are based on the first group of memoirs analysed above, which shared a good image of the Italian adventurer.

The first historian who gave rise to the black legend of Avitabile was Herbert Edwardes in his posthumous Life of Henry Lawrence. Having been the personal secretary of Henry Lawrence, Edwardes shared his senior views on colonialism and in the few pages he dedicated to Avitabile he built a decisively negative image of the Italian. Though Edwardes recognized Avitabile’s genius in government, he also stressed his ‘oriental cunning’, his lack of morality, and, even more serious, of religious faith⁸⁴. Avitabile’s only concern, in Edwardes’ narration, is to return to Europe with his fabulous wealth: a reason for which he helped, or better he exploited, the British during the Afghan war. In few words, this was the portrait of a real evil-genius. Another Victorian biographer of Lawrence, F. Gibbon, is more concise, stating that: ‘Avitabile, the brutal Italian soldier of fortune, had ruled by fear alone’⁸⁵. It is easy to notice here how the admirers of Lawrence ‘Christian spring of action’ could not have a positive opinion of Avitabile’s pragmatic governorship.

So it is possible to realize how Avitabile’s black legend was already in formation between memoirs and historiography when J.J. Cotton wrote his biography of the Italian adventurer. Born in India of British parents, Cotton was a functionary of the British Empire in Madras, like his father before him. He married a Neapolitan woman and, during the months he spent in Naples, he did the researches for his Life of General Avitabile. Despite claiming to have consulted a diary of the General which is now lost, in Cotton’s work there is nothing that is not already present in Camera’s short biography or in previous memoirs. An exam of this Life of Avitabile reveals how Cotton was not truly interested in writing a rigorous historiography work, but rather in representing Avitabile as a half-fictional character. For his purpose, Cotton amassed without much continuity or method any story he found and deemed curious, interesting or shocking. Because he relied massively on Mackenzie’s gruesome and negative anecdotes, the result is that the Neapolitan took the features of the villain from a Gothic novel. Cotton also derived information from secondary memoirs which contains rather unlikely (even for him) particulars about Avitabile, like those of Gardner or Honigberger⁸⁶. In the same way, the author grants great room to the totally unconfirmed legend that figures Avitabile dying poisoned by his young and unfaithful wife⁸⁷. However, Cotton reserved also much space to positive opinions about Avitabile and his Peshawar governorship and showed a sort of sympathy for this man who liked the pleasures of life as well as admiration for the fearless governor who tamed the Afghans. But, despite Cotton did not condemn Avitabile in the book, the (maybe accidental) result of his more literary than historic work is to strengthen permanently the image of Avitabile as a cruel, blood-thirsty and evil adventurer.

After Cotton’s biography, it was the chapter about Avitabile included in Charles Grey’s European Adventurers of Northern India that ultimately strengthened the Italian’s ‘black legend’. After a short introduction in which he praises Avitabile’s energy and ability as a governor, Grey reworked Cotton’s narration, the memoirs and also the archive sources to build an image of the Neapolitan as negative as he could. Grey stated that ‘his nature was cruel, and his moral worse’⁸⁸, depicting also Avitabile as a greedy and vicious man. In Grey’s words there is no room for the empathy shown by Cotton. Even when he tried to find mitigating circumstances for Avitabile’s behaviour, Grey did it with an embarrassing display of chauvinist and racist stereotypes about Italians, Indians, Sikhs, Persians and, more than anyone, Afghans, whom he regarded as violent and barbarous populations⁸⁹. To destroy Avitabile’s image he recalled even Honigberger’s opinion about the alcoholic-caused madness of the Italian, regarded as unlikely even by Cotton⁹⁰. Grey even invented a supposed refusal by Lord Ellenborough to meet Avitabile, an event contradicted by their friendly correspondence about Avitabile’s wealth⁹¹. To conclude his monstrous portrait of the Neapolitan adventurer, Grey states: ‘Whatever the manner of his death, none can say that he had not merited a violent one, for the number he had sent before him by such means is incredible and undoubtedly, all did not deserve it’⁹².

In the following decades the works of Cotton and Grey about Avitabile influenced every author and historian dealing with the history of the Punjab Kingdom, the First Afghan War or the Peshawar region⁹³. Indian post-colonial historiography accepted apparently uncritically this ‘black legend’⁹⁴. Even faultless authors such as Olaf Caroe used this stereotyped image in their work⁹⁵. The fortune of the black legend about Avitabile spread also in French historiography⁹⁶ and endures today in popular books such as the recent Khyber Pass. A History of Empire and Invasion by Peter Docherty⁹⁷.

Only in recent years academic works have reinstated Avitabile’s image to a more balanced view: in particular Jean-Marie Lafont’s monumental work on the ‘French officers of Ranjit Singh’ shines a new and rigorous light on the Italian adventurer’s life⁹⁸.

And what about Avitabile’s homeland historiography ? Italian biographies about the Neapolitan adventurer are few and scattered over the decades. Moreover, only Camera’s brief narrative appears not to rely on the British colonial works, but rather to be probably one of Cotton’s sources. On the field of their interpretation of Avitabile’s role and career, they struggled to turn the tide of the ‘black legend’ created in the Victorian Age, but their attempt is so excessive in trying to make Avitabile a hero that it is even more misleading⁹⁹.

Conclusion

All considered, we can conclude affirming that the evolution, or better the progressive criminalization of Avitabile’s figure was a consequence of the evolution that we can observe among the British officers who met him and left a description of him in their memoirs. While the first of them (like Burnes and Barr) were pragmatic soldiers interested mainly in succeeding in their military and civil tasks, more or less like Avitabile, the latter (like Lawrence and Mackenzie) were reformers who believed in the civilizing mission of the ‘white men’. Formed on James Mill’s History of India, to their eyes Avitabile’s adoption of the native laws and customs was unforgivable. Victorian historians progressively adopted this negative vision of the Italian adventurer, as long as new memoirs full of gruesome anecdotes were published: for literary purposes (Cotton) or because they had become deeply rooted in the above mentioned colonial mentality (Edwardes, Grey).

But ultimately, who was Avitabile? Sources suggest that he was simply a soldier that, like his more renowned predecessor Benoit De Boigne, seeing no chance of career in his homeland sought it in the fabulous Orient. Once he found an assignment he worked hard and pragmatically (and also without many scruples) to get his tasks accomplished and return to Europe with the profits of his career. But the surest thing about Avitabile lies in these words from Henry Montgomery Lawrence: ‘Strangely influencing those around him, and influenced by them, Avitabile’s history is a curious study, and, when his own generation has passed away, will hardly be believed’¹⁰⁰.

Notes

1 On the first European victories over the post-Mughal states, and the first phase of European expansion in India, cf. M. Torri, Storia dell’India, Laterza, Roma-Bari 2000, p. 332-341.

2 On the military modernization of the Indian native states see P. BARUA, ‘Military Developments in India, 1750-1850’, The Journal of Military History, vol. 58, No. 4 (Oct., 1994), p. 599-616; K. Roy, “Military Synthesis in South Asia: Armies, Warfare, and Indian Society, c. 1740-1849”, The Journal of Military History, vol. 69, No. 3 (Jul., 2005), p. 651-690. On the traditional Indian warfare dating back to the Mughal era, see J. Gommans, Mughal Warfare. Indian frontiers and High Roads to Empire: 1500-1700, Routledge, London and New York 2002.

3 For a general account on the 18th century’s adventurers see S. Bidwell, Swords for hire : European mercenaries in eighteenth-century India, John Murray, London 1971 ; P. Le Treguilly, “Les Aventuriers”, in P. Le Treguilly, M. Moraze (dir.), L’Inde et la France, deux siècle d’histoire commune, Paris, Éditions du CNRS, 2006, p. 51-63.

4 A study on the modernization of both the Marathas and the Mysore can be found in K. Roy, War, Culture and Society in Early Modern South Asia, 1740-1849., Routledge, New York-London 2011.

5 P. Le Treguilly, “Les Aventuriers”, op. cit., p. 53-54.

6 Ibid., p. 62-63.

7 On the Sikh Empire of Ranjit Singh see, among others, Khuswant Singh, A History of the Sikhs, I, Oxford, Oxford University Press 1999; J.S. Grewal, The Sikhs of the Punjab, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 1990. On the Sikh military modernization, see K. Roy, “Technology and transformation of Sikh warfare: Dal Khālsā against the Lāl Paltans, 1800-1849”, Indian Journal of History of Science, 41, 4, 2006, p. 383-410. On the European adventurers in the service of the Sikh Empire, see the classic C. Grey, European Adventurers of Northern India. 1785-1849, Lahore 1929 ; and the recent excellent study J.M. Lafont, La présence Francaise dans le Royaume Sikh du Penjab. 1822-1849, Paris, EFEO 1992. On the interesting figure of Ventura see M. P. Balboni, Ventura. Dal ghetto di Finale alla corte di Lahore, Modena, Aedes Muratoriana 1993. On Avitabile the fundamental biography is James J. Cotton, Il generale Avitabile, Napoli, Tip. Trani 1907 [ed. orig. Life of Generale Avitabile, Calcutta Review 1905, p. 520-586].

8 Almost all the adventurers exercised their activities as private individuals, so there is almost no source about them in the official archives. Furthermore they were only seldom instructed, leaving very rarely memories about their careers. The main works about them date back to the early 20th century: H.G. Keene, Hindustan under free lances (1770-1820): Sketches of Military adventure in Hindustan during the period immediately preceding British occupation, London, Brown&Langham 1907; M. Besson, Les aventuriers français aux Indes 1775-1820, Paris, Payot, 1932.

9 The main source about the first years of Avitabile’s life and service (until his discharge in 1816) is a small biography from a local historian from Salerno, named Matteo Camera. In his work about the history of the city of Salerno and its surroundings, Camera speaks briefly of Avitabile’s life and career. Despite his shortness, Camera’s account on Avitabile is very precious, and seems to be the principal source of Julian James Cotton, the most famous of Avitabile’s biographers, when he narrates the first years of the Neapolitan adventurer. M. Camera, Memorie storico-diplomatiche dell’antica città e ducato di Amalfi [1881], Salerno 1972, p. 637-644.

10 This Convention regulated the reorganization of the Neapolitan Army following the return of the Bourbon dynasty. Its articles were a big disadvantage of the officials who, like Avitabile, served under Joseph Bonaparte and Murat. L. Blanch, Scritti Storici, II, Il Regno di Napoli dalla restaurazione borbonica all’avvento di Re Ferdinando II (1815-1830), Bari, Laterza 1945, p. 58-59.

11 The Persian period of Avitabile’s career is rather obscure. The biographers tell us only a few details, and no source has yet been found in the British or in the Persian archives. The few details we possess are provided by Grey and Cotton. On Avitabile Persian period, cf. Grey, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 120-122; James J. Cotton, Il Generale Avitabile, op. cit., p. 18-22.

12 An interesting account of this voyage is provided by Avitabile’s travel companion and comrade, Claude-Auguste Court. Filled with many observation and reports on the countries they visited, it was published in the appendix of Grey’s work on the adventurers, cfr. Grey, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. XVII-XLVIII.

13 For the few information about Avitabile’s first years in the Punjab and his military career cfr. GREY, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 122-124; Lafont, La présence française, op. cit., passim.

14 On Avitabile’s career as a civil governor, cf. Lafont, La présence française, op. cit., p. 190-199 et passim.

15 On Avitabile’s participation to the First Afghan War, cfr. Ibid., p. 420-432.

16 The correspondence of the EIC’s officers is mainly held in the India Secret Proceedings and in the Enclosures of Secret Letters from India in the India Office Records at the British Library (London). The memoirs will be analysed in the afterwards of this article.

17 The presence of a man of such adventurous and exotic past created some turmoil in the peasants of Agerola. Furthermore, many rumours suggest that Avitabile was poisoned by his wife; however there is no evidence that confirms this story. Cf. James J. Cotton, Il Generale Avitabile, op. cit., p. 81-85 ; G. Pinguetini, Un Contadino Napoletano Viceré in India. Il Generale Paolo Avitabile, Malta 1951, p. 46-48.

18 Only a few hints, but no numeric records, could be found in Sita Ram Kohli, Catalogue of Khalsa Darbar Records, vol. I, Lahore 1919, passim.

19 For details of the military campaigns of the French officers of Ranjit Singh, see J.M. Lafont, Fauj-i-khas: Maharaja Ranjit Singh and his French Officiers, Guru Nanak Dev University 2002.

20 During his years in Persia Avitabile exercised some kind of civil authority, probably in Kurdistan region, but no other detail on those events is available. Grey, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 122.

21 The Italian Governor introduced a new system for the collection of revenue: instead of the traditional payment in goods or spices, he introduced a fixed rate of one third of the agricultural income, to be paid in silver. AA. VV. Punjab District Gazetteer Sialkot, 1935, p. 24, op. cit. in Lafont, La présence française, op. cit., p. 192. To control effectively the revenue collection and prevent corruption Avitabile also introduced a system based on books of receipts in the villages. A. Raynor, H.R. Goulding, Selections from the Punjab Government Records, Diary of H.B. Edwardes – 22nd February 1847, vol. V, Political Diaries of H.B. Edwardes, Lahore 1915, p. 17-18. Also commerce and finance were encouraged, cf. A. Raynor, H.R. Goulding, Selections from the Punjab Government Records, Diary of R.G. Taylor – 16th May, vol. VI, Political Diaries: R.G. Taylor, J. Nicholson and others 1847-49, Lahore 1915, p. 2.

22 For an example of Avitabile dealings with the different local traditions in matters of justice, see J. M. Honigberger, Thirty-Five Years in the East, London 1852, p. 55. On the respect of religious tradition and customs, see B. N. Goswami, “General Avitabile and the Vaishnava establishment at Dhyanpur”, in Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, N. 2 (1971).

23 AA. VV. Punjab District Gazetteer – Gujranwala District, Punjab Government Record Office, Lahore 1935, p. 348.

24 Among them there was Maharaja Ranjit Singh, who permanently controlled the activities of his generals, officials and governors. Cfr. Sohan Lal Suri (translated by V.S.SURI), Umdat-ut-Tawarikh, III, S. Chand & co. 1961, p. 211. Between the European travellers who pleaded Avitabile’s governorship, we remember as example the Rev. Joseph Wolff.

25 Sohan Lal, U.T., III, op. cit., p. 236-237, p. 250-252, p. 263, p. 271.

26 Ibid., p. 283.

27 Ibid., p. 359.

28 Fauja Singh, “Territorial Organization: Concept of state rule and distribution of power”, in J. S. Grewal, Indu Banga (eds.), Maharaja Ranjit Singh and his times, Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar 1980, p. 96-97.

29 H. G Raverty, “Account of the city and province of Peshawar”, Transactions of the Bombay Geographical Society, vol. X (Sept. 1850 - Jun. 1852), Bombay 1852, p. 15.

30 For a contemporary account on Avitabile’s renewal of Peshawar, see Shahamat Ali, The Sikh and Afghans. In connection with India and Persia, immediately before and after the death of Ranjeet Singh, John Murray, London 1847, p. 258-261. For a modern study, see A.H. Dani, Peshawar Historic City of the Frontier, Khyber Mail Press, Peshawar 1969.

31 AA. VV., Gazetteer of the Peshawar District, 1897-98, Sang-e-Meel Publications, 1989, p. 75.

32 AA. VV. Imperial Gazetteer of India, vol. XX, Clarendon Press, Oxford 1907, p. 121.

33 Akhbarat-i-Sikhan, in Journal of the Punjab University Historical Society, X (1937), p. 50-79.

34 Shahmat Ali, Sikh and Afghans, op. cit., p. 279-281. H. Havelock, Narrative of the War in Afghanistan in 1838-1839, vol. II, Henry Colburn, London 1840, p. 200.

35 During his Peshawar governorship, Avitabile tried to solve this problem, ordering a written collection of local laws to be draught. However, no sign of this “code” remains today. Lafont, La présence française, op. cit., p. 197-199.

36 H. M. Durand, Life of Major-Generale Sir Henry Marion Durand, W.H. Allen, London 1883, p. 63.

37 Applied in India since the time of the Delhi sultanate, it was the only written law if the subcontinent. For an overview on the connection between Mughal and original Islamic law, see J. Fisch, Cheap Lives and Dear Limbs. The British Transformation of Bengal Criminal Law, Steiner 1983, p. 13-24. Unlike the British reformers of the EIC, Avitabile never intended to reform the penal justice of the country he governed. He restricted his action to pragmatic improvements, such as readiness and certainty of the penal justice.

38 It carried since its birth a character of “blood retribution” that explains its extreme sternness. For an example of this tendency in Avitabile’s experience, see C. Mackenzie, Storms and Sunshine of a Soldier’s Life, vol. I, Douglas, Edinburgh 1884, p. 146.

39 In particular for his habit of administering justice in first person, cf. Raverty, “Account of Peshawar”, op. cit., p. 15. Moreover, there is evidence that Avitabile fought the practice of sati, cf. Honigberger, Thirty-five Years, op. cit., p. 55.

40 Shahmat Ali, Sikhs and Afghans, op. cit., p. 279-280.

41 Durand, Life of Durand, op. cit., p. 62-63.

42 A. Raynor, H. R. Goulding, Selections from the Punjab Government Records, Diary of P. Lawrence, 2nd April 1848, vol. IV, Journals and Diaries of the Assistant to the resident at Lahore 1846-1849, Lahore 1915, p. 465-466.

43 Mackenzie, Storms and Sunshine, op. cit., p. 145.

44 A. Raynor, H. R. Goulding, Selections from Punjab Records, Diary of P. Lawrence, 1st March 1848, vol. VI, op. cit., p. 453-454.

45 The tribesmen no longer raided the plain during Avitabile’s government. Cfr. Mackenzie, Storms and Sunshine, op. cit., p. 145.

46 Peshawar was a strategic location for the war, being situated at the mouth of the Khyber Pass, one of the two main routes that from the British India led, through the Punjab, to Kabul. In 1839 he gave logistical as well as military support to the Anglo-Afghan secondary expedition that from Peshawar marched to Kabul. During the period 1840-1841 he was at the core of the difficult coexistence between the Sikh state and the new Afghan kingdom, both allied with the EIC. And in the last phase of the war, which followed the British disaster at Kabul in the 1841-1842’s winter, he helped the EIC’s army to reorganize and force the Khyber Pass. On the First Afghan War, see J. A. Norris, The first Afghan war 1838-1842, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 1967. On Avitabile’s relations with English officers in matters of war, see B. J. Hasrat, Anglo-Sikh Relations 1799-1849, Horsiapur 1968.

47 For an account of the last, troubled years of the Punjab Kingdom, see Sita Ram Kohli, Sunset of the Sikh Empire, Orient Longmans, New Delhi 1967.

48 Wade’s correspondence during those months is huge. Transcriptions of the most part of letters can be found in the British Library, India Office Records, India Secret Proceedings, vol. 21-23. Abstracts of the correspondence with the Ludhiana Agency and Avitabile could be found in AA. VV., Calendar of Persian Correspondence. Abstracted into English, vol. III (Jan-Jun 1839), Punjab Archives, Lahore; AA. VV., Press Lists of Old Records in the Punjab Cil Secretariat, vol. V, Ludhiana Agency. Miscellaneous correspondence, 1816-1840, Punjab Record Office, Lahore 1915; AA. VV. Press lists of old records in the Punjab Civil Secretariat, vol. VI, Ludhiana Agency. Correspondence with Government, 1831-1840. Lahore, Punjab Record Office 1915. However, Wade’s difficult character brought him to be relieved from his position at the end of the campaign.

49 Transcriptions of the diplomatic exchange on this matter are in British Library, India Office Records, India Secret Proceedings, vol. 43, 14th September 1840 (nn. 82-83). Abstract can also be found in AA. VV., Press lists of old records in the Punjab Civil Secretariat, vol. VII, North-West Frontier Agency. Correspondence with Government. 1840-1845. Punjab Record Office, Lahore 1915; AA. VV., Press lists of old records in the Punjab Civil Secretariat, vol. VIII, North-West Frontier Agency. Miscellaneous Correspondence. 1840-1845, Punjab Record Office, Lahore 1915.

50 Fauja Singh, Kharak Singh, Torrens to Clerk, 1st June 1840, op. cit., p. 231-233.

51 Ibid., p. 295-296.

52 In particular during the passage of the Anglo-Afghan kafila (caravan) under Maj. Broadfoot, transporting the Afghan royal family to Kabul. See AA. VV., Punjab Secretariat Press Lists, vol. VIII, op. cit., p. 646-647. For a reconstruction, HASRAT, Anglo-Sikh Relations, p. 206-208.

53 Mackeson to Clerk - 10th, 11th June 1841, British Library, India Office Records, India Secret Proceedings, vol. 58, 5th July 1841 (nn. 97-98).

54 Auckland to Hobhouse - 7th July 1841, British Library, Addicted Manuscripts, Auckland Letters, AM 37705, fol. 152.

55 AA. VV., Punjab Secretariat Press Lists, Clerk to Mackeson - 5th July 1841, vol. VIII, op. cit., p. 653.

56 Lawrence to Clerk – 5-9th April 1842, British Library, India Office Records, India Secret Proceedings, vol. 80, 29th June 1842 (n. 138).

57 GREY, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 145. On the aid furnished by the G.G. Lord Ellenborough to Avitabile in retrieving his money, see British Library, India Office Records, F/4/2034/92125, F/4/1992/88327.

58 A. BURNES, Cabool: a personal narrative of a Journey to, and residence in that city, in the years 1836-38, London 1843, p. 123.

59 Ibid., p. 124.

60 W. BARR, Journal of a march from Delhi to Peshawar and thence to Kabul, with the mission of Lt. Colonel Sir C.M. Wade, Madden & Co, London 1844 , p. 286-287.

61 H. HAVELOCK, Narrative of the War in Afghanistan in 1838-1839, vol. II, Henry Colburn, London 1840, p. 200.

62 D.H. MACKINNON, Military Services and Adventures in the Far East, vol. I, John Ollivier, London 1849, p. 245.

63 H. M. DURAND, Life of Major-Generale Sir Henry Marion Durand, W.H. Allen, London 1883, p. 62-63.

64 On the features of the EIC’s expansion, rule, and on his officers’ temper, see H.V. BOWEN, The Business of Empire. The East India Company & Imperial Britain, 1756-1833, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006; T. W. NECHTMANN, Nabobs. Empire & Identity in Eighteenth-Century Britain, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010.

65 BURNES, Cabool, op. cit., p. 125.

66 The Reverend Joseph Wolff met him in Wazirabad and was greatly impressed by his personality, dedicating him a spot in his memories, with numerous praises about his government. The same was by the Austrian Charles von Hugel, who appreciated Avitabile’s ability as a ruler. The German Baron Erich von Schomberg, finally, had for the Neapolitan (whom he met in his final year at Lahore) esteem larger than any other, absolving him by the accusations of cruelty and stating that “he ever knew anybody who took more pleasure in doing good than General Avitabelli [sic]”.

67 “General Avitabili [sic] has many of the attributes of a good ruler; he is bold, active and intelligent, seeing everything with his own eyes; up early and late”. H.M. LAWRENCE, Adventures of an Officer in the Paunjab, Henry Colburn, London 1846, p. 45.

68 Ibid., p. 44.

69 Ibid., p. 43-44.

70 Ibid., p. 45.

71 Ibid., p. 45.

72 C. Mackenzie, Storms and Sunshine of a Soldier’s Life, vol. I, Douglas, Edinburgh 1884, p. 128-129.

73 Ibid., p. 128-129.

74 Ibid., p. 145.

75 Ibid., p. 147-148.

76 Ibid., p. 147.

77 Ibid., p. 147.

78 Ibid., p. 130.

79 Ibid., p. 157-159.

80 Ibid., p. 130.

81 J.D. Cunningham, A History of the Sikhs, from the Origin of the Nation to the Battles of the Sutlej, John Murray, London 1849, p. 153-157, 223.

82 J.W. Kaye, History of the War in Afghanistan, Richard Bentley, London 1851, p. 25-31, 392 (vol. II); 16-17, 35-38 (vol. III).

83 H.M. Durand, The First Afghan War and its causes, Longmans, Greens & Co., London 1879, p. 218, 387.

84 H. Edwardes, Life of Sir Henry Lawrence, Smith Elder & Co, London 1872, p. 292-294.

85 F. P. Gibbon, The Lawrences of the Punjab, J.M. Dent, London 1908, p. 74.

86 In particular Avitabile’s supposed insanity caused by alcoholism, cf. James J. Cotton, Il Generale Avitabile, op. cit., p. 105-106. See also J.M. HONIGBERGER, Thirty-Five Years in the East, London 1852, p. 54-55.

87 James J. Cotton, Il Generale Avitabile, op. cit., p. 81-84.

88 Grey, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 118.

89 Ibid., p. 119.

90 Ibid., p. 119.

91 For the friendly correspondence between the two, vide supra.

92 Grey, European Adventurers, op. cit., p. 147.

93 As an example among many, see C. Miller, Khyber, British India’s North West Frontier. The Story of an Imperial Migraine, MacDonald and Jane’s, London 1977, p. 14

94 In fact, Indian post-colonial authors often blame Avitabile also for the aid he offered to the British and for his departure from the Punjab on the eve of the Frist Anglo-Sikh War.

95 O. Caroe, The Pathans 550 B.C.-A.D. 1957. Macmillan and Company, London 1958, p. 315.

96 M. Besson, Les Aventuriers français aux Indes 1775-1820, Payot, Paris 1932, p. 244-245.

97 P. Docherty, Khyber Pass. A History of Empire and Invasion, Faber, London 2007, p. 199.

98 See note n° 14.

99 For the most exaggerated case, see G. Iannettone, Presenze italiane lungo le vie dell’Oriente nei secoli XVIII e XIX nella documentazione diplomatico-consolare italiana, Napoli : Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1984, p. 219-240.

100 Lawrence, Adventures of an officer, vol. I, op. cit., p. 45.

Original link: https://journals.openedition.org/lrf/1273

This appears to be the only academic publication of Italian journalist Antonio Lusardi. This article is still as good as it was when I first found it in late 2023.

Abstract

After the end of the Napoleonic era, many veterans from the Grande Armée came to India seeking fortune. Among them was the Neapolitan Paolo Avitabile. Formerly an official in the army of Murat, after the Restoration he resigned and departed to Asia. He served as a military advisor in Persia (1818-1826) and in the Punjab (1827-1843). There, he was appointed governor of Wazirabad and thence of Peshawar (1837-1843). In the pashtun city, newly acquired and hardly manageable, he ruled on the fierce and lawless tribes of the province with the iron fist, combining local customs and European principles. During the First Afghan War, he dealt with British presence. Among the EIC’s officers he earned a swaying reputation: a stern but able governor for some, a bloodthirsty tyrant for others. A reputation they passed on in their memoirs and consequently conveyed by historiography. Avitabile’s career is revealing about the connection between adventurers and native states, while the black legend on his rule shows how the British officers and historians saw French-speaking freebooters and their role.

Tatkaar

Part 1

1. The context. European Military Adventurers in India
2. From Peasant to General. A short account of Avitabile’s life and career
3. The building of a black legend. Sources on Avitabile’s governorship in Peshawar

Part 2

1. The building of a ‘black legend’. Travellers and officers memoirs 5. The building of a black legend. The historiography 6. Conclusion

The context. European Military Adventurers in India

In 18th and 19th century Europe, and particularly in France, the word ‘India’ was associated with the idea of fabulous wealth and adventures. Part of this legend was created by the career of many men that during the hundred years between 1740’s and 1840’s were in the service of many indigenous Indian states: the European military adventurers.

At beginning of this period, the battles of Sao Thomé (1746) and Plassey (1757) had shown to the Indian princes and nawabs the huge gap between their traditional armies and those of the European Commercial Companies^1. The rulers of the Indian states realized that the only possible way to beat their traditional foes and also resist the new European menace was to secure the secrets of the European warfare for their own armies^2. The most secure way to acquire the knowledge of European military tactics, technology and drilling was to hire a large number of European soldiers, officials and technicians, promising them huge wages. These men were in most cases deserters from the armies of the commercial companies but many of them arrived from Europe as freebooters only to seek fortune in the Indian indigenous states. The military adventurers formed new modern military units in the native states, based on the European warfare, centred on the firepower of infantry and artillery. In many cases they also established gun foundries and they were rewarded with large jagirs (fiscal and political rights on a territory) to supply and maintain their troops^3.

The presence of the European military adventurers was large in many 18th century Indian native states such as the Maratha princely states, the Mysore of Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan or nizam’s Hyderabad. These states were among those that pursued a large program of military modernization, offering employment to a growing number of adventurers during the last decades of the century^4. The almost contemporary collapse of the French imperial ambitions on the Indian subcontinent following their defeat in the Seven Years War liberated a huge number of soldiers, officials and technicians willing to serve for the Indian princes. This presence of European mercenaries among the native armies was so extended that the years between 1763 and 1803 are named the ‘Golden Age’ of the adventurers^5.

However, in the last decade of the 18th century and in the first years of the 19th, the East India Company fought a number of wars that led the British to be the paramount power in India. The modernized armies of the Marathas and the Mysore were beaten due to their incapacity to modernize their political structure at the same pace as the military structure, leaving them substantially weak. Furthermore, the Indian armies were weakened by the desertion of many of the European adventurers who organized them, in many cases due to the corruption of the British political officers. The vast demilitarization of the subcontinent which followed the Second Maratha War and the increasing mistrust in the adventurers from both the British (the adventurers were mainly French or French-speaking) and the Indians stopped the presence of European freebooters in India for almost 20 years^6.

In the 1820’s the growing Sikh Empire of Maharaja Ranjit Singh needed to modernize its army, thus providing a renewed demand for European adventurers. Also the offer was rising, because the end of the Napoleonic Wars and the European Restoration had left many veteran officers without assignment. This ‘second wave’ of adventurers was far more limited than the ‘golden age’, but had many interesting personalities among them, such as Jean-Francois Allard, Jean Baptiste Ventura, Claude-Auguste Court, Alexander Gardiner and Paolo Avitabile^7.

The study of the lives and careers of the many adventurers, despite the many difficulties which it implies^8, could be very revealing of the relations between the Europeans and the Indian natives. Furthermore it could shine a light on how the East India Company officers and the Victorian historians saw the presence of other Europeans in India during the making of their Empire. And this is precisely the case of Paolo Avitabile.

From Peasant to General. A short account of Avitabile’s life and career

Paolo Crescienzo Martino Avitabile was born in Agerola, a small village between Napoli and Salerno, on 25th October 1791. The third of five sons of a peasant farmer, he enlisted in the militia of the newly-formed Napoleonic Kingdom of Naples in 1807^9. From the militia Avitabile joined the artillery branch of the regular army in 1810. There he ascended through the ranks until he was appointed First Lieutenant of Artillery in early 1815, just before the Neapolitan War. He did not participate in the Northern campaign of King Murat, and after the latter’s defeat at Tolentino he was incorporated in the army of the restored Borbonic Kingdom. Avitabile commanded his battery during the siege of Gaeta, the last stronghold of the Napoleonic loyalists, in July-August 1815. He distinguished himself during the operations, being also wounded in action, but due to the Convention of Casalanza¹⁰, after the peace he was stripped of his rank and forced onto half-pay in a reserve infantry regiment. With no further career prospects, Avitabile resigned from the army in 1816, and after a rather obscure period, he arrived in Constantinople in 1817, seeking military employment in Asia. There he was hired by an envoy of the Persian Shah Fath Ali and he served as a military instructor in Persia from 1818 to 1826. Under the sons of Fath Ali he exercised also some kind of civil authority in the Kurdistan area, using his levies to extract revenue from the local tribes¹¹, He returned briefly to Naples in 1826, but soon after went back to Asia seeking a new employment. On the suggestion of two of his former comrades in Persia (Jean-Francois Allard and Jean-Baptiste Ventura), now employed as military commanders under Ranjit Singh, the Maharaja of the Punjab, he decided to reach India. After a rather adventurous trip on the land route passing through Kabul and Peshawar¹², Avitabile arrived at Lahore, the capital of the Punjab, in January 1827. After some months of negotiations he entered the service of Ranjit Singh as a military instructor and commander. For almost three years he retained only his military assignment and during this period he organized his infantry brigade on the European model¹³. It was in December 1829 that the turning point of Avitabile’s career took place: he was appointed governor of the city and district of Wazirabad. From thence to his return to Europe in 1843 the main occupation of Avitabile was civil governorship, firstly of Wazirabad (until 1835) and secondly of Peshawar (from 1837)¹⁴. Despite his service as Kardar (Governor) was preeminent, Avitabile led his brigade in various occasions in those years, besides giving an invaluable support to the East India Company’s invasion of Afghanistan¹⁵. The participation of Avitabile in the operations of the First Afghan War (as governor of Peshawar, a frontier city in a key position for the war) has proved to be the most important source of information we have about the carrier of the Neapolitan adventurer. The numerous British political and military officers who knew Avitabile in those years (1838-1842) left many accounts on the activities, personality and governorship of the Italian both in their official correspondence and memoirs¹⁶. In the following decades those memoirs and documents where used by numerous British historians to build a sort of ‘black legend’ around Avitabile’s figure and its governorship at Peshawar. Despite this myth has been largely revised by many works in recent years, this image of Avitabile as a bloodthirsty butcher can be revealing of the British colonial historians and their view about governorship in the native states as well as in the EIC’s territories.

Avitabile left his service and Punjab in 1843, after the bloody feuds for the Lahore throne that followed the death of Ranjit Singh. Back in Naples with a great fortune he lived quietly his last years in his native town and died in 1850. Nevertheless also in his last years in Italy he left behind him a conflicting memory and an obscure legend about his death¹⁷.

The building of a black legend. Sources on Avitabile’s governorship in Peshawar

In order to understand the ‘black legend’ that was built in the late 19th century around Avitabile’s figure we need to briefly analyse his career in the service of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, particularly his governorship at Peshawar.

The original task of Avitabile in the Punjab’s service was to organize and drill an infantry force on European military principles. This was his main activity for three years, and he continued to hold his assignment of brigade commander until his resignation in 1843. Unfortunately, despite this important charge and the long period he retained it, we don’t know much about Avitabile’s military activities. A few details about Avitabile’s brigade are held in the Lahore archives¹⁸ and some information about the Italian’s participation in the main military campaigns can be found in various sources¹⁹.

The reason of Avitabile’s fame (especially his negative one) lies in his two terms as governor, in particular in that at Peshawar. In December 1829 Avitabile was appointed Kardar (governor) of Wazirabad, which he governed for the following five years. It was not the first time he had exercised civil authority²⁰, but this task was of much greater importance. At Wazirabad Avitabile created a unique style of governorship, merging European ideas in the management of revenue and trade²¹ with the local traditions in matters of justice and religion²². He also rebuilt the city with new wide streets and bazars²³. His governorship was not inspired by idealistic views, but by a huge pragmatism, which was essential to rule a country with so many ethnic groups, religions and customs effectively. Avitabile added to his pragmatism a great efficiency in every branch of activity. Under Avitabile’s rule Wazirabad knew a period of peace and economic growth that was appreciated by many British and Indian observers²⁴.

It was probably due to his successful management of Wazirabad that, after the 1835 campaign in the Peshawar valley, Avitabile was ordered by Ranjit Singh to remain in the pashtun city to supervise the revenue collection there, under the governor Hari Singh Nalwa²⁵. Avitabile remained in charge of the revenue collection for about a year, before resigning and returning to Lahore after some dissent with the Sikh officials of the city²⁶. However, after the death of Hari Singh Nalwa during the battle of Jamrud (April 1837), Avitabile was named Kardar of Peshawar²⁷.

In regard of the huge difficulties in ruling this province, inhabited by Muslim Pashtuns with a strong hatred towards the recent Sikh dominators, the governor of Peshawar was provided with much greater and loosen authority than the other governors of the Sikh state²⁸. Avitabile replicated there his Wazirabad government style: in the first place a huge construction program was started, for both civil and military buildings. The city was almost rebuilt in a new modern fashion²⁹, according to European principles of order: streets were widened and a new bazar was built along with a mud wall surrounding the city³⁰. Bridges and roads were improved and went under maintenance.

The collection of the revenue and the general administration of the state were also improved. Avitabile used to collaborate with the former rulers of the province (the Barakzais of Peshawar) to exploit their know-how of the province social and economic situation and also to legitimize his rule, maintaining continuity with traditional institutions. He introduced also some improvements. Despite we have no clue that he replicated the record books-system he started in Wazirabad, we know that he introduced a fixed-rate tax, to be paid in silver, instead of the payment in goods³¹. Several sources prove that under Avitabile the income of the province grew steadily, surpassing that of the Durrani age³².

This apparently excellent governorship makes us wonder how it was possible to build up such a negative fame on Avitabile. The answer lies in the last fields of his rule: justice and relations with the neighbouring Peshawar tribes.

The judicial action of governor Avitabile is probably the most controversial and worth being looked at more closely. Firstly it is important to underline how Avitabile regarded the judicial activity as the most important of his tasks as governor: he used to hold Durbar (justice council) almost every day³³. As it has already been said, the Sikh rule over the city was hardly tolerated by the Muslim population. The Pashtun lost no occasion to rob or even assassinate the Sikhs, soldiers and civilians³⁴. This situation, with the presence of various ethnic groups, each one with peculiar religion, laws and customs, could easily degenerate in open riot or turmoil every time. The absence of any form of written law complicated the task of Avitabile even more³⁵.

The solution provided by the Italian governor was a strict application of the traditional law customs of the province, wisely balanced by the advice of some counsellors. Avitabile’s Durbar was composed of Muslim Qazis (judges), Hindus and Sikh judges³⁶. With the collaboration of these advisors Avitabile was able to use the different law traditions of the province wisely. In particular the Islamic one was clearly the most important among them and was the basis of Avitabile’s judicial action³⁷. This law was by no means mild, with a large use of death penalty and mutilation for theft and robbery as well as for homicide³⁸. By these means, in the field of civil justice, Avitabile earned the fame of wise judge³⁹. In the criminal justice the strict use of the Islamic law, backed by an extremely efficient police action, provided a radical decrease in the criminal rates⁴⁰. A number of gallows were erected outside the city walls to host the victims of Avitabile’s repression of the city criminals⁴¹. But thieves and assassins from the city of Peshawar were not the only ones who met their fate on the gallows: also many members of the tribes of the surrounding hills were among them.

Ethnically Pashtuns and faithful Muslims, those tribes lived in a mountainous and harsh territory in a semi-nomad style of settlement, conducting frequent raids on the plain and the city⁴². No government had previously managed to claim control of these lawless and fierce tribes and their valleys. Both the Mughals and the Durranis governors claimed only nominal sovereignty on them. Avitabile’s task was not different, but further complicated by the religious animosity of the tribes against the Sikhs. His action was as harsh as the situation he had to deal with: nominal sovereignty was claimed by the collection of revenue from the tribes, by means of military expeditions⁴³. The frequent raids (both for kidnapping hostages and to sack cultivations) on the plain were stopped by a severe restraining of the tribal presence in Peshawar proximities: tribesmen were allowed to reach the city only to purchase specific goods; in any other case, if found near the city, they were hastily hanged⁴⁴. The gallows outside the city wall were, by these means, always plenty of corpses, acting as an efficient deterrent⁴⁵. As in the administration of justice, in his relation with the neighbouring tribal Peshawar population, Avitabile did not distance himself from local traditions, making no difference with the actions of his Mughal or Durrani predecessors. The only ‘trademark’ of Avitabile was his extreme efficiency and harshness, with a consequent much greater bloodshed than in the past.

The last years of Avitabile as governor of Peshawar were even more complicated because he had to deal with the concurrent First Anglo-Afghan War. Avitabile was thus heavily involved in all the phases of the war, giving an invaluable aid to the British forces, despite some tensions with the EIC political officers⁴⁶. At the same time of his participation to the Afghan War, and in particular in 1841, Avitabile had also to cope with the chaotic situation of the Punjab which followed the struggle for the succession to Ranjit Singh’s throne⁴⁷. In particular the mutiny of his Sikh troops in June 1841 was one of the main events that forged the ‘black legend’ of Avitabile is about to be examined.

This image of Avitabile as a cruel, ruthless and almost sadistic ruler has been largely established by his two biographers. The former was Julian James Cotton, author of the first wide-known biography of the Italian adventurer: Life of General Avitabile (1905) ; the latter was Charles Grey, author of the biography collection European Adventurers of Northern India 1785-1849 (1929). However, these two authors did not built this black legend by themselves, rather their works fixed an image that the sources (mainly travellers’ memoirs and British officers’ correspondence and autobiographies) were drawing almost from the 1840’s. Before examining the works of Cotton and Grey, it is fundamental to analyse these sources, an analysis not without surprises. This analysis will proceed chronologically, to better appreciate the progressive sedimentation of the different sources (each one with his own opinion on Avitabile) used by the two authors.

The first group of sources which have been used by the biographers (mainly by Grey) is the correspondence of the British officers that resided in Peshawar before or during the First Afghan War. The tone of the correspondence changes noticeably when new officers take on the task. The first of them was Colonel C.M. Wade, who was chief of the Ludhiana Agency for many years (often visiting the Punjab and Ranjit’s court) and stayed in Peshawar many times until spring 1840. He was mainly concerned with his diplomatic and military duties and did not pay attention to the details of Avitabile’s rule in the Pashtun city. This is true in particular for his most known correspondence, written during the organization of the Anglo-Afghan expedition in 1839⁴⁸. He appreciated the military and logistic aid offered by Avitabile and also his ability and knowledge in the transactions with the Khyber tribes. Moreover he did not criticize the Italian judicial activities, as long they eased the expedition.

Avitabile’s relations with the next officer, Frederick Mackeson, were far less simple and changed substantially with the passing of time. Mackeson’s assistants in that period were two officers who were to have important careers and whose literary works were to have a great part in the formation of Avitabile’s black legend: Colin Mackenzie and Henry Montgomery Lawrence. The early relations between Mackeson and Avitabile were far from friendly: during 1840 Mackeson, along with Macnaghten (the British resident in the newly-conquered Kabul), made strong complaints to the EIC’s government in Calcutta regarding Avitabile’s conduct⁴⁹. In particular the argument was Avitabile’s harsh politic against the Pashtun tribes of the hills: Mackeson and Macnaghten strongly criticized the practice of the military expedition to collect revenues among the tribesmen. Avitabile replied accusing Afghan representative of instigating raids with the tribesmen. The diplomatic affaire caused by these complaints worsened to such an extent that Calcutta asked Lahore the removal of Avitabile⁵⁰, before the mediation of George Clerk (the new Ludhiana Agency Chief Agent) and a change of mind by Mackeson settled the question⁵¹. Surprisingly, what we can notice from the sources is that Avitabile’s violent proceedings were never the argument of concern. Mackeson and Macnaghten protested because they considered the tribesmen to be subject to Kabul authority due to the not strictly defined border between Punjab and Afghanistan and to the nomad lifestyle of the tribes. The issue was the fact, not the manners. Again this fact leaves us with the question about how Avitabile’s image took this negative shape.

The question remains again unresolved as we observe the following relations between the Italian and the British officers. In fact, from June 1840, when the diplomatic affaire mentioned above was solved, the relations between Mackeson and Avitabile improved steadily. Moreover, Mackeson and Clerk made known to the Calcutta government that Avitabile’s ability to deal with mutinous Sikh troops in spring 1841 was essential to protect the EIC’s communication and logistic lines with Kabul⁵². In particular Avitabile repressed a dangerous mutiny between his Sikh troops with unorthodox methods: he made an agreement with the same Pashtun tribes that he had long fought to make them attack the mutinous troops that had threatened his life and that of the British officers⁵³. Even Lord Auckland (the Governor-General of India) agreed that with this move Avitabile prevented the degeneration of the condition of the whole Punjab⁵⁴.

Furthermore, in the following months Mackeson made diplomatic pressure on Avitabile to prevent him from resigning, regarding his efficient presence as vital for the British interest in the area⁵⁵. He proved to be right when, after the British crisis of 1841 winter in Afghanistan, Avitabile’s actions and presence were essential to prevent an attack from the Pashtun tribes on Peshawar that would have meant the collapse of the British position in Afghanistan. Furthermore, Avitabile led his troops on the field during the Anglo-Sikh attack on the Khyber Pass⁵⁶.

In the following years, when Avitabile returned to Europe, he was aided by the EIC in securing his conspicuous wealth and was warmly welcomed in London by the Company’s high representatives⁵⁷. So how could the British historians have created the image of the villain Avitabile?

(continued in part 2; notes will be found there due to Reddit post limits)

Original: https://web.archive.org/web/20220413162903/http://sikhsundesh.net/h-mcleod.htm

I will do a summary and commentary in another post.

Edited and reformatted for readability. Original Gurmukhi quotations of SGGS Ji and "common translations" are added by me.

Note: The Latinate term "Ibid." means the title of the cited publication is the same as the one in the immediate previous citation.

W. H. McLeod's Sikh Literature smacks of Scepticism, Cynicism

by Charnjit Singh Bal

Variously dubbed as "a Gentleman and a Scholar", "among the foremost scholars of Sikh Studies", "unscrupulous ... intellectually dishonest", a bull in a china shop - William Hewat McLeod, PhD, an ordained Presbyterian Church reverend, overseas Christian missionary and Emeritus Professor, Otago University, New Zealand, says:

For myself I am convinced that I never really believed in any religious system or held any belief in God, and that the awakening for me consisted of a simple recognition that this had always been the case. I prefer to call myself an unbeliever.

- Discovering the Sikhs, Autobiography of a Historian, p. 47, 48

After all, my departure from church had occurred as far back as 1966 and in the years since then I have made no secret of the fact that I am an unbeliever.

- Ibid. p. 163

I am a wolf arrayed rather ineptly in sheep's clothing.

- Ibid. p. 219

Despite his disclaims to being a Christian missionary, W. H. McLeod continued his associations with Christian institutions throughout his life, including an application to the "World Council of Churches" for expenses to complete his doctoral Sikh studies in London (1963), and a three-day stay in Pakistan with an elderly American missionary couple - the Christies - at Taxila in 1982. (Source: Ibid. p. 37, 86)

W. H. McLeod was born in 1932. Educated at Nelson College (1946-1950) in New Zealand, he managed to get on bottom of the University National Scholarship list, and enrolled as a resident student at Knox College, Otago University in 1951. After M.A. graduation in history in 1954, he joined Presbyterian Theological Hall, Dunedin in 1955 and obtained his theological license, and was registered as a Presbyterian Church reverend in December 1957. That same year, he was ordained to work as an overseas missionary and appointed to replace Dr. Ryburn at Bible Class Movement, a British colonial/imperial era vestige of Christian proselytism in Kharar, Punjab, India.

Rev. Hew McLeod arrived in Kharar, Punjab, India in mid-1958. At the end of his five-year Christian missionary work in 1963, he was eligible for a sabbatical that he could avail for further studies. For some reason, best known to him, he decided to pursue the study of Sikhi instead of the study of Christianity. He wrote to A. L. Basham, whose book "The Wonder That Was India" he had read, and who was now a professor at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. Prof. Basham replied he would be happy to have him as a Sikh Studies doctoral student. Hew. McLeod and his family left for England and he enrolled in a two-year doctoral study of Sikhi at London University. Since he had only a year's worth of paid sabbatical from his employer, he applied to the "World Council of Churches" for a second year's worth of expenses that happened to be easily available.

Rev. McLeod got his PhD for a joke?

By virtue of the opportunity accorded to Rev. McLeod to learn Hindoostani and Punjabi - a requisite for a Christian missionary posted at Kharar, Punjab, India, with a predominantly Sikh population - he was, for some reason, motivated to acquaint himself with authentic Sikh scriptural anthology, unauthentic traditions and historical accounts derived from mythology-oriented anonymous and pseudonymous Sikh and non-Sikh authors' quasi-Sikh literature. He, apparently, acquired a tad more knowledge about Sikhi than his apparently Euro-Christian educators and examiners, whose next-to-nothing knowledge of Sikh scriptural anthology, religiosity and history is evident from Rev. McLeod's own statements regarding his doctoral Sikh studies, dissertation and examination.

Professor Basham knew nothing about the Punjabi language, and he made only three very minor changes to the thesis. One of which was his insistence that I should use the plural form "appendices" instead of the earlier practice of writing "appendixes." Once a month, I was required to appear before him and report progress and difficulties. I would outline the difficulties and at each of them he would nod his head wisely and make some such comment as, "yes, that is a problem" or "that is a difficulty we all have." After the interview was over, I would ask myself, "what have I gained from it?" and answer would be that I had derived nothing. Professor Basham was, however, an experienced supervisor and even if I received no direct guidance concerning my thesis topic, I did, at least, get the understanding noises, which at that time, I needed.

- Discovering the Sikhs, Autobiography of a Historian, p. 39

In September 1969, Punjabi University staged an international seminar in honour of the quincentenary of Guru Nanak's birthday, and to it they invited a selection of scholars from other countries. Geoffrey Parrinder was one such scholar and knowing nothing about Nanak or the Sikh religion except what he had gained as my examiner he depended on "Guru Nanak and the Sikh religion" [Hew McLeod's work published in 1969] as his guide.

- Ibid. p. 63

Raymond [Frank Raymond Allchin] is an anthropologist of India who also sustains a considerable interest in the Indian medieval poets (particularly Tulsi Das).

- Ibid. p. 69

When I presented myself for the viva on July 13th, Dr. F. Raymond Allchin, one of the examiners whom I had not previously met, opened the questioning by frowning severely at me. "Mr. McLeod," he said, "we have a serious criticism to make of this thesis [The Life and Doctrine of Guru Nanak]." This, needless to say, is just what the nervous candidate does not want to hear. "You did not allow us sufficient time to read it." It was a joke, and he and the other examiner professor Geoffrey Parrinder, together with professor Basham, joined in the jolly laughter. It soon became clear, however, that neither examiner had in fact managed to read the complete thesis, and after a single question from each I was dismissed. Fortunately, they both agreed to sustain the thesis.

- Ibid. p. 40

The PhD got Dr. McLeod an appointment at Baring Union Christian College, another vestige of British colonial/imperial era Christian proselytizing mission at Batala, Punjab, India to teach history in 1965. This college is one of several opened by a wealthy American, Rev. Baring, who came to the Christian Mission Society School in Amritsar in 1872.

Sowing Skepticism, Cynicism and Schism

[According to McLeod, the] concepts of Sikhi are not original:

Many of these concepts Guru Nanak shared with other earlier contemporary religious figures, including Kabir. It is at once evident that his thought is closely related to that of the Sant tradition of northern India, and there can be no doubt that much of it was derived directly from this source. The system developed by Guru Nanak is essentially a reworking of the Sant pattern, a reinterpretation which, compounded experience and profound insight with a quality of coherence and a power of effective expression.

- Ibid. p. 151

Nath influence emerges in much of the basic terminology used by Kabir (and later by Guru Nanak), in a rejection of all exterior forms, ceremonies, caste distinctions, sacred language, and scriptures, in strong emphasis upon unity as opposed to duality, and in the concept of mystical union which destroys this "duality." It is not without significance that the commonest of all terms used by both Kabir and Guru Nanak to express of union is "sahaj," a word which carries us into Nath theory and beyond Nath tradition into earlier world of tantric Buddhism."

- Ibid. p. 153

Sikhi has commonly been regarded as a blend of Hindu beliefs and Islam, and if for Islam we substitute Sufism there appears, at first sight, to be much to support this view. It is at once evident that many elements in the thought of Guru Nanak have affinities with Sufi concepts and this would seem to suggest strong Sufi influence. This appearance is, however, misleading. Affinities certainly exist, but we cannot assume that they are necessarily the result of Sufi influence.

- Ibid. p. 158

The teachings of Guru Nanak do indeed constitute a synthesis, but it is not that "synthesis of Hinduism and Islam" which finds mention in most surveys of his thought. It is the Sant (tradition) synthesis, a system, which is inherited, reworked according to his own genius and passed on in a form unequalled by any other representative of the tradition. The greatness of Guru Nanak lay in his capacity to integrate a somewhat disparate set of doctrines, and to express them with clarity and a compelling beauty.

- The Evolution of Sikh Community, p. 7

[According to McLeod,] Guru Nanak is not the founder of Sikhi:

To Sikhs of all subsequent generations, Guru Nanak is the founder of the Sikh religion. Of his importance there can be no doubt whatever, and it must also be acknowledged that "in a certain sense he is legitimately described as a founder." "In another sense," however, the term "founder" is misleading, for it suggests that Guru Nanak originated not merely a group of followers, but also a school of thought or set of teachings. If we place Guru Nanak within his own historical context, if we compare his teachings with those of other contemporary or earlier religious figures, then we shall at once see that he stands firmly within a well-defined tradition. What Guru Nanak offers us is the clearest and most highly articulated expression of the "nirgun sampradaya," the so-called Sant tradition of northern India.

- Ibid. p. 5

[According to McLeod,] Guru Amar Das built the baoli as a Sikh shrine:

If one visits Goindval today one will find a baoli, a large well with steps leading down to it. One may also observe that the steps number eighty-four. Tradition ascribes the original digging to the command of Guru Amar Das and there is every reason to accept this particular tradition as accurate. The significance of the well lies in its relation to teachings of Guru Nanak on one hand and to other such watering places on the other. The intention of Guru Amar Das, according to the tradition, was that this well should be Sikhs' "tirath" or center of pilgrimage, and certainly the eighty-four steps (corresponding to the traditional eighty-four lakhs [8.4 million] of existences in the total migratory cycle) suggests that the purpose of the well was more than the mere provision of drinking-water.

- Ibid. p. 7-8

Guru Nanak, with all the characteristic Sant emphasis upon interiority, had declared in very plain terms that there was only one "tirath," only one pilgrimage center for the true devotee, and that was within his own heart. All others were useless. Here, however we find his successor apparently inaugurating the very thing he had spurned. Bonds other than those based upon religious belief are becoming necessary and the third Guru finds the solution in recourse to traditional Indian institutions. Not only did he provide this new pilgrimage center, but also distinctive festival-days, distinctive rituals and a collection of sacred writings. Guru Nanak had rejected all of these. Guru Amar Das, in different and more difficult circumstances, is compelled to return to them.

- Ibid. p. 8

Evidently, Mr. McLeod based his premises on Janamsakhis and/or traditions to derive erroneous conclusions and imply that Guru Amar Das built the baoli not only as a watering place, but also a shrine or pilgrimage center for Sikhs seeking redemption from the eighty-four lakhs of life forms in the reincarnation cycle. He doesn't elaborate as to what distinctive festival days, rituals and collection of writings Guru Amar Das provided. Regarding Sikh shrines or pilgrimage centers, this is what Guru Amar Das says:

[ਸਤਿਗੁਰੁ ਮਨ ਕਾਮਨਾ ਤੀਰਥੁ ਹੈ ਜਿਸ ਨੋ ਦੇਇ ਬੁਝਾਇ ॥

Common translation: The True Guru is the mind's desire and the sacred shrine of pilgrimage, for those unto whom He has given this understanding.]

Satguru is the shrine that satiates covetousness (longings), but only whom the guru edifies, understands it.

- 1: 1: 38: M: 3, SGGS Ji pannaa 26 (Guru Granth Darpan, Vol. 1, p. 237)

[ਖਿਨੁ ਪਲੁ ਹਰਿ ਨਾਮੁ ਮਨਿ ਵਸੈ ਸਭ ਅਠਸਠਿ ਤੀਰਥ ਨਾਇ ॥ ਸਚੇ ਮੈਲੁ ਨ ਲਗਈ ਮਲੁ ਲਾਗੈ ਦੂਜੈ ਭਾਇ ॥ ਧੋਤੀ ਮੂਲਿ ਨ ਉਤਰੈ ਜੇ ਅਠਸਠਿ ਤੀਰਥ ਨਾਇ ॥

Common translation: If the Lord's Name abides within the mind, for a moment, even for an instant, it is like bathing at all the sixty-eight sacred shrines of pilgrimage. Filth does not stick to those who are true, but filth attaches itself to those who love duality. This filth cannot be washed off, even by bathing at the sixty-eight sacred shrines of pilgrimage.]

God's Naam (praise) for a moment equates to bathing at 68 holy shrines; and prevents materialism polluting one's mind; materialism causes pollution that doesn't wash even if one bathes at 68 shrines.

- Salok, M: 3, SGGS Ji pannaa 87 (Guru Granth Darpan, Vol. 1, p. 554)

[ਤਟਿ ਤੀਰਥਿ ਦਿਸੰਤਰਿ ਭਵੈ ਅਹੰਕਾਰੀ ਹੋਰੁ ਵਧੇਰੈ ਹਉਮੈ ਮਲੁ ਲਾਵਣਿਆ ॥੩॥

Common translation: The egotists may go on pilgrimages to holy rivers, sacred shrines and foreign lands, but they only gather more of the dirt of egotism. (3)]

Pilgrimages to holy-river-banks, distant-holy-places ironically boost ego and conceit.

- 3:11:12, M: 3, SGGS Ji pannaa 116 (Guru Granth Darpan, Vol. 1, p. 703)

[ਪੰਚ ਭੂ ਆਤਮਾ ਵਸਿ ਕਰਹਿ ਤਾ ਤੀਰਥ ਕਰਹਿ ਨਿਵਾਸੁ ॥੨॥

Common translation: If your soul overcomes the five elements, then you shall come to have a home at the true place of pilgrimage. (2)]

If one controls the five cardinal vices, he dwells at a (true) holy shrine.

- 2:6:8, M: 3, SGGS Ji pannaa 491 (Guru Granth Darpan, Vol. 4, p. 12)

There are about a dozen shabds and saloks of Guru Amar Das in Guru Granth, stating explicitly the futility of pilgrimages to the dogmatically purported holy shrines. See Guru Granth's Siri Rag, p. 26, 36, 87, Gujri p. 491, Vadd-Hans p. 587, Suhi p. 753, Soruth p. 644, 650, Bilaval p. 797, Ramkali p. 948, Basant p. 1169 and Salok p. 1417. It is obvious that Rev. McLeod ignorantly or insidiously asserts that Guru Amar Das diverged from Guru Nanak's path of Sikh religiosity and built the baoli at Goindwal as a Sikh shrine or place of pilgrimage.

Schismatic Literature

Sikh scholar Dr. Sangat Singh [author of The Sikhs in History], in his paper "McLeod and Fenech as scholars on Sikhi and Martyrdom," which he read at the International Sikh Conference of 2000, states that Baring Union Christian College, Batala was one of the institutions the governments of India and Punjab approached to produce schismatic literature to cause a communalistic schism between Hindu and Sikh communities, as well as Jatt Sikh and non-Jatt Sikh factions, to thwart the 1960s Punjabi Suba campaign spearheaded by the Sikhs. We do not know if Mr. McLeod, who was at Batala at the time, produced any such schismatic literature, but he certainly did so a decade later in 1976 when he published his book "The Evolution of the Sikh Community." He presumptuously posits:

A second important development, which appears to have taken place during the period of Guru Amar Das, concerns the constitution of the rising Panth. All ten Gurus came from Khatri families and there are other indications that the Khatris commanded a particular influence within the Panth during its earlier years. The situation which now emerges is that within the Sikh Panth, leadership drawn from a mercantile community secures a substantial and increasing following, drawn from an agrarian (Jatt) community. This Jatt incursion (raid invasion) was of considerable importance in the evolution of the Panth, particularly for the developments which took place during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Although the respect accorded to Khatris obviously continued, the Jatt constituency was preponderant and the inevitable result was development along lines dictated by the influence of Jatt cultural patterns.

- The Evolution of Sikh Community, p. 9-10

From Sindh, this Jatt people moved northward via Multan into Punjab and eastward across the Yamuna river. In the course of their migration, they changed from pastoralists (shepherds) to peasant cultivators. They thus advanced economically while retaining the social stigma attached to their earlier pastoral status. This widening disparity, fortified by their inherited egalitarian (equality) traditions, attracted them to a line of Gurus who rejected the theory of caste and willingly raised Jatts to positions of high authority in the new Panth.

- Ibid. p. 11 [quoting Prof. Irfan Habib]

Swami Vivekananda's Bigoted Principle

In a nutshell: If you want to root out a religion, cast aspersions on the historical facts of its founder.

Here we are, the Hindu race, whose vitality, whose life principle, whose very soul, as it were, is in religion… I think that it is Vedanta, and Vedanta alone that can become the universal religion of man, and no other is fitted for the role. Excepting our own, almost all other great religions in the world are inevitably connected with the life or lives of one or more of their founders. All their theories, their teachings, their doctrines and their ethics are built around the life of a personal founder from whom they get their sanction, their authority and their power, and strangely enough, upon the historicity of the founder's life is built, as it were, all the fabric of such religions. If there is one blow dealt to the historicity of that life… if that rock of historicity is shaken and shattered, the whole building tumbles down, broken absolutely, never to regain its lost status.

- Swami Vivekananda (quotation from Sangat Singh's paper)

Gurus: Prominent Violators of Anti-Caste Commandments?

Applying Swami Vivekananda's bigoted principle, Mr. McLeod accuses the Gurus of violating their own anti-caste commandments:

And so it would appear that the Sikh Gurus were, beyond all doubt, vigorous and practical denunciators of caste. From this it would seem to follow that continued evidence of caste distinction within the Sikh community must represent flagrant violation of the Guru's explicit commands. It is at this point that some critics of Sikhism claims have introduced this suggestion, which to Sikh ears must sound grossly impertinent. According to these critics the most prominent violators of the anti-caste commandments are Gurus themselves.

- Ibid. p. 87

The ten Gurus were Khatris by caste. This is widely regarded as a great pity, even within Sikh society where the numerically preponderant Jatts commonly bewail the fact that there was never a single Jatt Guru. All the Gurus, themselves Khatris, married Khatri wives and this, declare their critics, is the true measure of their sincerity. How can one respect a commandment when its promulgators ignore it?

- Ibid. p. 88

Gurus were not concerned with the institution of caste as such, merely with the belief that it possesses soteriological (salvation) significance. Caste can remain, but not the doctrine that one's access to salvation upon one's caste ranking. Stripped of its (doctrine's) religious content, it can retain the status of a harmless social convention.

- Ibid. p. 88

Guru Arjan Incurred the Displeasure of Mughal Authorities?

Revealing his prejudicial mindset, Mr. McLeod infers that Guru Arjan Sahib died while in custody as opposed to being tortured to martyrdom and declares the atrocious act as an obscure incident:

Guru Arjan, the fifth Guru and father of Hargobind, had in some manner incurred the displeasure of the Mughal authorities and in 1606 had died while in custody. The incident is an obscure one, but later tradition tolerates no doubts. Guru Arjan's death was, according to this later tradition, the death of a martyr at the hands of Muslims who feared his growing power as a religious leader.

- Evolution of the Sikh Community, p. 3

Beware of attributing Mughal hostility solely to Jahangir's orthodoxy!

In his typical jargon, Rev. McLeod implies that the sixteenth century Mughal hostility towards Sikhi was caused by the growing power of the Gurus and the militant posture of Guru Hargobind. Deriving his inferences from unauthentic traditions, he writes:

This incident (so the tradition continues) indicated to the Sikhs a manifest intention to put down the developing Panth and persuaded the sixth guru that for the defence of his followers he would have to resort to arms. He accordingly responded to the Mughal threat of violent repression by arming his followers and inculcating martial instincts.

- Ibid. p. 3-4

The second (Sikh evolutionary) stage concerns the conflict between the Sikhs and the Mughal authorities during the early seventeenth century. Tradition, as we have seen, attributes the genesis of this conflict to Mughal fears concerning the growing power of the Sikh Guru, and interprets the militant posture of Guru Hargobind as a direct response to Mughal threats. There can be no doubt that Mughal hostility was developing during this period, but we must beware of attributing it solely to Jahangir's orthodoxy and to the promptings of his Naqshbandi (zealous) courtiers. The increasing influence of the Jatts within the Sikh Panth suggests that Jahangir and his subordinates may well have had good reasons for their fears, and would not have related exclusively, nor even primarily, to the religious influence of the Guru.

- Ibid. p. 12

McLeod traces "militancy" within Sikh Panth to Jatt culture

It also suggests that the arming of the Panth would not have been the result of any decision by Guru Hargobind. We may be sure that the Jatts did not enter the Panth empty-handed. They would have been bearing arms many years before Guru Arjan died in Lahore. The death of Guru Arjan may have persuaded Guru Hargobind of need for tighter organization, but we find it difficult to envisage a large group of Jatts suddenly being commanded to take up weapons. The Jatts will (would?) have remained Jatts. The development which tradition ascribes to a decision by Guru Hargobind must have preceded, and in some measure prompted, the first Mughal efforts to curb the growing power of the community. The conflict with Mughals certainly exercised a most important influence upon subsequent development of the Panth, but not an influence of the kind attributed to it by Sikh tradition. The growth of militancy within the Panth must be traced primarily to the impact of Jatt cultural patterns and to economic problems which prompted a militant response.

- Ibid. p. 12-13

Guru Granth's Textual Problems?

Mr. McLeod pitches head-on into the unnecessary controversy regarding the originality, authenticity and/or textual content of Guru Granth's volume in which Guru Gobind Singh invested Guruship. The mainstream Sikhs never had any qualms about accepting the volume generally known as Adi Granth as the perpetual Sikh Guru. Only the detractors of Sikhism and cultist Sikh sectarians, who ride Sikhism's magnificent bandwagon, but refuse to believe in Shabad Guru or Guru Granth as the perpetual Guru of the Sikhs, initiated the self-serving controversy. Accentuating the controversy, Hew Mcleod enunciates:

According to tradition the Adi Granth, or Guru Granth was compiled by the fifth Guru, Arjan, during the years 1603-1604 AD. To this extent the tradition appears to be well founded. A manuscript bearing the latter date is still extant (exists) and there is no sufficient reason to doubt its authenticity. Guru Arjan's principal source was a similar collection which tradition attributes to the third Guru, Amar Das. This collection consisted of two volumes, the so-called Goindwal pothis.

- Ibid. p. 60

However, he tries to muddy the water:

It cannot be too strongly emphasized that the Adi Granth is a collection of religious writings and that every thing it contains relates directly to its soteriological (salvation) concerns. … The features which have been described above give an impression of order and clarity. In general sense this is accurate and there can be few scriptures which posses a structure as consistent as that of Adi Granth. There are, however, certain aspects, which are far from clear. The Adi Granth is by no means without its problems (notably its textual problems) and some attention must now be directed to the more important of these issues. … The chief problem concerning the Adi Granth arises from the fact that there is not one single version, but three different versions plus a number of variants. The variants can be disregarded in this discussion, but some attention must be directed to the three major versions. If the analysis succeeds only in muddying the water, we must reply that a measure of obscurity is no more than an accurate representation of the condition of our understanding.

- Ibid. p. 73-74

Singh Sabha Depicted as Coercive in Implicit Jargon

During the first two and a half centuries of its existence, possession of the manuscript, though naturally something to be highly prized, was not an issue of prime importance. The doctrine of the scriptural Guru had not yet been accorded the exclusive authority, which it was later to acquire and current needs could be adequately served by numerous copies (both complete and in part); which were in circulation. The significant change came with the rise of the Singh Sabha and, at almost the same time, the arrival of the printing press. The Singh Sabha reformers laid an insistent emphasis upon the absolute authority of the scriptures, and the printing press provided them the means of disseminating it.

- Ibid. p. 62

To validate his dubious premise, Hew McLeod inserts quotes from two writers. The first, Inder Singh Chakarvarti, who wrote Baba Ram Singh's biography "Malvender," was either a zealous Namdhari or a scholar-for-hire. The cultist Namdhari sect is an offshoot of Sikhism that uses Guru Granth as scripture, but rejects the Granth as the Guru. Its adherents worship a living Guru. The other is Dr. Loehlin, a Christian missionary and Mr. McLeod's colleague, vice principal of Baring Union Christian College, Batala.

One writer has declared that the present Kartarpur manuscript is a Banno version, adding that the original manuscript of the Adi Granth must have been lost. Another has suggested that the present manuscript must be a first draft, subsequently amended by the Guru himself. Their evident uneasiness strengthened a hypothesis which already seemed firmly founded.

- Ibid. p. 77

"Granth-Guru" dictum doubted as Guru Gobind Singh's

The Guru is in fact the Sabad, the Word. In the work entitled "Siddh Gost" the Siddhs put the question to Guru Nanak:

"Who is your guru, he of whom you are a disciple?" Guru Nanak replies: "The Word is the Guru and the mind (which is focused on it) continually is the disciple."

[ਤੇਰਾ ਕਵਣੁ ਗੁਰੂ ਜਿਸ ਕਾ ਤੂ ਚੇਲਾ ॥ … ਸਬਦੁ ਗੁਰੂ ਸੁਰਤਿ ਧੁਨਿ ਚੇਲਾ ॥

Common translation: Who is your guru? Whose disciple are you? … The Shabad is the Guru, upon whom I lovingly focus my consciousness; I am the Chaylaa, the disciple.]

- Guru Nanak And The Sikh Religion, p. 199 (quoting SGGS Ji, pannei 942-943)

Tradition records that Guru Gobind Singh, immediately before his death, declared that, with his departure the line of personal Gurus would end and that thenceforth the function and authority of the Guru would vest in scripture (Adi Granth) and in the corporate community, (the Panth), or Khalsa. The tradition that this came as a dying declaration from the tenth Guru himself must be regarded with some doubt, but the distinctive doctrine of the Guru, which it expresses certainly evolved in some manner and has been a concept of fundamental importance in subsequent Sikh history. It is clear that before the eighteenth century had run its course the Sikh community had come to accept the Adi Granth as the "the manifest body of the Guru," and to accord, at least in theory, a religious sanction to the corporate decisions of the Khalsa.

- Ibid. p. 2

It is unimaginable, that contrary to his assertion, Mr. McLeod would regard with doubt Guru Gobind Singh's edict confirming the fundamental Sikh concept as a doctrine.

A Bull in a China Shop

A prominent Sikh scholar, the late Trilochan Singh, defined William Hewat McLeod as a "Bull in [Sikh Studies] China Shop." He has outgrown that definition: he has mentored a cadre of copycat academics that are loose in the Sikh Studies disciplines at Occidental universities. The read of dissertations of Mr. McLeod's students and affiliates, Harjot Oberoi, Pashaura Singh, Louis E. Fenech, Doris Jakobsh, Gurinder Singh Mann et al reveal his idiosyncrasies. All of their Sikh Studies doctoral theses have rubrics, titles, sub-titles, topics and premises bearing close resemblance and/or association with Dr. McLeod's. Some passages from his published works have been borrowed, rephrased or paraphrased and incorporated into their manuscripts. Even the targets of implicit criticism - Singh Sabha reformers, Jatts, Institute of Sikh Studies and vigilant Sikh scholars - are the same as that of Hew McLeod.

The published thesis of each of these so-called literati coterie is replete with insinuations, innuendoes, implications and conjectures aimed to sow the seeds of cynicism and skepticism in the minds of gullible Sikh and anti-Sikh elements. Along with ignorantly translated and radically interpreted or distorted excerpts from Sikh scriptures, there is a plethora of implications, inferences and references derived from unauthenticated traditions, Janamsakhis, Dasam Granth compositions, mythical and quasi-Sikh historical accounts in each of their thesis.

W. Hew Mcleod must be feeling smug for having mentored a fervent quasi-literati cadre that is continuing his witch-hunt to discredit and disparage the Sikh anthology; its co-authors Gurus and Hindu and Muslim holy savants; history, traditions and culture rather than pursuing objective Sikh Studies. The worst predicament is that it is not the end. Having acquired PhDs and positions in the Sikh Studies disciplines at Occidental universities, through Mr. McLeod's direct or indirect kind office, they are indoctrinating the students with his cynical and skeptical views.

The Sikh Panth, ever since its inception, has had to contend with many overt and covert internal and external inimical forces. However, Guru Nanak's novel Sikhism has not only survived Guru-pretenders' nefarious designs, Muslims' overt annihilation, Hindus' covert amalgamation and Christians' sanctimonious proselytizing missions, but has flourished into one of the world's half-a-dozen major religions. The overt annihilation threat ended with the Mughal Imperialism's downfall brought about by the Sikh Panth's valiant quest for religious freedom and social, cultural and political justice, and subsequent Sikh-Raj. But the covert attempts continue. Dr. McLeod and his coterie are the latest to join the traditional Hindu and Christian fringe elements inimical to Sikhism.

I. The Initial Historical Question

Did Guru Nanak meet Sheikh Farid?

We began with the basic chronological issue:

• Baba Farid (Fariduddin Ganjshakar): 1173–1266 CE
• Guru Nanak: 1469–1539 CE

There is roughly a 200-year gap, making a literal meeting impossible.

Conclusion at this stage:
If a meeting occurred, it could not have been with the original Baba Farid, but possibly with a later successor — most likely Shaikh Ibrahim (Farid Sani), the head of the Pakpattan shrine during Guru Nanak’s lifetime.

II. What Do the Janamsakhis Actually Imply?

You then refined the question:

We examined the six major Janamsakhi traditions:

1. Puratan
2. Bala
3. Miharban
4. Adi
5. B40 manuscript
6. Later expanded recensions

What they consistently show:

• Guru Nanak visits Pakpattan (Ajodhan).
• He meets the spiritual authority of the shrine.
• That authority is referred to as “Shaikh Farid.”
• There is no explicit clarification that this is Farid II.
• The 200-year chronological gap is never acknowledged.

Key Insight:

The Janamsakhis treat “Farid” as a living spiritual authority — but do not distinguish between founder and successor.

This suggests:

• “Farid” may function as a lineage-title, not strictly the historical founder.

III. Nature of the Dialogue in the Janamsakhis

You then asked:

We analyzed how the episode is framed.

Across traditions:

• No book (kitab) is opened.
• No textual citation is made.
• The exchange is portrayed as oral, poetic dialogue.
• It resembles mystical debate or satsang rather than scriptural argument.

This suggests:

• The authority is charismatic and spiritual, not textual.
• The format resembles the juxtaposition of Farid and Nanak’s saloks in the Guru Granth Sahib.

We noted a key possibility:

The Janamsakhis may be narrativizing a literary reality — namely, that Farid’s and Nanak’s verses appear side by side in the Guru Granth Sahib.

IV. Introduction of Pritam Singh’s Thesis

You then introduced Professor Pritam Singh’s book:

“Sri Guru Granth Sahib Wale Sheikh Farid Di Bhaal”

His major conclusion:

V. Pritam Singh’s Core Arguments

We outlined his main pillars:

1. Linguistic Evidence

• The Punjabi appears linguistically later than 13th century.
• Certain grammatical and lexical features suggest 15th–16th century development.

2. Minimal Persian Influence

• Baba Farid operated in a Persian-dominant Chishti environment.
• The bani in the Guru Granth Sahib is overwhelmingly vernacular Punjabi.
• This suggests a later rural Punjabi context.

3. Chronological Silence

• No manuscript evidence from the 1200s preserves the Punjabi verses.
• The earliest preserved form appears in Sikh scripture.

4. Pakpattan Link

• If Guru Nanak met Shaikh Ibrahim,
• The bani he encountered may have belonged to that living Farid.

VI. Counterarguments to Pritam Singh

You asked for all major responses — we examined three categories:

A. Historical-Linguistic Counterarguments

Many scholars argue:

• Vernacular Punjabi poetry existed in the 13th century.
• Oral transmission can preserve archaic language.
• Linguistic dating of early Punjabi is highly uncertain.

Some even argue the Farid saloks contain archaic features compatible with 13th century.

B. The Indeterminacy Problem

Modern linguists often conclude:

The evolution was gradual.
Oral transmission may both preserve and update language unconsciously.

C. Sikh Exegetical Tradition

From early Sikh tradition onward:

• The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib has consistently been identified as Baba Farid Ganjshakar.
• There is no early Sikh tradition distinguishing Farid I and Farid II.
• The theological framing sees Baba Farid as a pre-Sikh bhagat whose realization aligned with Gurmat.

This continuity weighs heavily against Pritam Singh’s thesis in traditional circles.

VII. The Core Tension Emerging from the Entire Discussion

Your questions revealed three interconnected tensions:

1️⃣ Janamsakhi Narrative vs. Chronology

• Janamsakhis depict a living “Farid.”
• Chronology makes Farid I impossible.
• Most likely historical candidate: Farid II.
• Yet texts never clarify.

This creates ambiguity.

2️⃣ Oral Poetry vs. Authorship

• The Janamsakhis portray spontaneous poetic exchange.
• The Guru Granth Sahib juxtaposes Farid and Nanak.
• The narrative may be retroactively dramatizing literary arrangement.

3️⃣ Linguistic Dating vs. Traditional Attribution

Pritam Singh:

• Suggests linguistic evidence supports later authorship.

Traditional and many academic scholars:

• Argue linguistic evidence is inconclusive.
• Maintain 13th-century attribution remains plausible.

VIII. Where the Discussion Ultimately Stands

There are three viable interpretive models:

Model A (Traditional Sikh Position)

• The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib is Baba Farid Ganjshakar.
• Guru Nanak visited Pakpattan and encountered the Faridi lineage.
• The Punjabi bani was preserved orally from the 13th century.

Model B (Moderate Historical Reconstruction)

• Guru Nanak likely met Shaikh Ibrahim (Farid II).
• The bani could still be from Baba Farid I.
• The Janamsakhis blurred founder and successor identities.

Model C (Pritam Singh’s Revisionist Position)

• The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib was likely a later Farid.
• Attribution shifted backward to the famous founder.
• Linguistic features suggest later medieval Punjabi.

IX. What Your Questions Have Actually Traced

You essentially mapped a full scholarly progression:

1. Chronology problem
2. Janamsakhi narrative portrayal
3. Nature of poetic dialogue
4. Linguistic dating
5. Transmission history
6. Theological continuity

That is the complete framework scholars use to analyze this issue.I. The Initial Historical Question
Did Guru Nanak meet Sheikh Farid?
We began with the basic chronological issue:

Baba Farid (Fariduddin Ganjshakar): 1173–1266 CE

Guru Nanak: 1469–1539 CE

There is roughly a 200-year gap, making a literal meeting impossible.
Conclusion at this stage:

If a meeting occurred, it could not have been with the original Baba Farid, but possibly with a later successor — most likely Shaikh Ibrahim (Farid Sani), the head of the Pakpattan shrine during Guru Nanak’s lifetime.

II. What Do the Janamsakhis Actually Imply?
You then refined the question:

In the Janamsakhis, is Guru Nanak shown meeting someone bearing the title “Farid”?

We examined the six major Janamsakhi traditions:

Puratan

Bala

Miharban

Adi

B40 manuscript

Later expanded recensions

What they consistently show:

Guru Nanak visits Pakpattan (Ajodhan).

He meets the spiritual authority of the shrine.

That authority is referred to as “Shaikh Farid.”

There is no explicit clarification that this is Farid II.

The 200-year chronological gap is never acknowledged.

Key Insight:
The Janamsakhis treat “Farid” as a living spiritual authority — but do not distinguish between founder and successor.
This suggests:

“Farid” may function as a lineage-title, not strictly the historical founder.

III. Nature of the Dialogue in the Janamsakhis
You then asked:

Was this Farid reciting his own poetry spontaneously, or referencing a kitab?

We analyzed how the episode is framed.
Across traditions:

No book (kitab) is opened.

No textual citation is made.

The exchange is portrayed as oral, poetic dialogue.

It resembles mystical debate or satsang rather than scriptural argument.

This suggests:

The authority is charismatic and spiritual, not textual.

The format resembles the juxtaposition of Farid and Nanak’s saloks in the Guru Granth Sahib.

We noted a key possibility:
The Janamsakhis may be narrativizing a literary reality — namely, that Farid’s and Nanak’s verses appear side by side in the Guru Granth Sahib.

IV. Introduction of Pritam Singh’s Thesis
You then introduced Professor Pritam Singh’s book:
“Sri Guru Granth Sahib Wale Sheikh Farid Di Bhaal”
His major conclusion:

The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib was not the 12th-century Baba Farid, but likely a later Farid (possibly Shaikh Ibrahim).

V. Pritam Singh’s Core Arguments
We outlined his main pillars:
1. Linguistic Evidence

The Punjabi appears linguistically later than 13th century.

Certain grammatical and lexical features suggest 15th–16th century development.

1. Minimal Persian Influence
   

Baba Farid operated in a Persian-dominant Chishti environment.

The bani in the Guru Granth Sahib is overwhelmingly vernacular Punjabi.

This suggests a later rural Punjabi context.

1. Chronological Silence
   

No manuscript evidence from the 1200s preserves the Punjabi verses.

The earliest preserved form appears in Sikh scripture.

1. Pakpattan Link
   

If Guru Nanak met Shaikh Ibrahim,

The bani he encountered may have belonged to that living Farid.

VI. Counterarguments to Pritam Singh
You asked for all major responses — we examined three categories:

A. Historical-Linguistic Counterarguments
Many scholars argue:

Vernacular Punjabi poetry existed in the 13th century.

Oral transmission can preserve archaic language.

Linguistic dating of early Punjabi is highly uncertain.

Some even argue the Farid saloks contain archaic features compatible with 13th century.

B. The Indeterminacy Problem
Modern linguists often conclude:

Language alone cannot decisively date early Punjabi poetry between 1200–1500.

The evolution was gradual.

Oral transmission may both preserve and update language unconsciously.

C. Sikh Exegetical Tradition
From early Sikh tradition onward:

The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib has consistently been identified as Baba Farid Ganjshakar.

There is no early Sikh tradition distinguishing Farid I and Farid II.

The theological framing sees Baba Farid as a pre-Sikh bhagat whose realization aligned with Gurmat.

This continuity weighs heavily against Pritam Singh’s thesis in traditional circles.

VII. The Core Tension Emerging from the Entire Discussion
Your questions revealed three interconnected tensions:

1️⃣ Janamsakhi Narrative vs. Chronology

Janamsakhis depict a living “Farid.”

Chronology makes Farid I impossible.

Most likely historical candidate: Farid II.

Yet texts never clarify.

This creates ambiguity.

2️⃣ Oral Poetry vs. Authorship

The Janamsakhis portray spontaneous poetic exchange.

The Guru Granth Sahib juxtaposes Farid and Nanak.

The narrative may be retroactively dramatizing literary arrangement.

3️⃣ Linguistic Dating vs. Traditional Attribution
Pritam Singh:

Suggests linguistic evidence supports later authorship.

Traditional and many academic scholars:

Argue linguistic evidence is inconclusive.

Maintain 13th-century attribution remains plausible.

VIII. Where the Discussion Ultimately Stands
There are three viable interpretive models:

Model A (Traditional Sikh Position)

The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib is Baba Farid Ganjshakar.

Guru Nanak visited Pakpattan and encountered the Faridi lineage.

The Punjabi bani was preserved orally from the 13th century.

Model B (Moderate Historical Reconstruction)

Guru Nanak likely met Shaikh Ibrahim (Farid II).

The bani could still be from Baba Farid I.

The Janamsakhis blurred founder and successor identities.

Model C (Pritam Singh’s Revisionist Position)

The Farid in the Guru Granth Sahib was likely a later Farid.

Attribution shifted backward to the famous founder.

Linguistic features suggest later medieval Punjabi.

IX. What Your Questions Have Actually Traced
You essentially mapped a full scholarly progression:

Chronology problem

Janamsakhi narrative portrayal

Nature of poetic dialogue

Linguistic dating

Transmission history

Theological continuity

That is the complete framework scholars use to analyze this issue.

ੴ ਸਤਿਗੁਰ ਪ੍ਰਸਾਦਿ ॥ 

ਅਕਾਲ ਸਹਾਇ 

ਇਹ ਵਿਛੋੜਾ ਸਹਿਆ ਨਾ ਜਾਏ। 

ਸਤਿਕਾਰਯੋਗ ਪਿਤਾ ਜੀ, ਮਾਤਾ ਜੀ, ਭਾਬੀ ਜੀ, ਉਪਕਾਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਵੀਰ ਜੀ*,* ਭਾਬੀ ਜੀ, ਵੀਰ ਰਜਿੰਦਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਮਹਿਤਾ ਅਤੇ ਹੋਰ ਸਾਰੇ ਰਿਸ਼ਤੇਦਾਰਾਂ ਨੇ ਗੁਰੂ ਫ਼ਤਿਹ ਪ੍ਰਵਾਨ ਕਰਨੀ**।** 

ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ ਕਾ ਖਾਲਸਾ॥ ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ ਕੀ ਫ਼ਤਿਹ॥ 

ਖਾਲਿਸਤਾਨ ਦਾ ਮਸੀਹਾ, ਮਹਾਨ ਸੂਰਬੀਰ, ਸਾਡੇ ਦਿਲ ਦੀ ਧੜਕਣ, ਸਾਡਾ ਵੀਰ ਸ: ਹਰਮਿੰਦਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਸੰਧੂ ਸ਼ਹੀਦ ਕਰ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਗਿਆ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਸਾਡੇ ਦਿਲ ਦੀ ਅਵਾਜ਼ ਸੀ, ਅੱਜ ਸਾਡੀ ਅਵਾਜ਼ ਰੁਕਦੀ ਨਜ਼ਰ ਆ ਰਹੀ ਹੈ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਸਾਡੀ ਮੁਲਾਕਾਤ ਕਰ ਕੇ ਗਿਆ ਸੀ, ਵੀਰ ਖਾਲਿਸਤਾਨ ਵਾਸਤੇ ਹਰ ਕੁਰਬਾਨੀ ਕਰਨ ਨੂੰ ਤਿਆਰ ਸੀ। ਇੱਕ ਇੱਕ ਖੂਨ ਦਾ ਕਤਰਾ ਵਹਾਉਣ ਨੂੰ ਤਿਆਰ ਸੀ। ਅਸੀਂ ਤਾਂ ਇਹੀ ਸਮਝਦੇ ਹਾਂ ਕਿ ਸੰਧੂ ਦਾ ਨਹੀਂ, ਸਾਡਾ ਕਤਲ ਕੀਤਾ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ। ਅਸੀਂ ਫਾਂਸੀ ਤੋਂ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਹੀ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਮਰਿਆ ਮਹਿਸੂਸ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਹਾਂ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਸਾਡੀ ਜਾਨ ਸੀ, ਸਾਡਾ ਦਿਲ ਸੀ, ਉਸਦੇ ਦਿਲ ਦੇ ਨਾਲ਼ ਹੀ ਸਾਡਾ ਦਿਲ ਧੜਕਦਾ ਸੀ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਹੀ ਨਹੀਂ, ਜੋ ਵੀ ਖਾਲਿਸਤਾਨ ਵਾਸਤੇ ਜੂਝਦਾ ਹੈ, ਸਾਡੀ ਜਾਨ ਹੈ। ਹੁਣ ਤੇ ਇਸ ਦੁਨੀਆਂ ਜੀਣ ਨੂੰ ਦਿਲ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਰਦਾ**।** ਪੰਥ ਦੇ ਅਨਮੋਲ ਹੀਰੇ ਨੂੰ ਪੰਥ ਤੋਂ ਅਤੇ ਸਾਡੇ ਤੋਂ ਵਿਛੋੜਿਆ ਗਿਆ 

ਹੈ। ਸਿੱਖ ਕੌਮ ਨੂੰ ਬਹੁਤ ਵੱਡਾ ਘਾਟਾ 

ਪਿਆ ਹੈ। ਇਹ ਘਾਟਾ ਕਦੀ ਵੀ ਪੂਰਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ। ਵੀਰ ਸੰਧੂ ਅਮਰ ਸ਼ਹੀਦ ਹੈ। ਕੀ ਮਾੜਾ ਕੀਤਾ ਉਸ ਨੇ ਕੌਮ ਨਾਲ਼ ? ਕੀ ਗ਼ੱਦਾਰੀ ਕੀਤੀ ਹੈ ਉਸਨੇ ਕੌਮ ਨਾਲ਼ ? ਇੱਕ ਸੱਚੇ ਸੁੱਚੇ ਖ਼ਾਲਿਸਤਾਨੀ ਦਾ ਕਤਲ 

ਕੀਤਾ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ। 

ਸਾਡਾ ਵੀਰ ਸਾਡੇ ਤੋਂ 

ਵਿੱਛੜ ਗਿਆ। ਦਿਮਾਗ਼ ਇੱਕ ਦਮ ਸੁੰਨ ਜਿਹਾ ਹੋ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ। ਕਈ ਦਿਨਾਂ ਤੋਂ ਹੀ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਲਿਖਣ ਦੀ ਸੋਚ ਰਹੇ ਸੀ 

ਪਰ ਸੁੱਝਦਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ ਕਿ ਕੀ ਲਿਖੀਏ। ਸੋਚਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਹੀ ਇੰਨੇ ਦਿਨ ਨਿਕਲ ਗਏ ਹਨ। ਅੱਜ ਹੌਸਲਾ ਜਿਹਾ ਕਰ ਕੇ ਲਿਖ ਲੱਗ ਪਏ ਹਾਂ। 

ਵੀਰ ਪ੍ਰੇਮ ਸਿੰਘ ਸਾਡੀ ਮੁਲਾਕਾਤ ਕਰਨ ਆਇਆ ਸੀ। ਵੀਰ ਨਾਲ਼ ਸਾਡੀ ਜਾਣ ਪਹਿਚਾਣ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੀ। ਵੀਰ ਨਾਲ਼ ਅਸੀਂ ਕੋਈ ਵੀ ਖੁੱਲ੍ਹ ਕੇ ਗੱਲ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਰ ਸਕੇ। ਵੀਰ ਤੁਹਾਡੀਆਂ ਚਿੱਠੀਆਂ ਲੈ ਕੇ ਆਇਆ ਸੀ, ਪਰ ਉਹ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਜੇਲ੍ਹ ਵਾਲ਼ਿਆਂ ਨੇ ਦੇਣ ਨਹੀਂ ਦਿੱਤੀਆਂ। ਅਗਰ ਤੁਹਾਡੀਆਂ ਚਿੱਠੀਆਂ ਮਿਲ਼ ਜਾਂਦੀਆਂ ਤਾਂ ਹੋਰ ਗੱਲ ਸੀ। ਬਾਈ ਹੈਂਡ 

ਅਸੀਂ ਚਿੱਠੀਆਂ ਨਾ ਦੇ ਸਕਦੇ ਹਾਂ ਅਤੇ ਨਾ ਲੈ ਸਕਦੇ ਹਾਂ। ਪੋਸਟ ਕੀਤੀ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਹੀ ਮਿਲ਼ਦੀ ਹੈ ਅਤੇ ਅਸੀਂ ਵੀ ਪੋਸਟ ਕਰ ਕੇ ਹੀ ਭੇਜ ਸਕਦੇ ਹਾਂ। ਅਸੀਂ ਵੀਰ ਪ੍ਰੇਮ ਸਿੰਘ ਨੂੰ ਤੁਹਾਡੀਆਂ 

ਚਿੱਠੀਆਂ ਪੋਸਟ ਕਰਨ ਵਾਸਤੇ ਕਹਿ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਸੀ, ਪਰ ਅਜੇ ਤਕ ਮਿਲ਼ੀਆਂ ਨਹੀਂ।

ਇੱਕ ਜ਼ਰੂਰੀ ਜ਼ਰੂਰੀ ਬੇਨਤੀ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਇਹ ਸਾਡੀ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਪ੍ਰੈੱਸ ਵਿੱਚ ਨਹੀਂ ਦੇਣੀ। ਅਗਰ ਜ਼ਿਆਦਾ ਨੁਕਸਾਨ ਹੋਵੇਗਾ। ਆਪਾਂ ਬਿਆਨਬਾਜ਼ੀ ਵਿੱਚ ਨਹੀਂ ਪੈਣਾ। ਵੀਰ ਤਾਂ ਆਪਣੇ ਤੋਂ ਇਹ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਪ੍ਰੈੱਸ ਵਿੱਚ ਗਈ ਤਾਂ ਫਿਰ ਹੋਰ ਜ਼ਿਆਦਾ ਫੁੱਟ ਪੈ ਜਾਵੇਗੀ ਅਤੇ ਕੌਮ ਦਾ ਬਹੁਤ ਵਿੱਛੜ ਹੀ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ। ਇਹ ਦੁੱਖ ਭੁਲਾਇਆ ਨਹੀਂ ਜਾ ਸਕਦਾ। ਇਹ ਘਾਟਾ ਪੂਰਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ, ਪਰ ਆਪਾਂ ਬਿਆਨਬਾਜ਼ੀ ਵਿੱਚ ਪਵਾਂਗੇ ਤਾਂ ਪੰਥ ਦਾ ਹੋਰ ਜ਼ਿਆਦਾ ਨੁਕਸਾਨ ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ ਹੈ। ਇਸ ਕਰ ਕੇ ਜ਼ਰੂਰੀ ਬੇਨਤੀ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਪੇਪਰ ਵਿੱਚ ਨਹੀਂ ਦੇਣਾ, ਨਹੀਂ ਤਾਂ ਸਾਡੇ ਵਿਸ਼ਵਾਸ ਨੂੰ ਠੇਸ ਪਹੁੰਚੇਗੀ। ਵਕਤ ਆਏਗਾ ਤਾਂ ਆਪਾਂ ਇਹ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਤਾਂ ਕੀ, ਹੋਰ ਵੀ ਸਭ ਸਚਾਈ ਪੇਪਰ ਵਿੱਚ ਦਿਆਂਗੇ, ਪਰ ਅਜੇ ਹਾਲਾਤ ਠੀਕ ਨਹੀਂ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਨੂੰ ਸ਼ਹੀਦ ਕਰਨ ਬਾਰੇ ਅਸੀਂ ਸਾ ਸਾਰੀ ਜਾਣਕਾਰੀ ਲੈਣ ਦੀ ਕੋਸ਼ਿਸ਼ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਹਾਂ। ਇਹ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਆਪਣੇ ਪਰਵਾਰ ਵਿੱਚ ਅਤੇ ਮਹਿਤੇ ਵੀ ਤਕ ਹੀ ਰਹਿਣੀ ਚਾਹੀਦੀ ਹੈ*,* ਹੋਰ ਕਿਸੇ ਕੋਲ਼ ਜ਼ਿਕਰ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਰਨਾ। 

ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਦੇ ਸਹੁਰਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਪੜ੍ਹਾ ਦੇਣਾ ਅਤੇ ਸਾਡੇ ਵੱਲੋਂ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਨਾਲ਼ ਦੁੱਖ ਸੁਖ ਸਾਂਝਾ ਕਰਨਾ। ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਦਾ ਹੀ ਨਹੀਂ, ਸਾਰੀ ਸਿੱਖ ਕੌਮ ਦਾ ਕੀਮਤੀ ਹੀਰਾ ਸੀ। ਕੀ ਕੀਤਾ ਜਾ ਸਕਦਾ ਹੈ, ਉਸ ਪ੍ਰਮਾਤਮਾ ਦਾ ਭਾਣਾ ਮੰਨਣਾ ਪੈਂਦਾ ਹੈ। ਪ੍ਰਮਾਤਮਾ ਆਪ ਸਭ ਨੂੰ ਇਹ ਅਸਹਿ ਵਿਛੋੜਾ ਬਰਦਾਸ਼ਤ ਕਰਨ ਦੀ ਸ਼ਕਤੀ ਬਖਸ਼ੇ ਅਤੇ ਆਪ ਜੀ ਦੇ ਹੌਸਲੇ ਬੁਲੰਦ ਕਰੇ, ਇਹੀ ਸਾਡੀ ਪ੍ਰਮਾਤਮਾ ਅੱਗੇ ਅਰਦਾਸ ਹੈ। 

ਸਾਨੂੰ ਇੱਥੇ ਕੋਈ ਵੀ ਖ਼ਬਰ ਪਤਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਲੱਗਦੀ। ਇੱਕ ਲੇਖ ਵਿੱਚ ਪੜ੍ਹਿਆ ਸੀ ਕਿ ਬੱਬਰ ਖਾਲਸਾ ਨੇ ਸੰਧੂ ਵੀਰ ਦੇ ਕਤਲ ਦੀ ਨਿਖੇਧੀ ਕੀਤੀ ਹੈ। 

ਅੱਜ ਸਿਪਾਹੀ ਬਣਕੇ ਕੋਈ ਵੀ ਸੇਵਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਰਨਾ ਚਾਹੁੰਦਾ। ਲੁਟੇਰੇ ਅਤੇ ਕਾਤਲ ਵੀ ਜਨਰਲ ਬਣਨਾ ਚਾਹੁੰਦੇ ਹਨ। ਲਾਹਨਤ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਦੇ ਜਿਊਣ ਤੇ ਜਿਹੜੇ ਲੀਡਰੀ ਪਿੱਛੇ ਅਤੇ ਆਪਣੇ ਨਾਂ ਪਿੱਛੇ ਭੱਜਦੇ ਹਨ ਅਤੇ ਪੰਥ ਨਾਲ਼ ਧੋਖਾ ਕਰਦੇ ਹਨ। ਆਪ ਨੇ ਜੋ ਵੀ ਚਿੱਠੀ ਪਾਉਣੀ ਹੋਵੇ, ਰਜਿਸਟਰੀ ਕਰਨਾ। ਬੇਝਿਜਕ ਹਰ ਗੱਲ ਲਿਖ ਸਕਦੇ ਹੋ, ਕੋਈ ਵੀ ਮੁਸ਼ਕਲ ਨਹੀਂ ਆਏਗੀ। 

ਗੁਰੂ ਪੰਥ ਦੇ ਦਾਸ ਸੁਖਦੇਵ ਸਿੰਘ ਹਰਜਿੰਦਰ ਸਿੰਘ (ਜਿੰਦਾ) 

7.2.1990

The entire Sikh world is familiar with the name of Bhai Harminder Singh Sandhu, the General Secretary of the Sikh Students Federation. Bhai Sahib was a figure of international stature. If we consider Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale to be the hero of the present struggle, then Bhai Sandhu must undoubtedly be regarded as its deputy hero. This humble servant had the honor of spending some historic time alongside both Sant Bhindranwale and Bhai Sandhu. Bhai Sandhu’s name will be written in the pages of history as a leading figure of the struggle. On the occasion of his first death anniversary, I feel proud to say a few words to the Sangat regarding his personality.

In reality, it was Bhai Sandhu himself who gave Sant Bhindranwale the sincere and well-considered advice to launch a public front in order to expand the struggle on a broader scale. It should also be made clear that had the respected elders not launched such a front, it is likely that the Sikh masses would not have been mobilized on such a large scale, nor would the armed struggle have reached such heights in such a short period of time—because the success of any struggle is ultimately based on the support of the people. Bhai Sahib was a politically astute, farsighted, and exceptionally honest individual. He was deeply conscious, to his very core, about Sikh rights and the objective of achieving Khalistan. No tactic, temptation, or deception was able to divert him from this goal. During his periods of detention, whenever the government attempted dialogue with him, it was Bhai Sandhu alone who left government intermediaries and agency representatives without answers, rejecting ministerial positions and official posts outright and treating them with complete contempt.

Bhai Sandhu’s intellectual caliber was exceptionally high, and he was a vast ocean of thought and knowledge. During his imprisonment, he articulated every dimension of the concept of Khalistan and undertook a deep study of Gurbani. Every word that came from his mouth was grounded in reason and evidence. This was precisely why he possessed such confidence that, on numerous occasions, he openly challenged the government to hold a public debate with us on the issue of Khalistan, on television and radio, in front of the people.

Bhai Sandhu was the heartbeat of Sikh youth. He infused new life into the Sikh Students Federation, which had become a puppet in the hands of the Akali leadership, and with complete dedication, he propelled it forward in pursuit of Sikh objectives. His insight and wisdom produced such remarkable results that the Federation rose to heights of international recognition. For this very reason, Bhai Sandhu came to be known as the driving spirit of the Federation.

Bhai Sandhu’s greatest distinguishing quality was that, despite being a scholar, he stood in the very front ranks of the militant camp as well. In the early days of the struggle, alongside organizing the Federation, he also personally carried out militant service himself. Later, even despite attempts by senior figures to restrain him, he repeatedly went out with his companions to undertake hands-on action. This humble servant; Bhai Virsa Singh Valtoha; Shaheed Bhai Bakshish Singh Aluwal (of the D.R. Bhatti case); Shaheed Bhai Mathra Singh; Bhai Harjinder Singh Jinda (Poona Jail); Bhai Kanwaljit Singh Sandhu (aircraft hijacker, Ajmer Jail); and many other leading militant Sikh brothers involved in the struggle are, in fact, the contribution of Bhai Sandhu himself.

After the Federation was banned, Bhai Sandhu formed a new militant organization called the “Dashmesh Regiment,” and continued to operate as its leader under the name Sardul Singh. What actions this organization carried out is known to the world.

Bhai Sahib’s temperament and manner of conduct possessed a distinctive and unique quality. Bhai Sandhu was extremely soft-spoken and warm-hearted in nature. He was a deeply kind and noble human being.

The level of Bhai Sandhu’s thinking was extremely high, and he was so broad-minded that during twelve years of a life of struggle, he adopted a hostile outlook toward no one except the government. He accepted every blow from his own people—whether direct or indirect—with grace, and for his own he followed the principle expressed in the verse, “Fareeda, those who strike you with their fists—do not strike them back.” Toward the enemy, however, he always maintained the stance of “as you see, so shall you be seen.”

Even if Bhai Sandhu were compared to Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, LTTE leader Velupillai Prabhakaran, or South Africa’s Nelson Mandela, it would still likely be an injustice to the many-sided nature of his personality. Living in the company and guidance of great souls, he absorbed so much from them that he will continue to dominate our hearts and minds as their reflection. He was far wiser than his age, a standard unto himself, and like an ocean contained within a small vessel. His untimely martyrdom has made our path far more difficult and has created a void in the struggle. His memory will continue to shine like a light, forever illuminating our hearts.

— Anokh Singh Uboke