Friday, October 1, 2010

Once upon a time in Kurali

My Reminiscences by Gur Rattan Pal Singh. Published by the author. Pages vi+250. Rs 450.
Secret of India’s greatness by Jagadguru Shankaracharya Shri Bharati Krishna Tirtha. Jagriti Prakashan, Noida. Pages xvii+135. Rs 200.
Insight written and published by S.K. Shah. Pages xiv+222. Price not mentioned.
by Randeep Wadehra
THE late English author Margaret Fairless Barber once remarked, "To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward." This book looks back in a manner that is at once emotional and analytical — a rejuvenating amalgam of the heart and the mind.
An advocate by profession and a poet by nature, Gur Rattan Pal Singh’s endeavour could not have been otherwise. Tracing back his ancestry, he talks of Lala Harnam Dass and Lala Bhagwan Dass — his forebears on the mother’s side, who received a gold watch each as a token of appreciation from the British government for building a palatial sarai in 1901. At present the Chief Khalsa Diwan, Amritsar, is managing it. The sarai has proved to be an enduring gift to society.
The author was born at Kurali. Not many Punjabis and hardly any other Indian might know much about Kurali, but Hitler had developed a desire to visit the place! This was after he came to know that many Indian prisoners of war were recruited at the Kurali Recruiting Centre. This prompted the dictator to show interest in the place.
The author talks with compassion of the 60,000 Muslims who took refuge in his family’s mango garden in 1947. Victims of the communal violence — an ugly feature of partition — these Muslim families had seen death and destruction as had their Hindu and Sikh counterparts elsewhere. When they left, the mango trees had become mere stumps because the refugees ate the leaves as food and burnt the branches for fuel. Not that the author’s family grudged them this infraction.
When leprosy was considered incurable there was a hakim named Badan Singh at Kurali who could cure the affliction. There was a lighter side to this noble profession. Hakim Atma Ram, another medical luminary of Kurali, was an expert in uroscopy — he could diagnose a patient’s ailment by a mere glance at his urine brought in a glass bottle. Once a potter mixed his wife’s urine with that of a she-donkey and brought it for the hakimji’s inspection. The latter retorted, "Have you come to test my knowledge? Go home... both your wife and the animal are pregnant."
The author talks of saints and soldiers. However, his recollections of the area’s prostitutes too are quite vivid. The author appears to be slightly apologetic about including this subject in his book, but nostalgia is neither unidimensional nor gray in colour. It is a canvas wherein all hues, shades, shapes and images, must have their due place in order to be an authentic account of the times. Where was the need to embellish his case with Khushwant Singh’s opinion on love and John Donne’s observation on the fate of "every affair"?
I found Gur Rattan Pal Singh’s narration of Kanso’s love life quite interesting. One could virtually smell the air of those times in the narrative. Probably the author should consider writing more on the sensual incontinence of the period. Carnal desires and mindless violence can be successfully shaped into best sellers. The author has given but a fleeting glimpse of this aspect of the socio-cultural life in Punjab.
Banur is actually the author’s paternal hometown. It was earlier known as Pushp Nagri because it was a famous trading centre for flowers and scents. It so happened that Mian Tansen, Akbar’s favourite court singer, came here and met Banno, a woman belonging to the Chimba (tailor) caste. Tansen was suffering from the aftermath of singing Deepak raag. Banno sang raag Malhar and thus rescued him from his fiery ordeal. A grateful Tansen’s took Banno to Akbar’s court where her wish to name Pushp Nagri after her name was granted by the emperor.
The author talks fondly of his childhood days spent in almost idyllic surroundings. He recollects how Gandhi’s assassination prompted him and his brother to stop attending the RSS shakha. His recounting of his college days at Ropar tells us how the student culture has changed over the period. After graduation he went to Aligarh for his MA, LL.B. course in 1956. Despite partition violence and hatred he found the Muslim students friendly and cordial towards Hindu and Sikh students. Later on, while doing a course in proficiency in land laws at Delhi University, he established contacts with politicians.
In the 1960 Akali Morcha led by Master Tara Singh, Gur Rattan Pal Singh and his father Gur Iqbal Singh were arrested. Thus was his political baptism by fire.
He was lodged in six different jails. This had an adverse effect on the family’s business. The author avers that despite his family’s contribution to the Akali cause, not much recognition came its way because the party was dominated by Jat Sikhs. Disillusioned with politics, the author concentrated on his legal practice.
Talking of his profession he says, "This is a profession monopolised by rich people, including close relatives of Ministers, Judges and bureaucrats... one’s caste, favourable time, influential connections, hard work, command over language... are some of the factors for a lawyer’s success. Through dinner diplomacy and publicity, some persons manage to rise from limbo of oblivion to limelight."
Contradictory though the author’s observations may appear, one tends to agree with his assertion that connection does count. I wish the author had dwelt a bit more on how justice is dispensed in our courts. As a cynic once remarked, "If you want justice, don’t go to the court; rely on your own resources — fair or foul."
George Bernard Shaw once remarked, "Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad." The train of nostalgia takes the author through variegated vistas. Personal triumphs and disappointments, joys and sorrows, friends and foes. However, at the end of it all, I must register my personal admiration for the man. Apart from those mentioned by him in detail, he has a list of one hundred and six persons towards whom he feels indebted! In these days of "use and discard" he cares to remember so many friends.
We live in an age when "contacts" have replaced friends; when the smile is a currency in the commercial market; when courtesy degenerates into curtness as soon as one’s purpose is served; when only fools care to allow gratitude to sway them from the mercenary path... Indeed, it is only a good soul who would write an entire book merely to repay his debt to a large number of people.
Apart from providing historical information of the little known facets of the region, this book is a testimony to the wholesome life that was a salient feature of a bygone era. A book for all reasons and seasons.

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