Amritsar, 21 November

By Stephen Williams

Having left Delhi the previous afternoon on a long, exhausting train journey and endured choking smog for the past two weeks, arriving at this old city’s gates in the early morning was a great relief. Amritsar is the Sikhs’ capital and guards its holiest shrines. It proved to be one of our visit’s most riveting  highlights. Historically it is known as Rāmdāspur and colloquially as Ambarsar.

We had first encountered the self-confident, welcoming character of Sikhism, with its passionate sense of community and history, in Patna. Here we had visited the Takht Sri Patna Sahib (or Harmandar Sahib) – an interior of which is pictured left — a place of worship for Sikhs, also called a Gurdwara. Its gleaming white buildings shimmering beneath the blue sky formed a wonderful backdrop to the multicoloured dastaars or pagris (turbans) of the elegant bearded Sikh men.

This Gurdwara was founded in the early 19th century but the current shrine building only dates back to the 1950s. For followers of Sikhism, Patna — as the birthplace of Guru Gobind Singh, the 10th Sikh Guru in 1666, and with its links to Buddha — ranks second to Amritsar in importance. Our visit there was an astonishing prelude to what we were to see in Amritsar.

Amritsar, in the relatively wealthy state of Punjab, offered a mix of shining brilliance and neglectful if magnificent decay. Passing through one gate in the walls circling the old city — founded in 1577 by 4th Sikh guru, Guru Ram Das — we came to the late 19th-century Town Hall with its gracious classical redbrick buildings formed around a magnificent courtyard. These buildings of the Raj had recently been restored, significantly to create a new “Partition Museum”, since the site stood witness to the unrest in the Punjab after both the Jallianwalla Bagh Massacre and Partition.

Beyond this was a public space with one of several imposing statues of Maharajah Ranjit Singh (1780-1839) riding his stallion. Known as the “Lion of Punjab”, he expelled the Afghans and put in place wide-ranging reforms that secured the future and prosperity of the Sikhs. He signified well the fiercely courageous nature of the Sikhs combined with the gentleness of their religion.

We first visited the Gurdwara Saragarhi. This small intricately detailed white monument with a central dome surrounded by turrets, now uncomfortably hemmed in on two sides by tall modern buildings, commemorates the 21 Sikh soldiers from the 36th Sikhs infantry regiment who died in the Battle of Saragarhi in 1897. Two stern attendants would not allow access to the interior of the building, which symbolised the Sikhs’ pride in their history of defending their religion. Overlooked by another mounted statue of the “Lion of Punjab” atop a large tiered fountain, we were welcomed and saluted by a character in full traditional dress, including ceremonial dagger and axe.

We then entered the old city with its narrow streets crowded by a wonderful melange of old houses, mansions, apartments and shops. This was the most atmospheric street walk we experienced in India. In the 1500s, Guru Ram Das invited 52 trader families to settle in Amritsar and many magnificent mansions were built. Today the buildings in the old city, dating mostly from the 18th and 19th centuries when Amritsar was the centre of the Sikh empire, are very dilapidated and under threat of being swept away by unrestrained modern development.

We first visited the fort, Qila Ahluwalia, which once belonged to Ahluwalia Misl whose famous leader, Jassa Singh Ahluwalia, played a vital role in repelling foreign invasions during the 18th century. This large square, with tall four or five-storey balcony-access buildings, was very imposing but in poor condition with some remnants of its important past visible thanks to the many alterations made to it after it was sold to Marwari families in 1900.

Leaving Qila Ahluwalia and joining its surrounding lanes, we saw many run-down, mostly 18th and 19th-century homes and shops of wealthy merchants in Indian and Colonial styles. Looking upwards, the eye was beguiled by the intricate decoration of the wooden galleries. Enclosed bay windows jutted out over the streets. These balconies or jharokhas are delicately formed in a tracery of carved and interlocking carpentry. Often seen in Indian architecture, in Amritsar we saw exceptionally inventive and refined examples. In these  buildings with their old paintwork we saw magnificent paintings of traditional Indian scenes that were now so faded as to have almost disappeared.

The life in the lanes and fabulous colours and textures of the old doors here create an extraordinary atmosphere. Green and blue doors, most of them beautiful, dominated the houses. Although now severely worn and weathered, some buildings often had intricate, traditionally carved stone and stucco-work panelling.

The street life was wonderfully alive. As we entered Jalebiwala Chowk, some of our group bought the famous jalebi from a street stall. Men sang as they pushed their bicycles through the lanes selling vegetables. Tricycle rickshaws wove their way between jostling pedestrians, mopeds, motorbikes and sometimes cars.

In some buildings, we found small temples and religious hostels jostling next to shops, hidden away. The most extraordinary temple we visited was Udasin Ashram Akhara Sangawala, established in 1771. This practises the Udasi or Udasin religion, an ascetic sect following sampradaya (tradition), which considers itself a denomination of Sikhism. It focuses on the teachings of its founder, Sri Chand (1494-1629), son of Guru Nanak, founder and first guru of Sikhism who passed over his son as his successor. Sunken and reached by a flight of stairs, the temple blazed with garish decoration. Unlike the monotheistic beliefs of Sikhism, Udasi had reverted to its Hindu roots following many gods. Again, unlike the Sikh temples, it had a series of claustrophobic dark rooms leading to the main temple in a small cave within a boulder. Having crawled through a narrow tunnel to reach it, we discovered that only a few could sit in its cramped space. A small group did accompany our Sikh guide into the cave, where he regaled them with some interesting if tantric views. In contrast to the light, open, white and gold Sikh temples we had seen, this temple bore heavily down on you in its sunken location.

Moving on near to the end of the Bartan Bazaar, we came to a junction where, in the middle of a road, was the equally strange and small but tranquil Baba Bohar temple through which grows the centuries-old banyan tree. Here individuals made offerings and prayed to a small shrine to be healed.

Soon after, we came to a small doorway off a lane. Here was the Chitta Akhara Temple, marked by highly decorated wooden panelling. We passed down a short passageway to reach a colourful complex at the other end — a hostel established in 1781 for spiritual seekers and saints. Rooms led off its central courtyard and, on the first floor, there was a cantilevered wooden gallery.

Finally we left the old city’s narrow lanes and, after covering our heads with an orange cloth and washing our feet, we entered the Golden Temple complex, also known as the “abode of God” (pictured), through the main northern gate, the Darshani Darwaza. A breathtaking view of a glistening blue lake — in the middle of which sat the golden domed central shrine (Harmandir Sahib or Temple of God) — opened up beneath us. Seemingly floating on top of a pool of clear blue water, the Golden Temple was linked by a covered causeway to the wide marble path called the Parikrama, which was surrounded by the stretch of water, Amrit Sarovar, meaning pool of nectar. The Golden Temple, also known as Sri Harmandir Sahib, is relatively modest in size with small windows and a  dome, expressing perhaps the lack of pomposity and grandeur that other religions wish to express in their important buildings. Under the beating sun and clear blue sky, the gold-covered marble building shimmered in its watery setting. Walking along the Parikrama, the eye was inevitably drawn back constantly to the golden Sri Harmandir Sahib. Unfortunately, a long queue of pilgrims was slowly filing along the bridge entering beneath the Darshani Deorhi pavilion, so we reluctantly did not have time to enter the shrine. Three musicians played and sang traditional holy music as the pilgrims joined the end of the queue.

Opposite the Darshani Deorhi, and set back and high up, was the white marble Sri Akal Takht Sahib. This seat of power symbolises the temporal authority of God and is only second in holiness to the Golden Temple, which symbolises God’s spiritual power.

Although it is a place of great holiness to Sikhs, we were generously welcomed and, strolling slowly along the Parikrama, we mingled with the crowds on their pilgrimage. Sikhs were ritually bathing in the water, using chains to haul themselves back onto the pavement. Ladies also bathed but in a small, screened-off area of the water. Many sat on the pavement in the shade or at the water’s edge while others watched the koi carp swimming in it. In line with the tradition of welcoming all, the Temple offers free food to all its visitors at the community kitchen Garu ka Langar in a gigantic hall seating 3,000 where volunteers serve food and drink. Food preparation, serving and washing up are carried out with impressive speed and efficiency. This is apparently the world’s largest dining hall.

Even with the crowds — the Golden Temple welcomes 100,000 people a day, all freely chattering — the Gurdwara retained an elegance and poise, creating a truly tranquil and magical setting.

We also visited a sadder place before we left — the Jallianwala Bagh. A green park where people relax after a visit to the Gurdwara, it is the site of an infamous massacre in 1919. Here Colonel Reginald Dyer ordered soldiers to open fire for 10 minutes on a crowd of Sikhs, some of whom were protesting peacefully, until the soldiers ran out of ammunition. At the end of it, hundreds had died and thousands lay injured. This massacre is often seen as marking the beginning of the end of the British Empire. The park holds several memorials, including the bullet-marked wall where many died.

We walked down the narrow rather nondescript alley, along which the British forced the non-British to crawl with the threat of being shot. Two similarly violent events occurred almost 70 years later when the Indian Government was fighting Sikh militants who, in 1984, had barricaded themselves in the Golden Temple demanding independence. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi ordered the army to put down the insurrection known as Operation Blue Star. This led to Gandhi being assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards and the desertion of many Sikhs from the army. The Golden Temple was badly damaged and some buildings demolished. And in 1987 the militants again took over the Temple, but this time Rajiv Gandhi used subtler if still violent means to overthrow the militants and undermine their credibility with the Sikh community. The temple has only finally been restored to its former magnificence in the past year or so. To learn more about the events, you can read the chapter devoted to them in Mark Tully’s excellent book, No Full Stops in India.

This was a poignant way to leave Amritsar and, that afternoon, we travelled to the gated border crossing between India and Pakistan at Wagah, 22km from Lahore. This reminded us of the third and greatest event of the 20th century in the Punjab — the Partition in 1947. We walked the last kilometre to the border with crowds of Indians coming to watch the “lowering of the flags”, a daily military practice carried out since 1959 by India’s Border Security Force and Pakistan’s Pakistan Rangers. This ceremony was watched by Indians and Pakistanis from stadia on either side of the gated border post. We entered one large stadium to the sound of music and singing. Here young Indians seemed to be having a party with many watching and cheering from their tiered seating. When the ceremony started, Indian soldiers appeared dressed in brown uniforms with bright red sashes and extravagant bright red headdresses, making them look like proud peacocks. On the Pakistani side, the border guards wore slightly more sombre dark green but still sported red sashes and peacock headdress. The Pakistani onlookers were also more subdued in their celebration of the event. Dressed in colourful uniforms, the guards on both sides marched up and down almost in tandem with elaborate and rapid dance-like manoeuvres. All guards were well over 6ft tall to ensure neither side was overshadowed. Our lasting impression was of the stern, angry look of defiance on the rival guards’ faces. This symbol of the two countries’ rivalry perhaps channels and controls their real aggression towards each other.

At the end of a tiring day, we returned on the long straight walk away from the border, jostled by the large crowd, which gave us an inkling perhaps of how it may have felt for so many of those who walked exhausted along these roads in 1947.