If anyone knows anything at all about Sikhs it is their
martial antecedents. It is usually the
first (and often the only) topic that Sikhs and non-Sikhs touch upon when the
subject is Sikhs or Sikhi.
Their narrative of courage and of Sikhs as warriors is awesome, with few parallels in the annals of mankind; there exist many scholarly and erudite descriptions and analyses of it.
Remember that human and Indian histories are old, their origins lost in antiquity; there really is no “day one" to them. But Sikh history is barely 500 years old; the founder of Sikhi, Guru Nanak, was born only in 1469.
I will not dwell in any detail on the many events of Indian history that might have turned out painfully different but for the sacrifice and martyrdom of Sikhs, even though they never amounted to more than two percent of the burgeoning Indian population.
Here is a small sampling of a few “For instances” that are the stuff of memories and history:
India became independent only in 1947. In its protracted struggle for freedom over two thirds of all Indians who were sentenced to death, imprisonment for life or exile were Sikh.
India’s army, whether under the British or post-independence was always dominated by Sikh soldiers; indeed its officer corps was better than 40 percent Sikh. The two great World Wars claimed over a million Sikh lives in defense of freedom; cemeteries in France, Belgium and Italy bear ample testimony to their courage and sacrifice.
Their awards and haul of Victoria Crosses and other tributes to courage are larger than that of any other people of similar numbers. In their heyday, the British recognized Sikhs as a martial race even though anthropologically they are not and never were a separate race.
Modern India also experienced the indomitable Sikh courage in fighting the British in the 1840’s and in the 1920’s for control of their gurduaras; and fighting different enemies in 1947 and in 1984.
Many of these are contemporary matters that come with rich antecedents that shaped a people. But I leave them to another day. Each demands and deserves a special chapter.
A map of the Indian subcontinent reveals interesting political geography. Its northern border is the Himalayan mountain range, as good a natural and impenetrable barrier as nature could design, and reinforced by India’s triangular rim guarded by the sea. This left only a murky and risky passage through the Khyber Pass into northwest India – connecting Afghanistan and the Middle East with Punjab, the homeland of the Sikhs.
And until the Continental Europeans and the British came in larger numbers by the sea, it was the Khyber Pass that was the inlet for the myriad invaders of India, from the Caucasian-Aryans to the Greeks under Alexander the Great, Mongols, Persians, Afghans, Egyptians Arabs and sundry tribals from the Middle East; they came to conquer and stay, plunder and return or perish.
As Islam entered the mix, a hefty dose of religious tension, friction, fanaticism and intolerance was added to the heady brew of invasions.
Thus invasions of India through the Khyber Pass became, for millennia, an annually recurring theme until Sikhs finally put a stop to it in the early 18th century. I also acknowledge that during the 16th and 17th centuries the Mughal Empire largely curtailed such “across the border” raids.
My thoughts go to the oft-chanted cry “Remember the Alamo” that is now embedded in American ethos and history. There are so many incidents like that in Sikh history – like the siege of Anandpur in the 17th century and the battle of Saragarhi in the 20th. I can do no better than to cite Gary Brecher, a commentator on military tradition, that “Sikh military history is so packed with glorious last stands that George Armstrong Custer would be a smalltime footnote if he'd worn a big turban ...”
Poets and balladeers still sing of the infinite courage and nobility of Sikhs in battle, even when stakes were high and realities on the ground against them. Their foes, even when demeaning them as “dogs,” wrote that Sikhs did not loot civilians or abduct their women; they fought honorably, ministered to a fallen foe; and readily negotiated peace even in the midst of the most horrendous battle. As General Eisenhower reputedly said “What matters in a fight is not the size of the dog but the size of the fight in the dog.” This is courage.
History often turns on a dime.
While we celebrate Sikh heroism amidst unimaginable adversity we often forget that this Sikh military tradition is of relatively recent vintage – less than half a millennium old. If it now appears to be inseparably embedded in our DNA, was it always so?
I understand the biological dictum of “hybrid vigor.” Were the Punjabis of northwest India so fearless because the invaders and their religions met and collided in that part of the world? The seed of courage may have existed in the Punjabi Indian but when, for centuries, marauding invaders succeeded so well in debasing India, even then they were dealing with the same Indians — the same stock — from which the Sikhs later emerged.
Modern biology tells us that not every gene expresses itself fully, automatically or immediately and not every seed flowers or bears fruit that’s of any use.
A nurturing ambiance is equally necessary, and that was the unique contribution of Sikhism. Not just by theoretically teaching was this achieved, but rather by purposeful living was a people taught how to live and die with dignity. And that, to me, is the quintessential message of Sikhism.
In the celebration of awesome Sikh heroism we also overlook the larger meaning of courage — the most fundamental and visible trait of the warrior.
Life asks us to fight many battles. An oft quoted line sometimes ascribed to Guru Gobind Singh goes “man mai(n) har chit mai(n) judh bichharay,” recommending the name of God on the lips and thoughts of war in the heart. To me, it doesn’t promote duplicity in motive or glorification of war; the battlefield recommended here is that of the mind that remains the foremost, never ending battle. I see similarly the exhortation that the Khalsa should fight everyday (…karay nit jung). One only needs to juxtapose these lines with another from Guru Granth that says “Man jeetay jag jeet.” The coward dies a thousand deaths; the brave dies but once. Aisee marni jo maray bahur na marna hoye is the boon to ask and to live so that in the battle of life we may never abandon the field (purza purza cut maray kabhoo na chhaday khet.)
The idea of empowering people started with Guru Nanak. Keep in mind that at that time most Indians were Hindu by religion while the Muslims were politically dominant. Hindu society was divided along rigidly defined lines of caste that allowed no upward mobility and virtually created a whole population of low caste slaves. Islam had, by its military prowess, turned increasingly intolerant and fanatic; simply stated it had become: “Convert to Islam or die.”
How does one create a paradigm shift? How to empower such a disenfranchised people? What is the meaning then of hope, dignity and courage. The times demanded both transformation of the individual as well as nation-building.
Guru Nanak laid the seeds of the revolution of the mind by showing how to speak truth to authority and dedicate oneself to truth. And, quite expectedly, he spent time in jail for it.
A century later, the citadels of power in the Muslim and the Hindu worlds saw their hegemony threatened by Guru Nanak’s message; as a result Guru Arjan was martyred then and Guru Tegh Bahadur another hundred years later. When, in 1699, Guru Gobind Singh demanded a head, five Sikhs stood up as evidence of the cultural sea change that had resulted from Guru Nanak’s message and subsequent Sikh history.
By that time, transparency, accountability and participatory self-governance had been learned. The gene of courage had found expression. Metaphorically, the modest flame of courage had become an unending roaring fire.
It is not that one sheds all fear, the lesson lies in how to transcend it.
Today, I see a growing interest in the ethos of courage, sacrifice and martial spirit, especially in the diaspora. Amandeep Singh Madra and Paramjit Singh, both U.K. based, authored a handsome well-written narrative “Warrior Saints: Three Centuries of the Sikh Military Tradition. A Canadian Sikh, Sandeep Singh Brar, developed a virtual museum (Sikhmuseum.com) on many aspects of Sikh life and tradition including our military history.
We often overlook one great lesson of Sikh military history and the Gurus: “No one abhors war more than the soldier who has lived its depravity and cruelty.”
Courage: The more we remember it the more it grows like wild flowers. If it is like a fire it is only by history that we continue to fan it. And then courage becomes infinite.
May 7, 2012
(Note: This is a slightly modified version of an essay that appeared as an editorial in the quarterly Nishaan.)