My Struggle in Life

My Struggle in Life

Ishwar Das Pawar

Copyright © 2015 Ishwar Das Pawar

All rights reserved

Third Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

ISBN 978-1-68213-155-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-68213-156-5 (digital)

ISBN 978-1-68213-157-2 (hardcover)

Printed in the United States of America

Ishwar Das Pawar

District and Sessions Judge (retd.)

Arise, awake and stop not till the goal is achieved.

—Vivekananda

Dedicated

To the loving and respectful memory of my mother and father, who cast aside their mortal frames on the 10 April 1933 and the 15 September 1939 respectively, and who spent their lives in hard labor and toil so that we might have a bright future.

Educate, organise, and agitate.

Tell a slave, he is a slave and he will revolt.

—B. R. Ambedkar

C

ontents

Preface

How the Idea Was Born

Mission Schools at Khanna and Ludhiana

The DAV High School, Una

Unfortunate Incidents

The Career-making Event

My Village

The DAV College, Lahore

Bhagat Singh

More Instances of Insulting Discrimination

The Unjust Laws and Customs

The Problem of the Valmikis

Entering Government Service

At Multan

At Alipur

At Tarn Taran

The Dawn of Awakening

The Trying Moments

At Sonepat and Delhi

The Passport Affair

The Scheduled Castes and Backward Classes Welfare Department

The Subordinate Services Selection Board

At Ambala

My Guiding Principles in Service

Perseverance Pays

As Presiding Officer of the Industrial Tribunal and After

Land Reforms

Religion

The Death of My Wife

My Unforgettable Friends

To Light through Darkness

Why I Admire Indira Gandhi

The Caste System

Atrocities and Conversions

The Real Sons of the Motherland

His Own Boswell

Preface

In this book, I have recorded very briefly some of my reminiscences, and the events narrated, though essentially personal, are also of common concern inasmuch as they provide an insight into the times, the circumstances, and the environments in which the downtrodden and deprived section of the nation dubbed as untouchables have been struggling hard against heavy odds to redeem their lost rights and to lead a life of human dignity and honor. In addition to putting on record a few of the incidents that came my way, I have also availed myself of this opportunity to touch upon a few other subjects of public interest.

I shall feel amply rewarded for whatever labor I have put in if the reader finds the book interesting and useful, viewed over a long and wide perspective of the fierce and grim struggle which has now turned dangerously repressive and violent against us. It will also show, by comparison, how much distance we have been able to cover on the long and arduous path that lies ahead, leading to our goal of emancipation from the religious, social, economic, and political oppression and exploitation.

Shaping into a reality, my earnest desire to go in for the third edition of this book would not have been possible but for the voluntary and magnanimous offer that came from the USA–based Shri Pamas Rai Bhatti that he would meet the entire cost to be incurred in this connection. For obvious reasons, the books have been placed at his disposal.

Errors that had crept into the previous edition have been corrected, facts updated here and there, and a few additions incorporated at appropriate places. Much better printing and binding makes the book quite attractive. This publication is mainly meant for the American audience where there is a good deal of demand for the book.

I am grateful to Sarvshri Gurbachan Das Badhan, company commander, Chandigarh UT Home Guards, and Chemas Rai Bhatti, BA LLB, for extending all help in the bringing out of this edition.

I. D. PAWAR

District and Sessions Judge (retd.)

Chandigarh,

January 1, 1993.

How the Idea Was Born

It is not easy to make out how my father hit upon the idea of sending us to school. Even the so-called high-caste Hindus seldom sent their children to school. All that we know is that he got the idea when my eldest brother reached the school-going age. I was the youngest of five brothers. My father was illiterate, and he could hardly sign his name in Gurumukhi (the literal meaning is from the mouth of the Guru, most common script used for writing the Punjabi language in India) characters, and doing that too erroneously. He was, however, a man of vision and ideas and commanded great and wide respect from all sections of society. He frequently used to visit well-known saints, and a few of them belonged to our own family. He was completely free from all sorts of superstitions which were gripping the minds of innocent and illiterate people. Happily, we have inherited from him that great quality. Superstition is a disease of the mind, and very few people can rightfully claim to have free and healthy minds at least so far as this aspect of life is concerned. He was also deadly against smoking and drinking. He used to claim nostalgically that he had never touched even a new component of a huqqa (hookah) (hubble bubble, smoking pipe). Not only that, he had a firm and unflinching conviction and faith in these ideas and would propagate them on every available occasion.

My father wore his hair long like the Sikhs but was known by the name of Chaudhri Rala Ram. Out of affection and respect, people called him Sardarji. He was a man of commanding personality. Once he fell seriously ill, and under the advice of village vaid (an Ayurveda doctor), his hair was shaved off. Since then he had worn his hair short but preserved and maintained his long beard and moustache to the end. In those good old days, there were hardly any distinction between Sikhs and others. The dragon of communalism had not yet raised its ugly head.

For the admission of my three eldest brothers, my father approached the village school master, Hakam Rai by name, who was a Brahman by caste. He never said no but continued putting him off on one pretext after the other. The successful fulfilment of his strong urge to give education to the eldest three sons eluded him. He was helpless, as there was no remedy to force the teacher to admit them in his school. Even in the face of great disappointment and frustration, he did not give up the hope and kept waiting for an appropriate opportunity.

People of our brotherhood did not favor the idea of education. They would say to my father, sometimes with a tinge of sarcasm, "What is the purpose of sending the boys to school? Do you think they can become patwaris (village level revenue officials)? My father’s reply was disarming. He would say, I know that the boys, even after getting education, will not be able to become patwaris, but that is not my purpose. I want them to be able to read and write letters for themselves and for others and also read out for themselves and for us the popular epic verses on Puran Bhagat and Shah Bahram of Faras (now Iran)." This, however, hardly satisfied the incorrigible detractors of education. This attitude of theirs was understandable and excusable as they were ignorant, and they little realized the advantages and benefits of education.

The village of Dehlan where we were born and brought up at the house of our maternal grandparents did not hold out bright promise of earning reasonable livelihood for a large family as ours. So my father was in search of a new place where we could feel more comfortable, being assured of better living. Consequently, the family partly moved to village Naangran, about eight miles distant from Dehlan. The chances of work and earnings were much better there.

Our people in those days had queer notions. They abhorred the idea of leaving the ancestral village and settling in any other village. They called it desertion of the village, and desertion was a hated word. My father was, however, not wedded to the traditional and conventional way of thinking. He had fresh ideas and a new way of life. He would argue that adventurous people had gone to even foreign countries beyond the seas in search of better chances of life. There could therefore be nothing wrong in migrating to another village in search of better prospects of livelihood. He disliked the idea of clinging to a particular place even though living there was not profitable. He would not pay much heed to the outmoded and too conservative notions of the people in such matters. So in this way, we have two villages as our homes.

In order to find out the possibility of imparting education to us, my father contacted a Christian preacher, Babu Moti Lal, living in the village of Bhanaam, nearly half a mile from our new residence. Babu Moti Lal and his family originally belonged to the Chuhra caste (as the Valmikis (low caste people, janitors) were then called), but they had embraced Christianity. Unbelievably, all the four members of the family were handsome and well behaved. Mrs. Santi, wife of Babu Moti Lal, was a very kind-hearted woman. Babu Moti Lal was not well read, but he could teach us well as we had to start from the alphabet stage to learn Urdu. He very graciously consented to be our informal teacher. For some days, he along with his young son, Sunny Lal, would come to our house and initiate me and my brother into the Urdu language. We got very much interested in our studies. Then we started going to his house and learn our lessons sitting at his feet. We made a bit of progress.

Babu Moti Lal then suggested that for regular and better studies, we should be admitted to a school. There was no school in any nearby place where we could get admission. In view of this difficulty, he offered to help us if we agreed to go to Ropar to join the mission school there. My father readily agreed to the proposal but my mother Shrimati Kirpo, felt hesitant in sending her young children to a far-off place, a long distance of about twenty miles. The real opposition, however, came from our maternal grandfather. Are you enemies of these innocent children? he would ask with a sad tone. All the opposition was, however, overcome; and we got prepared for Ropar to get admission in the mission school.

At Ropar, we were welcome and gladly admitted to the school. Master Maghi Ram was the sole teacher there. He and his wife both were very kind-hearted couple, and they treated us like their own children. Another name that comes to my mind in this context is that of Rev. R.V. Love, the missionary principal of the school. He was an exceptionally handsome young man in his thirties with blooming health. True to his name, he was love personified. It used to be a matter of daily routine for him to visit the school-cum-hostel in the evening, sit and chat with us. We enjoyed his company thoroughly, and we looked upon him as a father figure. On Saturdays, our teacher used to take all of us to meet the principal and his family at their residence where we would receive from them sweets and fruits. Sweet memories last forever.

We started our regular studies. I was rather enamored of the school and had a flair for studies. It was something inspiring. But occasionally, I would feel homesick. My father and brothers, Sant Ram, Bhagwan Das, and Harnam Das, periodically came to see us. Still I longed to meet my mother and sisters. My brother Ram Rakha Mal was, however, of a stronger mind, and he would try to console and encourage me. We found ourselves well on the way of progress in our education.

There were not many students in the school, the number being not beyond fifteen. Fazl Masih, who was my classmate and a little older than me in age, took a fancy to me and became my fast friend. He had deep religious leanings. His father, Rev. Sucha Singh, was a famous Christian missionary stationed at Moga. Fazl Masih’s cot and mine adjoined each other. When after evening meals we were in our beds, Fazl Masih would start his talks, initiating me into the philosophy and tenets of Christianity. He continued his discourses without break every evening for several days. His exposition of Christian faith greatly thrilled and inspired me. It was a hilarious and fantastic experience, and it had a profound impact on my mind.

God sent to this earth his only son, Jesus Christ, as a savior of the poor and the hapless. For these ignorant and simple-minded persons he took upon himself the role of a shepherd and treated them as sheep under his loving care. He came down on earth to protect them and take upon himself the burden of sins that lay heavily on their shoulders. He lived among them as one of them. He preached God’s message to them. He was crucified for espousing the cause of the poor and was buried in a grave, and a heavy stone was placed on the mouth of the grave so that nobody could tamper with the dead body. On the third day of the crucifixion, Jesus Christ came back to life, lived among his people for forty days, and then winged to heavens to join his father as the mission for which he had been sent, had been fulfilled. He ascended to the heavens after leaving a message with his disciples. The message was that he would again be coming down on earth on the day of judgment to record his decisions and verdicts on the doings of the people. He would then recommend his good followers for a place in heaven. This, in a nutshell, is the exposition of the essentials of Christian faith as given by Fazl Masih.

How heartening and hopeful all this was. I had never heard before of any great soul coming down on earth, living and dying for the poor. I had not heard about any other religion or a prophet or a messenger of God. I knew there was something like Hindu dharma, and side by side, the existence of the untouchables. Hindu dharma, whatever it stood for and whosoever was its founder, was for the Hindus alone. Untouchables were not Hindus. But they were the touch-stone for Hinduism. If a Hindu in any manner got into physical contact with an untouchable, he would get polluted, and before he could enter his house or touch any other, he had to purify himself by the sprinkling of a drop of water on him. This was Hindu dharma. A Hindu knew this perfectly well, and an untouchable too was well aware of this position though he might not know anything else. Ironically, an untouchable would himself remind the Hindu for the purificatory sprinkle of water if he, by any chance, tended to forget about it. O god, this is Hindu dharma! The sprinkle sometimes came from the foul-smelling water of a huqqa (hookah) or the stinking, dirty water of a pond used by cattle and dogs.

Fazl Masih had also told me that the day was not far off when the entire world would come within the folds of Christianity. He gave me a beautifully bound copy of the New Testament. I kept it carefully wrapped in a neat and clean piece of cloth, treated it with all the reverence due to a gospel. I could not read it. I was still at the alphabet stage. I had never heard that there were other religious books also like the Vedas (the oldest scriptures of Hinduism), the Gita (Hindu scripture), the Ramayana (a great Hindu epic), and the Mahabharata (a great Hindu epic). My heart and mind were blank about religions or prophets or avatars (In Hinduism, avatars are deliberate descents of a deity to Earth, or a descent of the Supreme Being (e.g., Vishnu for Vaishnavites). Jesus Christ was the first son of God, prophet, master, messenger, and his New Testament was the first religious book whose names were written first of all on my virgin mind and have left an indelible impression on me.

Hindus started calling the untouchables as Hindus much later when their numbers were needed to swell their own numbers to obtain political and other gains. Honestly speaking, the untouchables are not Hindus. Hindus comprise only the four Varnas (Varna is the term for the four broad ranks into which traditional Hindu society is divided)—Brahman, Kshatriya, Vaishya, and Sudra. Untouchables belong to none of them. They are at best Antyajas, Atisudras beyond the bounds of the four varnas.

We had spent only about a year and a half in the mission school at Ropar when it was closed. All the students were therefore shifted to the primary mission school at Khanna. We bade good-bye to the Ropar school with heavy hearts and tearful eyes. This school and the prior schooling at the house of Babu Moti Lal laid the foundation of my educational career.

M

ission Schools at Khanna and Ludhiana

The annual examination results had been declared. I had passed the third class. I, along with my brother, decided to go home and spend the period with our parents till the starting of new classes. So we went home. I told my father that I wanted to join a school where English was also taught. He liked my idea and promised I would be admitted in such a school. On the expiry of the intervening period, my brother went back to the school to resume his studies in the new class. I stayed back in the hope that I would be admitted in a school where English was also taught. It had to be urgently done as, with the lapse of time, I was likely to forget even what had been learnt in the school.

My father tried here and there for the school of my choice but without success. As the time passed, my mind started getting restive. But what could I do? Days passed, months went by, but no school of my choice was in sight. Disappointment and frustration were gripping me. The time became dull and drab, and it had already started hanging on my drooping spirits. After long months, the New Year 1921 was ushered in, but it brought neither any new message nor any hope. I, however, had a brain wave. I should go back to my old school was the idea that flashed across my mind. No English teaching school was possible at this stage. January was the time by which teaching courses had been completed and revision had started. But what will be the position if I go back to my old school? was also a serious question. Who will permit me to join the school almost at the fag end of the academic year? And even if I get permission to rejoin, what would be the gain? Is there even a ghost of a chance to pass the final fourth class examination which used to be quite tough? were the thoughts that haunted me. After all said and done, I asked my father to take me to the old school. Walking on foot through villages and lush green fields of seasonal crops we reached the school on January 12, 1921. It was really a pleasant surprise for me to find that I was welcomed by the management of the school but with the necessary advice and warning that it was the virtual end of the academic year. I joined and got books for the fourth class, but I found myself neither here nor there so far as studies were concerned. Others had already practically finished their regular courses.

I started anew but with full determination. The teachers were very kind to me. They gave me every help I needed. In this connection, the names of Master Bala Singh, his younger brother Master Hari Singh, and Master Timtous are worth mentioning. They were all Christians. Master Bala Singh was regarded as very able and competent man all round, a versatile genius. He had joined the school after passing his Vernacular Middle School examination. Master Timtous was known for his gentlemanliness and helpful attitude. I trudged on with my studies as diligently and laboriously as was humanly possible for me. Sometimes my class fellows smiled and laughed at me with an element of taunting but not without some lurking sympathy. Paradoxically, some top students of the class considered me a rival even though they knew the helpless condition in which I was in.

March came on. The annual examination had been scheduled to start on the twelfth of the month. Incidentally, this was exactly two months after I had rejoined the school on January 12. The day for the trial of luck was no longer far away, not even two months or one month away. The last day, i.e., March 11 was intended to be thoroughly devoted to revision work. That day a herd of elephants of the Maharaja of Patiala happened to be tethered alongside Grand-Trunk road, hardly half a mile from our school. All of us decided to go there to see the awe-inspiring giant animals. The waste of time in this pastime was proposed to be made good by devoting more time in the night. We returned late in the evening when it started drizzling. Many a prudent student had purchased from the close-by bazaar wax candles for study in the night, as they anticipated rain. Electricity was unknown there in those days, and there were no lanterns either for studies during the night. Rain prevented us from going to the bazaar. I was without wax candles. I requested a few of the students to allow me to share the light of their candles. On one pretext or the other, my request was not acceded to. Helpless, seeing no way out, I entered my bedding spread on the floor of the big dormitory and went to sleep while others burnt midnight candles. I was not an early riser. Therefore, morning also could not be usefully availed of for glancing through the books on the relevant subject.

The examination started at the appointed time, one paper a day. It was over in as many working days as the number of subjects. I assessed my performance in the examination as all others did. I was not quite sure of the result though I thought I had not done so badly. In a few days, the result was announced. It took everybody, including myself, completely by surprise to hear the headmaster announce that I came first in each subject, obviously, also first in the aggregate. Consequently, I bagged all the first prizes. I also got a beautifully bound copy of the Bible as a prize for faithful work in Bible, as written by the missionary principal of the school, Rev. Swagger.

Thus I had completed my studies in the Khanna Primary Mission School. I had therefore to go home. Meanwhile, another affectionate gesture came from the staff. A high school had come into existence the same year at the outskirts of the town at the junction of Grand-Trunk and Samrala roads. The staff of the mission school offered to render me financial assistance if I agreed to join the new high school. It was so kind and nice of them to make the very generous offer. I, however, decided to first go home before thinking of joining a new school. Accordingly, I left for home.

As I could not undertake the long journey alone, I had to stay for some time with Rev. Andrews and his family at Baghanwali (Morinda). Unluckily, I fell ill there and was confined to bed with typhoid fever. Medical aid was very poor in those days, and in addition, I was away from my family. My condition grew serious. During those days, Rosy, the daughter of Rev. Andrews, and her friend Daisy also came to spend their holidays there. These two young girls served me so well in my illness that I can never forget their affection and kindness. In view of my serious condition, I was pushed on to Ropar and left in the care of Rev. Sant Lal. My condition deteriorated. My parents were therefore informed of the illness. They promptly came. Their presence gave me heart. Gradually I rallied, and on getting better, I went home with my parents. I was with my family and recovered speedily.

Again the same old question: I wanted to